Homeluxury bag → Not for now

Not for now

We did not want to travel to spend Christmas with our families because we are afraid to travel, the fear of traveling has come back to haunt us. We had lost it after getting vaccinated, and we allowed ourselves several happy trips during the summer, taking advantage of our youngest daughter's school vacations, but now that the pandemic has intensified and travel restrictions have tightened, it seems unwise to get on a plane, not only because of the possibility of infecting us, but also because of the sum of inconveniences, annoyances and sorrows that are inevitable when you fly to another country: exams here before flying, exams there when you arrive, exams there before returning home, plus the threat or the danger that the gentlemen who occupy the government in our country of origin resolve overnight to close the airport, a frightening trance that my older daughters had to endure, at the worst moment of the pandemic: wanting to get out of that country of madmen, an open-air asylum, and not being able to do it, and then staying there for weeks, months, not knowing when you will be able to escape from that hell of idiotic politicians and foolish bureaucrats whose first instinct is to confiscate individual liberties and decide for oneself, as if they know how to take care of our health better than we do.

Thus, we have stayed at home, on this quiet island where we live, enjoying the good weather, this winter that seems like a joke, while our youngest daughter, on vacation at school, studies with tutors in the morning and in the afternoon, preparing for a very arduous exam that he will have to take the first days of the new year, an exam that, with luck, will allow him to enter a private school, since until now he has studied the five years of primary school in the public school of the island, not for reasons of greed or austerity on the part of us, their parents, but because said school is three blocks from home, and I have always believed that the best school is the one closest to your house. Poor girl, overwhelmed with studies, helped by tutors, tortured by math and reading, what a beating. When my wife has shown me the things that our ten-year-old daughter studies, I have been traumatized, because they all seem complex, very difficult, indecipherable, they all escape my understanding, they overwhelm the tiny size of my intelligence and they seem much more arduous than the questions that, forty years ago, I had to overcome to enter a university that boasted of being Catholic when I boasted of not being Catholic anymore, a university in which I wanted to study law only to understand very quickly that the laws in my country they were originally a leaden and boring fiction, and that, if I had to dedicate myself to fiction, I would better write novels: that is to say that I could be a Catholic lawyer, but that path, that of honor, that of pride that perhaps my parents would have felt , it seemed to me that it led to the abyss of misery, to the precipice of condemning myself to a wrong life, and so I chose to be a talker and a writer, or a talker and a writer, or a charlatan and a prankster. lumifer, and it didn't go so badly for me, here we are still, forty years later, speaking and writing, which are two ways of feeling alive, of resisting death.

This year that ends we will not go to the party in a nearby hotel, which we attended the last few years, thinking that we would have fun. Well no: I keep the worst memories of those parties at the luxury hotel. Everything seemed frightening, deplorable, horrendous to me: the smug, jeweled people, dressed with regal airs, made up and perfumed, flaunting their watches, their bags, their shoes, as if in a tawdry competition, in bad taste, to see who would win. he had put more money on top, all of them ridiculous and puffed up, all of them hideous and boastful; the consistently shrill, cacophonous music that insisted on playing an orchestra of morons who thought they were virtuous, the ugly, noisy, quarrelsome, brothel songs, as if they were playing in the courtyard of a prison or a reformatory for piranha delinquents; and the food served on tables of tables of tables, an obscene amount of food, of all foods, which were attacked by people who were no longer hungry but persevered in the ignoble habit of swallowing, of eating until they burst; and the dancers weighed down by inexperience, bungling, bungling, who, however, did pirouettes, zigzags, acrobatics and contortions, as if they were in a dance contest on television. Everything seemed deplorable to us at those New Year's parties and that is why we have promised ourselves not to return this year. We'll stay home, have a drink or two, and cuddle our cat and dog when they get spooked by the midnight din.

No por ahora

Next year I ask a few things, if it's not too much to ask, if it's not abuse: that no one in the family get infected, get seriously ill, for which it will be necessary to cancel more trips and persist in wearing the mask, to risk of appearing paranoid; that my mother and I can meet here and not there, because my enemies in the government are there and I prefer not to even visit; that our youngest daughter enters a good private school; that the channel does not fire me or continue to cut my salary; that the novel in which I have encrypted great illusions ends well and comes to life when it is read by the handful of noble readers who have not yet abandoned me; that we can travel to London at the beginning of the summer and Frankfurt at the end of that season, because we don't have the guts to go to Europe in winter and because my wife speaks German but has never been to Germany, where I was forty years ago, as a reporter of a newspaper; and that, when we get to December, we can say, as we say now, we are all alive, all well, loving each other very much, in good health, without money problems, that is to say that we are happy, very happy, although it is better if we say this out loud low, conspiratorial, hiding the secret, let's not summon the insidious goblins of disgruntled chance, that regiment of bad dwarfs, bastards, who sooner or later will come to take our lives: not for now, pygmies of evil, not for now! now[JH1] !

[JH1]

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