CASO PERDIDO

Ya sé, ya sé, ya sé que no iba a pensar más en romances y eso, pero no puedo evitarlo y más con tan poco trabajo como en estos días. Pienso, y mucho, en todo, en todos. Bueno, no en todos, todos, solo en dos, el más reciente y estúpido y en el más lejano y bueno, el único con quien me habría casado y por quien habría cruzado el océano.
Leyendo un artículo en Internet me encontré de frente con la pregunta, ¿De qué te arrepentirías de no haber hecho si este fuera tu último día? Y de inmediato, apareció Sean en mi mente y desde adentro me puse gris y triste. No he ido a Inglaterra, nunca lo vi, nunca nos tomamos un café, nunca pasó lo que siempre soñamos, encontrarnos en el aeropuerto. Y por eso no creo en el secreto famoso de pedirle al universo las cosas y que todo se alineará para que sucedan. Luego pensé, si se va Sean es porque el que viene va a ser así como lo máximo. Y el destino me manda al peor patán del mundo. Ya me enojé.

LA HAINE

A veces siento que disfruto odiar y no está padre.

NO WAY

Each time I miss him I have to repeat to myself he is not for me, we tried and we didn't succeed, we tried twice and it was not good. He is not good for me. He is not good. Not good. NOT.

THE OTHER EXPERIENCE

Soon to be the title of yet another new blog this is about being "the other". I have discovered it is not romantic at all, you have to be... I don't know if really grown up or really immature, but very unbound, untied and extremely careless, you have to adopt the philosophy of enjoying the moment regardless of any other consequence or knowing the consequences. Being "the other" is definitely not glamorous, not liberated. It's plainly stupid, immature and sordid. Nothing to be proud of, nothing to tell your grandchildren, nothing worthy of remembrance... unless you learned the lesson. To learn more see the new blog.

THE LAST ROMANTIC ENTRY

I plead guilty of mentioning it in the previous one, where I wrote about the three loves of my life.
It's not that complicated, they were: the teacher, the student and the foreigner. All three of them taught me to live, to work, to learn, to create, to think. All three of them loved me in different ways, but they did, and they showed me that loving me was good, so I guess I should follow their example and love me more every day ;)

THE FUTURE

I just read an article in the newspaper about two women who wrote about a book about women in the old age. I am 46, not getting younger. True, all the media is full of messages promoting eternal youth, but let's face it, no matter how much exercise, how much hair dye, how much cream you spread over your face, some day, old age will be obvious. Just this week I decided to stop worrying about finding true love. I may have already found it, and several times, for that matter, well, about three times, but that's material for another entry. The fact is, men my age want younger women and men much older than I want women my age and I am definitely NOT interested in them. The last man interested sexually in me was not interested in loving me, and I don't think I can take it any longer, so I decided to start modeling a new Claudia. A non-romantically interested Claudia. I decided to focus on generating money. Reading helped me. And I'm not discussing financial reading here, but good, old Lit. In The Awakening Edna's husband tells her to stop saving money, to stop thinking as a poor person, that money is meant to be spent and should be set to work. Then Virginia Wolf said that in order to write, a woman has to have, besides a room of one's own, money of her own. My looks are not still waning, but eventually they will, so I have come to that age where money starts to matter so much more than finding true love. Besides, there's the daughter factor. I have a child whom I have to be an example to, and it is mortifying to set one, depending on the eyes of a man set on me, that's not what I want for her. I have to grow up into a self-sufficient woman, strong and independent and of course very creative and productive till the end of my days. Some day I will stop dying my hair  -which I just started last year-, someday my arms will get tired of defying gravity and some day there will be real wrinkles all over my face. But I hope one day to see my white hair, the wrinkles around my eyes and under my eyeglasses, smiling in a photograph as the author of just another of many, many books. I don't want to be the old lady who sleeps all day after having retired from 20 years of service. I will be retired, but I'll have a juicy bank account and many stories to write. I hope I'll die with many stories to be told, not because I never wrote them, but because I had so much still to give.

AND IN SPITE OF EVERYTHING IT GOT ME

Since I was a little girl I have had mixed emotions about today -St. Valentine's. I have many very good friends, but almost never a romantic interest in me. I mean, I have always been in unrequited love. Except for a few years ago, that seem like a century to me.
I got his first Valentine's and I thought it was the cutest thing ever. No, cute is not the right adjective. It has to be something with more substance, cute is for babies and Pomeranians. No, this feeling this Valentine card stirred in me was something more intense, deeper. It was a sense of recognition, of being taken into account, like some sort of validation. It showed me he had taken the time to look for a particular card, not just any would do. It told me how he had thought about buying one, maybe he  kept it in a secret drawer for a while, thinking what he was going to write. Then he wrote things. He didn't write one long thought, but several little words, all scattered everywhere. Little notes, messages, like tiny cupids fluttering about. Ok, silly stuff, but good humoredly, thoughtful. We were silly, it was a way of communicating between us. It was a real surprise. I really didn't expect it. It was extremely nice and it actually melted my heart. I understood the expression cheesy, because I felt my heart like cheese melting over a hot pan, and it was not disgusting, it was nice, it was beautiful, it was memorable, I don't know if I ever managed to make him understand the importance of this, maybe not. The next year he sent the card + chocolates, then card + chocolates and a book and so forth. It was addictive, each time I wanted more. I dreamt with the moment he would come to give me my card in person, but he never did.
Whatever happened, the pilot that kept the boiler warm extinguished. He just said goodbye. Well, it was not that simple, but it was that final. And today I feel like a widow.
And this is why I loath St. Valentine's Day.

FOCUS

For a while I had forgotten my New Year's resolutions.
I mean, if I had the time to think about them it means that's what I need to do, why on earth would I deviate from them? Really. There's no other way, the only option is to be a BITCH, to focus on running, writing and getting that promotion, today more than ever. (Not exactly today, today, but right now, in the present).
Gosh, I haven't even been really writing, not even in my diary, I'm so fucking tired when I get home and I wonder, why? Ok, the promotion. Is it really worth it? Being away from home, from my daughter, my cat, my life as a writer?
I'm forgetting how to write, how to think, how to stop and enjoy.
I'm getting too crazy and fucked up.
Too scattered brain.
After all the promotion is just more money and more obligations. Do I need that? Do I want that? Not really. I want to live forever. But first, I have to live now, today- Enjoy. And it's been a long time since I enjoyed anything. I'm afraid I'm just letting life go by, watching it happen from a corner, not even comfortably like in a movie and I'm not sure I like it.
And yes, I need someone to really love me, ME the whole lot, not just my body, but my soul, my mind, my... everything.
Sean, where are you?