What it takes

I'm exhausted, once more.
It just seems I can't keep up with this neverending red tape.
Is it that I am in the right place? Am I going in the right direction?
At times it feels like no, not at all.

Sad how in just thirteen months
I feel I'm growing old, tired, worn out -like never before.
Trapped in the very place I was so much
looking forward to coming back.

When does it end?
How much will I last?
Does it all make sense?
I can't tell anymore.


And yes, it's an Aerosmith's song.

Se agradece...

Hoy se celebra el nacimiento un hombre que nos aleja del dogma y nos acerca a la sensatez.

Y pensar que sigue habiendo especímenes que creen que venimos del mono, simio, chango, orangután (bueno, de repente salta la duda con algunos), o peor aún, de Adán y Eva, o incluso hasta divertido: que somos producto de un diseño -o diseñador- inteligente. Guau.

Suficiente.

Afortunadamente aprendo y creo que no tan lentamente. Me rehuso terminantemente a estar en función temporal de los demás y de lo demás. Basta. Quiero, demando, y defenderé el tiempo que tenga para mí, no importa cuán egoísta se vea. La escuela, el trabajo, los alumnos, todo va y viene. El tiempo lo exijo para con mi propio ser y mi familia; nada ni nadie más. Lo demás y los demás tendrán que esperar, o bien, pueden partir -o me pueden dejar ir; no importa. Así sea.

¡Gracias hermana!

Don't bother

Once someone told me writers become so facing the possibility of being read, but mainly to see their own thoughts out of their systems and fixed through the written word. Beyond the question of inherent and unavoidable biographical bias within a writer's works I suppose doing all this contains, at least, the idea of finding someone who might connect to your sense of humor and motivation -and viceversa.

This doesn't mean I don't have friends who I share my stories with, or other people interested in what I have to say. It means that currently most of my closest friends don't even know of the existence of this blog, nor have they ever read any of my writings. It isn't an issue at all. In fact, I never expected any of them to comment on my postings or so.

Quite the opposite.

It is the idea of bumping into someone who's willing to read and be read, either on the aroma of fresh ground coffee beans or the most recent book-based picture. Or, simply reaching out for myself and the inner twirlings of my ever procrastinating mind, as Paz once asserted.

Either way, welcome... back... again.