My day's evolution?

June 18, 1:04 am (Cuban time)

The bed, the night, the silence, the mobile phone, the echo of the tarot reader, the Notes App... a tear, two, three... what do I know.

Think of a room where you can write on the walls. No, better a house, a huge house. You write a lot and there is always room to come back and leave a mark, a crack of your heart, a spell, a wish, a joy, everything, absolutely everything in words. Well, you have it, it's yours. You live there.

You want to count the sunny days, the knives that the wind usually sticks in your window. You especially like to count those events when you find the forces of nature sobering. Rainy days, for example, you disguise them as abundance. You don't want them to see that what abounds here is loneliness and that when the rain comes you smile, but when you see that the roof cries, you too, loudly. The water could wash away all your words. And that's your legacy, imagine a house with written walls. A mirror house where sometimes the tender girl passes by and looks at herself and you see her from the inside. She doesn't even know you're looking at her. That girl... is the girl of your dreams. You love her. But she doesn't know it and she wouldn't care either.

Why should anyone care if you barely exist, if you don't like people, they don't really like you that much either, and the world seems bland to you? You don't want to see anything but your walls and her eyes as if they were peering into yours, unknowingly of course, because she's outside the house and you have the gift of looking through walls.

7:10 am
Coming back from taking out the rubbish, I found Benny. It's a neighbour's dog, but it's always in the street. I think he likes to be near the neighbour's children's father, who no longer lives with them. Dogs are such faithful creatures. I often see Benny come in with grease stains on him and I'm told it's because he sleeps under the taxi that the children's dad drives.

A little further on a puddle-portal and I thought I was only going in there for one reason.

I looked up at the sky.

8:36 am

Waiting for the car to pick me up to go to work.

More than an hour passed and I even sat outside talking to myself. They didn't come to pick me up. Yin was eating weed, I think he was sick to his stomach afterwards, or I don't know... he was eating weed to cure himself. Poor thing.

This was in a Almendron (taxi, classic car) AZUL... y blanco.

I had to go out on the Avenue, as usual, because they called me that they were already on their way and the car broke down twice.

The sky was nicer here... the day was evolving, perhaps.

The street vendors were arriving!

Others trying to get somewhere. I'm still waiting.

Finally my transport showed up, as did his.

What can I say about my day? I was tired because I had not slept well. I met a classmate from the College. It was a happy moment. We even laughed about some misfortunes. It's typical of us Cubans. I told her some time ago about an event of harassment I suffered through social networks. She worked with people who at the time helped me deal with the situation, giving me information and advice on how to proceed. As a result I had to close Facebook and even personal emails. Today she asked me what happened with that and I told her that they put me on a website that promotes hatred and violence and accuse me of being something I am not. I am there with a photo of me that was stolen from a website where I am receiving an award. Only the harassing person would be able to do that. These things happen nowadays. Anyone can do harm like that, easily. We have to be very careful. She asked me several times if someone or I could do something to get me removed from the site. Report it, let's say. No, unfortunately I don't know what to do and if I can do anything.

(self-portrait)

I arrived home after 5pm. I had a heavy feeling in my body, nostalgia too, a need to talk to someone, to have someone close to me, I needed a hug. I just slept, Chanel is a good companion for these sleeping matters. She just sees a blanket and rolls up.

I dreamt a little about skies and shadows and things I saw at the Palco Hotel, the place where I had gone to work.

...

Now I don't know. I think it's another of those early mornings when I write nonsense and cry without knowing why I'm crying, or maybe I do know, but the truth is that it's better not to worry. Everything happens for a reason.

Maybe I'm stuck in a loop or maybe it's just the echo of that note at the beginning of this post.

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