I'm a neat guy. In general, I don't like changes very much and I usually lead my life according to a strict schedule of tasks designed with scrupulous meticulousness.. My daily schedule is divided, from monday to sunday, in the following way. Monday to Friday, job. I dedicate Saturday morning to housework. (buy, some general house cleaning) y, in the afternoon or at night, I do a bit of social life, generally, with my usual group of friends. Thus, Sunday morning I sleep very late, fact that leaves me little space for other chores. at noon, as things happen, I go to the obligatory family meal with parents and siblings and, as a culmination, I usually spend the afternoon making memos on the internet or watching insubstantial movies on television.. As you can see, It is a simple program, but I usually respect to the letter, without skipping a single day of my life, salvo, logically, during summer vacation, They have a separate program. By this I just want to say that I don't usually go to work on the weekends., nor do I indulge in any type of idle activity (like going out to bars or making a memo on the internet or watching television) any Tuesday or Thursday. Everything in my life is, in this way, separated into watertight compartments. Where this mania for controlling my time comes from is something I have analyzed many times throughout my life., without arriving, for now, to no reasonable conclusion.
However, among my many customs, I have a routine of having a beer on Friday afternoons., when I get home, at the end of the week, after leaving work. It is a kind of award that I give myself for the effort I have made, a gesture as a simple reward that I give myself for all the misery and misery that I have had to endure the previous five days. Little or no drink (if not for commitment) access my body until that moment of sacred communion with myself and with the world in which, for the first time, The soft and refreshing bubble of fermented and preserved barley enters my throat., at low temperature, in the enameled refrigerator of my kitchen. There is no pleasure that can emulate that act of opening the bottle and directing it towards my lips., not so much for the fact, inconsequential, to drink, as for the gesture of independence that it implies for me. The simple action of raising my elbow and bringing the bottle to my mouth is an affirmation of principles, a sign of victory over the troubles of life. We have survived another week and, now, for a short period of time, we are, again, free.
Time. Time. After the declaration of the State of Alarm I can't stop thinking about the weather. I've been home for several days, without going out into the street, and the walls are falling on me. Broken my routines, I don't know what day it is, if it's monday, mars, Friday, Saturday or Sunday and, consequently, I have lost my beloved sense of order. Released from my daily obligations, I get confused and open one beer after another, without knowing exactly what I should celebrate. So, I'm drunk most of the day, I sleep late, I kill hours watching nonsense on TV or on the computer, I exalt myself, río, I cry with the messages that come to my mobile, and then, how I get bored, I get drunk again, let's see if, by chance, I have some luck and I kill a little time. But time does not pass because time no longer exists. There is only day and night. And here again, drunk again to the eyeballs, I go from the kitchen to the dining room and, then, step to the bathroom, lost within the four walls of this shitty apartment I live in that, as if that were not enough, I find it difficult to keep an eye on my face. Please, don't be late. Give me back my order. I miss him. GERARDO LEON
