What's going on is that basically I'm in a mood which could be easily classified as "straight out of Kafka's worst nightmares". To give you an idea of the extent of the distress I've been going through lately, just let me say that my acquaintances don't even have to ask me how I am (to which, as my students know, I would reply "a bit under the weather" even if I'm perfectly fine), they just start with "how a..." and then they go like "ouch, I'm sorry" and then in the blink of an eye, they're vanished.
Anyway. No drama, no big tragedies, no tears and screaming, just routine biting hard, as someone would say.
So, what I know for certain is that I need to get my shit together. Not for me, as a matter of fact I couldn't care less, but for my husband and daughter at least. I still want to be their favourite rockstar after all.
The thing is I don't dig shrinks very much, I hate hangovers as much as I hate the idea of bothering my friends with the wandering thoughts of a slightly neurotic 35-yeard-old woman and am not a big fan of unrequested advice anyway so... what do I do?
Well, as a matter of fact I happen to be a huge fan of chlorine -not such a big fan of workout though, but you know, in wartime.. - so I go swimming.
And there I am, swimming my wild mood swings away, while muttering a song my daughter taught me ("Swimming swimming in the swimming pool, the days are hot, the days are cool in the swimming pool" and so on) and I realize my brain and heart might still be stuck between a rock and a hard place, but I'm totally nailing my 40th lap and my best front crawl, and my arms might be my weak point as I've been told once by someone, but my back and my legs are strong (as my bestfriend and I would joke during highschool, we both have got Maradona's calves), and so am I, and honestly guys I'm feeling a bit shocked and a lot relieved by how powerful I'm feeling underwater.
And then, on the lane next to mine, there comes this guy. He might be 25-26 years old, big muscular guy, and he's so obviously trying to challenge me. For a moment I think he must be kidding, but no he isn't. You, tender blossom of a man, you don't know the half of it. Yes, I'm talking to you, badass, with that athletic body, that big sculpted biceps (hey, I'm not going to deny that), you, with that bold smile and your perfect buttefly style, maybe you have time to work out every day, but I've already had to put up with many things in my life and I can tolerate being oxygen-deprived for 100 metres more, plus I'm in a very hormonal stage of my life so you might have the power of your own muscles, but I have my very own private reasons not to give up...
Ok well, this was the tone of my thoughts, the minute before the 25-year-old Ian Thorpe in the lane next to mine decided to speed up and overtook me, but then he got a bad leg cramp and had to get out of the water consequently while I went back to my normal speed without incurring in a triple bypass.
Life's unfair darling. Good news is you've got plenty of time to figure it out.
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