In the last few weeks is going one thing that I did not expect: I'm having fun.
I'm leaving, I'm seeing people, I'm aware of another, and I'm laughing, organizing, planning things. And I'm tired of scrubbing everything. Think of, the insecurities, the usual Paturnie, both those that are there and no one takes me, so we should not think about it.
I was so once.
But it's been so long ago that I even remembered.
I was the one who left home on Friday evening and did not return until Sunday evening if not for some quick change of clothes, jumping from side to side to make a greet all the different groups of friends scattered around the province. What did not disdain not two little steps of salsa, a drink, unscheduled exit on Wednesday evening. What a game on two feet for the weekend with friends.
one we all know, the first one to mess with a variety of options to go out on Saturday night.
no coincidence that last night I came back to a place called the terminal is that today, unfortunately, no longer exists. It was a bad place in the middle of nowhere, mosquitoes in summer, heavy fog in winter, with the newspaper in place of wallpaper, chairs colored by the owners, the low ceilings and large wooden tables where they went up to dance . Adored him. As was unpretentious, and for people because often put Ligabue. I think I'll try to go there before, just to feel the taste six memories.
But that was before.
first of many lives, many things, so many disappointments and too many reflections.
first of many decisions, and centuries of moments, tears and chills. Above all, tears.
Before this study, desperate and mad at myself, before figuring out who I was. And before you claim to know who they are, to overcome my inconsistencies, to classify a pattern in my head.
Then I had closed.
And I stopped going out, or just interested in what they did friends.
I was just fine on my own, and in many ways, still do.
Then I got the urge to run away, first to Milan and then Rome. Then, from anywhere, just go.
Then I came back the urge to stay.
Today I do not know.
But perhaps, after all, life is how we live, because as you see it see it, but it's all in how you see it.
Maybe I've changed my attitude, maybe they just are a bit 'more serene, or perhaps I stopped to point to Happiness, and I resigned myself to live a few moments of fun, when and how it is. Enrico Brizzi may be right, when in that book that I loved so much (ed. Jack Frusciante left the group) writes that "at the end of the inner balance that is not to be searched. Maybe we have it already, and we move more nervous or more, and more they move away. "
Maybe I learned to distinguish between the Friends, which is and remains always the same, fewer and more precious, and superficial knowledge, you meet one evening around, which is not necessary to speak of the mysteries of the universe, but sometimes enough even to have a laugh.
It seems to me to be back a carefree college student, only with more money in your pocket and no one tells me what time to return.
And I can also say that the Christmas lights this year I did not create that sense of anxiety which I take every year. Sure, a little melancholy, that is. But really, I do not mind.
"I think I've got a big hole in it, but also that the rock n 'roll, some girlfriend, football, some job satisfaction, the bullshit with friends every now and fill this hole in me. I believe that the desire to escape from a country with twenty thousand inhabitants means that you want to run away from yourself, and I think we do not run away from you even if you're Eddie Merckx. "Radiofreccia, Ligabue
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