So far so good!

This was the first time in many years that I couldn't finish a paper on time. I had no inspiration. I couldn't thought of anything else to say, I was blocked and shocked.
Then I had this feeling which I didn't recognize at first but some remembrances of it were still in my head. I start panicking, i was running out of time and i didn't have a clear idea of what i wanted to say. I decided to take a break, it didn't work; my head just started to spin and i felt really dizzy, I couldn't breathe.
I tried to calm down; This is going to stop soon- i affirmed to myself- you're nervous but you will be able to finish on time- But I didn't. After 2 more hours of struggling with words, phrases and ideas I decided to give up: I was going nowhere and this didn't make sense at all.
I went to bed and to sleep... and I for my surprise I actually slept quite well. No more bad dreams, no more insomnio, no more anguish.
I decided to fail.
In a sense, if we want to be strict and rigorous, i surrender: I didn't fight until the end, even more i didn't accomplish what i was supposed to do in time and i knew the consequences for not doing it. However, I felt all the contrary. For the first time in many years I decided to loose and i felt liberated.
But, in all honesty, I cried for an hour before going to bed. Failure have never tasted nice or has been easy to handle. It strocked me for how many years I haven't felt this emotion... Years!! I was overwhelmed because I had failed on purpose!! Actually, I boicoted myself, again and again, until it was impossible to scape destiny.
I don't regret it.
There are sometimes when we do what we have to do even though this means doing the opposite of what reason indicates.
This was my time.
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Now I will have to start again. I think that from a different perspective, I will achieve different results. I just needed some distance from my writing and from myself, my ordinary self.
Cheers mate!!

Escribo porque estoy harta. Estoy cansada de pensar, de darle vueltas al mismo asunto, que las cosas regresen como olas del mar.
Estoy cansada de luchar ¿Para qué? ¿Cambia en algo el mundo? ¿Qué quiero demostrar? ¿Y a quién? Mis demonios son muchos y no alcanza la vida para deshacerse de ellos.
No se escribir ni hablar con propiedad, no tengo ninguna gracia artística, no me caracterizo por ser bella ni fea y tampoco puedo presumir de una aguda inteligencia. En fin, no puedo decir que mi lugar en el mundo se base en mis grandes cualidades.
Soy una ciudadana corriente, un ser humano más, uno de esos miles que populan las calles de este inmenso mundo.
Y se supone que lo unico diferente que sé hacer es pensar -¡Vaya, qué original! Al parecer eso no lo hace todo el mundo! -Pero tu piensas diferente- me dice una voz que no reconozco- tu le das voz a  lo que la gente siente.
Y yo ya no me lo creo.
Lo único que siento es dolor, enojo, frustración, cólera, ira, ganas de arrancarle las tripas al primer tipo que se atraviese. Siento, deseo, que este mundo se acabe hoy y para siempre.
Siento sueño tambien, ganas de dormir 24 horas. Tengo ganas de no sentir tanto ni de pensar en eso que siento. Tengo ganas de no tener ganas.
E irónicamente... De esas ganas de no tener ganas, nació este texto.
Celebro pues, mi regreso a la escritura desde la trinchera de lo negado, de lo inconcluso y lo ominoso.
Bienvenidos todos a este proceso, mi proceso, de reencuentro y encuentro, con las letras y la vida.
Salud!