Strange nostalgia

First of all, I mean I think horrible writing this blog. The way we edited the text is weird. I do not like to have a fixed time to save what I write or have a limit to my texts. In fact, if I only knew how many letters is the maximum size allowed, it would be a good thing, but do not know. This blog requires me to write fast, wrong and, worse, forces me to write so gross and ugly. This has to change. I do not want limits or deadlines. Otherwise, go ahead.

Today I was at Anápolis, a city in Brazil where I lived for eight long and bitter years. I hate seeing the word "Anápolis" printed in any place whatever.

I was there today. It was not so bad. I talked to a stranger woman who works at a company where I worked seven years ago, when it, the company, was still in its infancy. I felt a strange nostalgia for a time that I had any illusion, while it had no real hope. But fate is so interesting! Of my illusions, there's nothing left, and of the lack of real hope, a unexpectedly exit came out of that tomb in which I lived for five years. A tomb of five floors, cement and glass, in a forgotten corner at night, and full of amorphous and fleeting faces during the day. Fate took me out of my Anápolis' grave, and put me in another, where nowI live, in Goiânia, Brazil. It makes little difference. Simply I vegetate differently.

I'm listening to Creed, but I was listening to Linkin Park, Hybrid Theory, a CD that I bought almost a year ago, and it was still with the protective plastic from the store. I never cared to hear it before. I just felt a compulsion to buy it, the original, then I bought a version of it, pirate, and my friend stole it from me, still on the table from a bar, before I had time to hear it. I bought the pirate CD from a ambulant salesman who sold their crap from table to table, and went to the bathroom. When I returned, the CD was missing. My friend, who was half drunk, like CD and hid it, and I was pissed, cursed God and the world, and he, my friend, cursed together, but was quiet and kept the CD. Then I was at the mall and bought the original CD, I paid five times more expensive in the store and put together with my other CDs too, next to my computer, and he stood there, unheard yet. No, it was the only one who I bought and still have not heard. There's another Linkin Park, Meteora, this, yes, pirate, who has not yet been heard. But that's nothing.

I know that, in a sense, I am a compulsive buyer of certain things that please me. Not that I lose interest. It is something like: I'm going to buy now when I can and when I want I will really use it. It is actually a sort of poor man's pulse. Something like a squirrel, which gathers acorns to eat in winter. Basically, I do not think I will have another opportunity. My fear is not to find what I seek in the future, but do not have the money to buy what I want to come to. Not that I care about losing the product, because I know there will always be products to be purchased. Maybe in ten years I did not find the CD of Linkin Park, but there are other good bands with their CDs for purchase. The issue is not that. What I do not want is to lose the opportunity to spend my money so enjoyable now that I have something good in the hand. It's like a poor man who has to sell lunch to buy dinner. I like this example. I have to take the chance to spend my money right now because I do not know if I'll have money tomorrow. This means an obvious psychological problems.

It's hard to say this, but I think I have a good relationship with money, but this is subject for another story. The truth at the moment is that I was right to leave Anápolis, I was right to leave the small company where I liked to work, and that was the only illusion that I had. The only official who left from the time I worked there is the boss today. He, this big shot, my friend, is a nice guy, and I know that he, or I, we would, sooner or later, one of the two, but not both at the same time, the head of this company, because we gave the blood for it. In the end, I was right: he got there.

On the other hand, now I earn double what he earns. Who won? But fuck it, who won, who lost. Perhaps the fight has not even started for us.

One thing is certain: for the Mirages in Anápolis Air Force Base, the end arrived: an old unity of them, an old monster, pointy beak, gray and with delta wings, is now serving as a toilet for the pigeons in one of the main squares of the city . A sad end to one of those birds. And imagine that were the glory of the national aviation. To think that arrogant pilots felt like Top Guns when they climbed, playing war games and then descended from one of them! How much vanity!

Yes, I felt a strange nostalgia ...