's cloudy. It's Wednesday. I should not be here, doing what I'm doing. I'm doing everything wrong, my head is far from my work, flying west to a thousand miles per hour, on the wane temporarily.
My reality soon mutated, sharply. Changed direction. I do not like driving to where I'm going. I hate the way I am. I do not like where I am. I do not like what I'm doing, just at times I have a momentary dissipation of cumulus and see the sun. It lasts a while, and everything blurs back.
At first it was raining cats and dogs. Now, some days it's all in my inner sky overcast. I know the sun's out, and every flower blossom as the good things that start when the above is diluted, as the mist and clouds, which become water, or run in place.
The unanswered question is a bitch ... I want to stop being cloudy? I want to turn back or go forward without looking at any mirror? I'm fine and I have wanted to feel bad, or am for a sunrise or show it beautifully?
I have a stone in the chest or the feeling I am alarmed and cry, yes, last of all and against all odds, I have a heart?
To me, that is the crisis of 40. Any trivial and mundane excuse me have to reach for comfort.
Y con todo esto a cuestas, tengo que seguir trabajando. Días, le dicen.
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