Published on Sunday, December 4, 2022 at 12:00:00 pm by Cédric Gasperini
Dedication
I went to bed at 4 am. To be honest, it’s not my age anymore. It will take me at least 3-4 days to recover and no longer wander around the house like a zombie, hoping that someone will repeat something to me twice, to be completely sure that I understood them correctly.
You have to get used to the reality of the passage of time. In my twenties, I could cling to walruses and nights of role-playing games, and then walk away, as in forty, and without blinking an eye, ask about lessons and sports training. Today… after a short night, I only dream of crashing like stale manure on the sofa, under a blanket, near the lovely crackle of wood in the fireplace and the Christmas movie on TV. Not that I particularly like it, mind you. But when you live at home with three girls, you can’t miss the Christmas movie season, with all those stupid Prince Charmings, thinking that having a husband or father like me isn’t enough for them, not like in a fairy tale. Madness, anyway.
The event itself is not that I went to bed at 4 in the morning and woke up so late that I did not have time to write my editorial, no. These are the reasons that made me go to bed at 4 am, which is more surprising. Since I know you (or rather, you know me), you probably think that my evening was spent in liters of alcohol, very loud music (and no rap, because it is always and more than never shit) and girls with few virtues.
If only. I like it, me, evenings with liters of alcohol, very loud music (but not too much) and girls with little virtue. Only lost today, those evenings. Especially unworthy girls. And then my dear, gentle and loving wife usually pouts when there is too little virtue.
But good. Not even. Yesterday I spent an evening with myopaths.
So no, correction: not “with”, but “for”. Realize that there was not a single myopath on the horizon. Like the fact that these people are not very grateful. We are organizing a big volleyball tournament to collect donations, not to come and chat with the players. Even the team that registers, well. So don’t give me contrived excuses like “but I can’t play volleyball, I don’t have lungs” or “I can’t play volleyball, I’m in a wheelchair.” When we want, we can. It’s all in the head, shit at the end. We break a hoe (note the peasant expression from 1912) to fund their treatment so that they at least reach puberty, and they, in turn, are not even cursed to come and kick the ball. What ingratitude! Then we are surprised that when I meet one of them, I deflate the tires of his wheelchair or push him down the stairs! But admit that they achieved it!
However. This is what. I gave my time, and quite a lot of time (because the tournament requires advance preparation) for the telethon. For a refund. And I didn’t even leave with the cash register.
I’m softening, actually.
You will see that if this continues, I will eventually become good. My children and their mother constantly tell me that there is no danger in this, that I am still very, very (very, very, very) far from it, but I feel it, that eventually it will happen if I don’t carefully. As we do something good and boom, we realize that we have become a smiling old man who says nice words to children and gives them sweets without even spitting on them or sprinkling hot peppers. Even the old man with the dog. Do you see the board? Brrrrrrrr, I shudder with horror!
Come on, I’ll hit the invalid to restore balance.
