Hello Moses

British scientists say that December and depression go hand in hand and sometimes exchange long passionate kisses under the mistletoe that naturally end up in suicide attempts. I think that my December and my depression have a conflictual, love-hate relationship, with lots of bickering and sulky silences. And definitely, they do not get intimate so easily. And they do not kiss that much. Probably at all. However, that week towards the end of December was really hard to bear. I was depressed, sad, disgruntled. I refused to see people, to talk; to be nice was completely out of question. And I knew I was pathetic. Totally pathetic but I could not help it. So pathetic that I devoted my time to long stares at the walls and deep procrastination, and I stubbornly refused to do the things that I enjoyed that much. Instead, I was focusing on cleaning the apartment with that kind of obsessive determination. I definitely should do this. And this, too. Oh, and that too. Anyhow, that impassible dust does not give a shit about a depressed white-collar acting like an obsessive-compulsive Hausfrau. 

As a consequence of that antisocial behavior, she was travelling alone to a game where I was supposed to be. Actually, she tried to persuade me. Discretely, with that kind of elegant insistence that someone could rarely refuse. But I could not step out of my bad mood. For a very short time, I was thinking that I could go. But, I would not have been a pleasant companion. Not even a human one. Who am I to spoil her joy?! So I remained at home converting depression into cleaning the house, and obsessively listening to Charlie Puth’s song we don’t talk anymore.

Then she called. I made it. I am on the train. What are you doing? I'm taking down the curtain to wash it up. A real challenge you know for a shorty like me. I can tell my hubbie to come and help you. No way, I’m taking him to concerts only, that’s it. Nothing more. And maybe to mount up the shelves I intend to buy. My hubs?! Well someone has to do it. But, I have no idea when I’ll buy it. And from here, we got lost in the land of philosophical discussions about the sense of life and the greatness of Allah the world most famous entomologist and his team of 72 virgin mole crickets. It was quite unclear the role of mole crickets but it was not the first time when we had pretty long idiotic phone conversations. We agreed that it was kind of a creative training we both need, so that, from time to time we sensually plunged into the realm of crazy talks. Therefore, we concluded that those 72 virgin mole crickets might serve as a healthy desert, all coated in salted caramel, even though not that day, because of the advent. And Allah celebrates Xmas, that’s what you want to tell me. Only when he decides to disguise himself as Jesus. How did we end up here? I have no bloody idea. And we kept derailing on various subjects until I told her. I had an epiphany last night. An epiphany? Exactly. That we end up resolving the conflict we had on 1^st of January this year. Did we have a conflict?! Yeah, remember? Climbing that hill… Ah yeah I remember. I was really furious. I know. You decided to turn back in the middle of the road, the fucking middle of the road. But I resolved it right before the end of the year. I chose not to go with you, and you decided to go without me … and suddenly everything went clear in my head. That somehow that was my lesson for the time being. I can’t stop in the middle of the road. I have to keep going. I have to go back to the things left aside and resume them or finish them. Or pronounce them dead and have them buried and never resurrected. A clean cut. No loose ends.

So, dear tassels, and fringes and tufts it’s gonna be a hard time for you soon. Moses is here to part the seas, and, if you stop bustling for a while, you can hear his bare feet crushing the empty shells on the rock bottom of the sea and hear the familiar sound of GPS telling him it’s time to set the right direction. And get two bottles of tequila.