September 13, 2019
Here’s how it goes: I don’t think I’m smart enough to write a first post for a blog that, for the first time in history, would launch the career of the new Foucault… or Ricky Gervais (I wanna be a screenwriter/comedian after all). However, …
However! A part of me thinks I could be! And that generates an amount of anxiety, adrenaline and confusion, that leads me to name a Teddy bear “Procrastination,” put it over a sofa and talk to him about my feelings; a therapy that, after two years, would lead me to reflect, “Perhaps I should focus on writing just one copy to open my blog once and for all, … but, I don’t think I’m smart enough to write a first post for a blog that, for the first time in history, would launch the career of the new Foucault… or Ricky Gervais”
So, that is why I’ve chosen to simply list 43 reasons why you should read my blog (and Netflix should buy my show).
Seventeen in one shot (salt, lick and go!) “I have been diagnosed with ADHD, chronic stress, chronic depression, hyperacusis, anorexia nervosa, panic attacks and PTSD ‘of a lifetime’, in that order; I had endometriosis, a couple of surgeries, chicken pox, mumps (on both sides of my throat, at the same-freaking-time) I survived domestic abuse, sexual harassment, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, child sexual abuse… not in that order; and I have not one! but two … cats.” So you think life can be bitter? Chew your lemon!
I gave you 17 reasons in one item; I won’t waste your time.
Mother says, “I saw this woman on TV; she cooks her own vegan recipes, she opened a blog about it and now she is famous! Why don’t you do that! You’re so smart!”. I, say, “Help”;
I know that if you open a chrysalis to help the butterfly get out of it, it will die, because she needs a certain amount of time to become that beautiful thing … that my cats will try to catch;
I always wanted to become that kind of writer whose work, after her death, would be studied on college, where a professor would say: “So, what did she mean by that? Let me see some hands!” Since time is an illusion and the past, present and future are … the same (huh?) I’m living the dream and this, this is college;
I survived a divorced… and I believe that after an unhealthy (and long) marriage, a divorce can inspire a woman to become an outstanding entrepreneur: my sex life is something like hosting a seasonal, quite exclusive, B&B; without breakfast.
When I was a child, people began telling me that I was “so smart!” and that I was going to achieve great things in life! That always felt like a myth fabricated by my doctors, teachers and parents, in order to build a non-existent self-esteem and crush my mundane dreams of being a writer / comedian. So, I got a Bachelor’s Degree in Education, I became a lawyer (among other stuff) … and then gave it all up to become a starving full-time writer. You wanna read from a person who makes smart choices, right?
A hummingbird’s heart can beat as fast as 1,260 beats per minute, which is in its nature and it won’t kill it (Do I see a hand?);
My frontal lobe shrunk. I avoid hot showers since then;
Born and raised in Argentina, I always felt I didn’t belong… until after three years of visiting New York, I felt, “Ok; it smells like shit, but this is it.” And I know that these are not the times to think about being an immigrant in the US, but what can I do? Fight for it! Americans had complimented my accent, and two even tested me by making me say the word ‘fuck;’ they reached to the conclusion that I deserve a fucking green card;
To the people seeking to have a successful blog “in five simple steps!” and to make money by writing “list posts”, I say, “Shame, shame, shame;” so this is the only list post you’ll read here; today.
Money; I had some, I had a lot and I had none. In times of crisis mother says, “Money doesn’t buy you happiness, but it calms your nerves”; and dad says, “Don’t worry; somebody’s ass is going to bleed;” (remember: this is college)
During one my latest diagnoses, the neurologist said that I’m “apathetic” (I don’t give a shit about anything, but I do give a shit about not giving a shit) and I didn’t know what to do with that… During my last diagnose, however, the psychiatrist told me that I am a “resilient” person; now this is a movie title. Praise the science!
Growing up, I used to see fat people on TV and wonder, “why didn’t they stop eating when they saw they were getting fat?” When I was around 32 years old, I became obese… (Don’t raise your hand yet) I also used to see physically abused women on TV and say, “Why didn’t she leave him? I mean, like… really?” When I was 39, a man I was in love with tried to kill me. (Now, you may)
I am Blockhead; a.k.a devoted fan of the New Kids On The Block; ergo, I am awesome.
I never had a great talk with someone in my family, enlightening me about the ups and downs of life; but I did have books, movies! Madonna, Michael Jackson, Elthon Jon, George Michael, telling me all about it… and the New Kids saying we were gonna be hangin’ tough;
I don’t know when my birthday is. I thought I did … and I celebrated it for 37 years, but then… I never turned 40!
In 1988, I used to pick up stones from the ground with my best friend and reflect, “Look at the shape… This has got to come from the moon!” In 1988, it was possible for a teenager to find a stone that had fallen from the moon;
I’m a professional stalker; it’s a self-taught skill that I’m very proud of and which I want to showcase at this blog; some people call it “street photography;”
Words, have the power we give to them. One time a man told me, “Go fuck yourself!” and I had never heard that expression before…; so, even though I’ve sensed it was a bad thing, it didn’t truly hurt me; and I thought, “You mean, you want me to masturbate? I just did it before I saw you!” (Iny weeny teeny weeny shriveled little short dick man; sing!)
Once upon a time, at the end of the world …. A woman handed a new born baby to another woman and said “the mother cannot keep her.” At 37 years old, I found out that’s how the story of my life began. For all I know, I could be Superman’s secret cousin, from Jupiter… and you’d be the first one to know the truth (just, don’t blow up my cover)
I played field hockey since a very young age, until I got hit really hard on my face when I was seventeen. After recovering, I went back to the game one day … but I kept running after the ball covering my face; the coach took me off the game yelling, “get out! I cannot have a player with fear in the field!” I left and never went back. I also did figure skating and I fell down hard countless times; this coach always told me, “It’s ok… We all hit the floor more than once. Take a break. Come back when you’re ready” At
42 37 years old, I still have my skates next to the door.
I believe in spirits; in fact, I have one inside; boo!
When you meet someone, people ask you, “where are you from,” as if it would define who you are; I reply, “nowhere,” but they insist, and I insist, “nowhere;” and they say, “Everybody is from somewhere; where were you born?” And I go, “well, where I was born I lived two, three, God knows how many days; and so far I lived in two countries, seven cities and moved over eleven times. Where the heck do you think I am!?” Ergo, many uses of some useless human labels don’t apply to me… Perhaps it’s because I’m from Jupiter;
Sometimes Claudia (the “big sister” figure in my life) shows up, and it shocks me. I say, “Weren’t you dead? You were dead”, and she touches my ear lobe, she smiles at me with that gorgeous heavenly smile and says, “No, it was a mistake.” The environment feels odd, but still I hug her bursting into tears, and we talk … and laugh! … And then, I wake up. And for a second, for a fraction of a second … Do you know how I feel?
I studied International Relations for quite some time in my twenties; there I learned things that still give me the goosebumps and which re-enforced my naive will to change the world; now I know the only thing I can change is me and what I can do, and that if I spread the knowledge I gained between teachings and mistakes, and then if you spread it too… 😉
When I see screenwriters / comedians, I keep jumping into the conclusion that they meet two requirements: one, they are Jewish; two, they are fucked up. That troubles me – immensely – because I was raised as catholic; but then I think about all the things I’ve been through and I can picture the rabid and the priest, seating in front of me holding each one a resume of my life, noting their heads…; and after a long silent reflection, they say, “That’s ok. We’ll talk to Netflix.”