Struggling, falling, dying and rising up again, I guess it is part of the job of this job called life. Many times a day I think about it, too much certainly, too far, always, it crashes my mind away. It begins long before I awake, in this sort of slow-conscious sleep, this period while you don’t dream no more but you’re not really wide awake, this time where you can still wander through time and space, through past and future, through loss and gain. It all begins here, the very first moment when I feel this eagerness to sleep again, to go back to this world of dreams to surround myself with unconscious things, to borrow a little life, a completely cranky life. Then I hear the clock ring and I squeeze it off, 9am, I know this hour, every morning. So, I change position and I close my eyes again. I know I have some time to go on, so I stay here, lying in bed, alone, cold, and blessed with sorrows. I wonder : « And what if I didn’t get up, what if I stayed here and do nothing ? » But after a while of total unrealistic fantasies I claim myself that it can’t be like that and I jump up, straight out, and then here I am, right in the middle of that life’s circle, the journey of a day. The future’s almost here.
I walk fast to the kitchen, put the coffee machine on, take a mug out of the cupboard, prepare some toasts, I adore toasts, and pour some orange juice in a glass. It takes me sixteen minutes to do all this, it’s fast, I guess, or slow for some others. Always the same gestures, as a daily ritual to prepare myself for another boring day, or I should say for another wonderful day ! By the way, after all that, I sit on the chair and have this amazing breakfast listening to the radio. Six days per week it’s a commercial radio station passing some commercial songs, nothing really soulfull, but that’s what I need in the morning, something quite light and easy to hear not to complicated to understand, something I can sing along, something. On sunday mornings it’s another...