Be yourself, nothing else

"Te despiertas y no te hace falta abrir los ojos para saber que las nubes siguen estacionadas muy cerca de tu ventana. Recuerdas que es mayo. Te preguntas si estas lluvias son las lluvias de mayo. Ya no se puede confiar ni en el clima. Te estiras un poco, sin salir de la cama. Por fin levantas los párpados, miras hacia la ventana y sientes una luz débil, gris. Es un martes tímido y pluvial. Afuera, la ciudad apenas comienza a levantar sus ruidos. Un poco a tientas, tomas el control remoto de la televisión y enciendes el país."

"You’re always haunted by the idea you’re wasting your life."

"…For myself, I have no aim. I have no ambition. I will let myself be carried on by the general impulse. The surface of my mind slips along like a pale-grey stream reflecting what passes. I cannot remember my past, my nose, or the color of my eyes, or what my general opinion of myself is. Only in moments of emergency, at a crossing, at a kerb, the wish to preserve my body springs out and seizes me and stops me, here, before this omnibus. We insist, it seems, on living. Then again, indifference descends. The roar of the traffic, the passage of the undifferentiated faces, this way and that way, drugs me into dreams; rubs the features from faces. People might walk through me. And, what is this moment of time, this particular day in which I have found myself caught? The growl of traffic might be any uproar—forest trees or the roar of wild beasts. Time has whizzed back an inch or two on its reel; our short progress has been cancelled. I think also that our bodies are in truth naked. We are only lightly covered with buttoned cloth; and beneath these pavements are shells, bones, and silence."