Damn 2017

Dear Insane Minds,

We have spent several weeks of unending regret over the Christmas theme. Not only me, but the MenteSana thus written all together, or at least their Blogging Minds: the Camarena, the Soler and even the very Ibone Olza, who was resisting the general discouragement but was marked last week a post piece under the title “The soul is a black hole.” So, pim pam. Then you open it and it says the thing is about donuts, so it’s not as dramatic as you’d expect. But hey, there it is.

Total, that’s enough. It has been very comforting to cry together like this for the past few weeks, but dragging it along for longer is still worse than the illness itself.

I am going to tell you a little topic that My Therapist has told me (in capital letters, because she is The Great Lady of Therapy, my Rocío Jurado del Diván) and that is that feminists and other women like this have a problem. One, it says! …

Let’s say we have one, at least, that I hadn’t seen until now: we are so into the trouble of looking for chestnuts and getting ahead on our own, because we are also used to having to do it, that it costs us a lot to ask for help or complain or talk about our bad situations because we have an allergy to victimhood. So much allergy that we confuse everything with victimhood and that cannot be either.

Total: it has been nice to be able to complain for a few days about how bad we have been in childhood and how stirred we are at Christmas, because that has not necessarily been victimhood, but sharing experiences. But that has already happened, that if I keep writing through tears I will get an allergy and finally it is December 28 and this damn year is over and we can turn the page or close the folder definitively.

Another dodgy thing that we modern people have like this is that we have lost the magic. Antonin Artaud, in The theater and its double already warned that a life without magic can not even be called life.

We, Modern Minds, have lost so much magic that we do not allow ourselves a joy, a ritual, or a thing. And the rituals are important, and they are beautiful.

I say this because reaching the end of the year means nothing and from December 31 to January 1 nothing happens. Already.

Well, for me, who believe in everything I can and I love magic and I invent or join any ritual that crosses my path, it comforts me to think that there are two moments a year, which for me are New Years Eve and San Juan, in which I can do a reset and start over, and in which I do my little things to close processes that also need the symbolic to be able to close and that I feel very good to be able to do. As a gift for bruised guts, as something that does not pass for the real, for the tangible, but for the magic.

I already know that they are bullshit, but look at what luxury to be able to feel better based on things that are bullshit, and not only need very transcendental things (or very complicated, or very expensive) to feel better …

So finally the end comes. I personally will burn pieces of paper with all the fatal things that have happened to me this year, which have been quite a few, and I will bury pieces of paper without burning with all the good things that I hope for next year. And I will surround myself with people who love me and I will enter the year giving me hugs and convinced, even for a few minutes, that everything, by magic, will go well for us.

Happy week and happy new year, Minds!