Santi Molezun 2022

Santi MolezUn

I write from bed

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Today, December 6, is a holiday, one of those days in which one stays at home to enjoy his interval of dead hours, of the little, scarce and scant free time that I have not enjoyed for a long time.

I joined life late, around 17:00 p.m., when hunger prompted me to raid the fridge, and the postures in bed were no more than muscle aches and limbs asleep, I had been awake since 10:30 a.m. the morning when the consultation phone pierced my head as if it were an alarm clock, a woman requesting an appointment: – Santi Molezún … Good morning – Hello, I would like a consultation with Santi – Yes, what did you want for half an hour, or for a hour? – Could you tell me about the prices… (He hesitates) – Yes, one hour is 300 euros, and half an hour is 150 – Tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu. 

The pleasant and educated woman from Madrid must not have considered my prices opportune for her pocket and I did not skimp on saving, not only money, but words. Now, yes, the damn thing stimulated me to leave my peaceful festive sleep by canceling the rest of the only day that I didn't have to get up early, … this always happens when one schedules sleep or rest, it's like a book.

I got up, gave my cats lunch, cleaned up a daily mess of my dogs with the mop and returned to the bed with a laptop under my arm. One of the things that fascinates me the most in my free time is taking my modern computer to bed and enjoying all the information via Wi-Fi between my sheets. Megabytes and bytes mixed with the horizontal posture of drowsiness on cushion and pillow. What a pleasure to rest! Too bad my cervicals don't think the same... Few pleasant moments of leisure have passed since 1990, where I had my last vacations at the "Coroso" campsite, in a town called: Santa Uxía de Ribeira, a place and preferred space during my adolescence.

It was there that I savored my first cigarette under the cover of an ice cream stand, where I had my first kiss and knew the tenderness of love on the beach under a starry night, where I found and experienced my first relationship and breakup, and where many times I drink a few liters of happiness by the light of a bonfire with my super gang of 40 people. «Coroso» is the trunk of memories of almost a dozen years of my life, I keep it selfishly as if it were a good wine, in a rooted private nostalgia, which invades my mind every summer.

Those friends from the middle of June, July, August and even part of September occupied all my affection, trust and social life, they stayed there with the foam of the sea, infinite sunrises and pipe shells on that bench and stone table located in front of a small external bathroom and a tiny private piece of land, on top of a small beach bar outside the campsite, facing the path that led to what we called: “La casita de Chocolate”, where I celebrated more than one birthday to the fire of a bonfire. Teenagers invade everything, they appropriate any small space and make it their own, even if it is private property. That is not contemplated at the age of the explosion of hormones, where happiness along with unconsciousness are part of your life and accompany you to every bad decision you make.

Night visits to the Palmeira cemetery, where we would go to be scared or do Ouija sessions...

Like when we went to the abandoned hotel in «Riazor» where our footsteps creaked between broken glass and remains of what was a completely abandoned large hotel: mattresses, signs with the number of rooms, toilet chains, used condoms, remains of trips from the worst fashion of the 80s: drugs, Morse code flashlights for the drug launches we had to hide from.

We always took long walks to "Manolo's bar", where a beautiful old couple collected postcards from different parts of the world that their clients sent them with love, that we immediately adopted as our grandparents, and where they always gave us the most enormous pile of delicious fries, cut in the shape of a matchstick as a tapa looking out to sea from your porch. An eternal sea that seemed to meet us every summer.

Although I haven't had a vacation since then, this summer I refused to be involved day and night in my work and despite the fact that my clients insistently called me, I drove my apple-green car to a beautiful and wild Portoson nudist beach: «Queiruga».

I went there after work, every afternoon in which I conceived good and not so good, I escaped to that beautiful beach with my partner and my best friend Sergio almost daily, until 11 at night when the sun went down,! What pleasant hours I spent doing nothing! I took the opportunity to study the ancient oracle: «I Ching», throw myself on the towel, melt into the sand and to walk along the shore, with Greta and Mora, my dogs picked up from the street abandoned a cold winter for some soulless son of a bitch. My adopted "furry girls" enjoy sand and water more than I do, which is to say, they love to run illegally along the edge of the sea and enjoy the King Star as I do, who am Leo and who rules me by sign.

What beautiful movie sunsets I was able to savor every day!, wearing a pareo and tasting a delicious apple. I imagine that these are the things that one relives at the precise moment of his death, when, they say, you see all the scenes of your life go by in fast motion.

This summer I really enjoyed it, until in August I interrupted my paradisiacal and posh recreational life due to the death of the being I love the most, my Manchis kitten. That God decided after 12 years, he will return to heaven again. He condemned him with pneumonia, rampant anemia and feline leukemia. And me to take care of him day and night for more than 15 days until he sees it fall. Terrible and difficult decision that God forced me to take, having to take the life of the being who would have given it the most. And although I know that I did it for him, in order to shorten his pain and suffering, I will never exempt God or my conscience from having been the executioner of his death.

After 15 days my dog ​​Basi also left, whom I also adored, due to a malignant tumor in the stomach that had been dragging her for 2 months of her 14 long years of life, it seemed that the archangel agreed of death and the moiras of destiny to finish killing my spirit. Two saber blows that have come together these days with the death of my parakeet Hilarita, my magical and blue beloved 6-year-old daughter, her last blow.

One day today, being recreational, did not prevent me from having to attend a half-hour phone consultation and write down 3 more for this week. And it is that my criticized office does not know of hours of boredom, nor of schedules, nor of festivities, at any hour and at any moment, the telephone rings of ambition to give birth to the soul.


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