These days dear diary I have not lived breath, because I have been ill, I am not in good condition lately, I have extreme pains, which sometimes take my breath away, and that make me shudder with pain for periods of 6 and 7 hours.

Between this, which I prefer to ignore, so as not to think about them and for them to disappear for at least an instant from my consciousness, and between the fact that I haven't stopped working during the hours when I haven't cried in pain, I have little rest.
It's already Christmas, and I haven't put up the tree yet, or any type of decoration that reminds me of the saint's day in which we live, and I don't know if I'll put them up.

I'm not in a very Christmas spirit this very negative year of my life, but who knows, maybe I'll fuck off the discouragement and bitterness by filling everything with tacky colors and bright gold. I will put lights on and off to the rhythm of the pulse of a Christmas that begins. Whether we like it or not, Christmas is ingrained in our subconscious since childhood, at least in the West. We have it in us in a programmed way and it is a pending appointment, which we are not able to forget and play down, perhaps due to a happy memory of our childhood or an association of other memories, which for an average well-off society, is normally an evocation of meeting , peace and family happiness.

Without my father, without Manchitas, without Basi, without Hilarita, without Bonzo, without Coca, without Feito, without Uxía, Christmas will never be the same again. They're lame, and they don't make much sense now. However, "life goes on", I know and perhaps it is not just a set phrase.