Me pasa a veces que tengo ganas de escribir pero no tengo nada que contar. \u00abPara qu\u00e9\u00bb, pienso. Y no escribo. Al d\u00eda siguiente lo mismo. Y me cruzo con otro \u00abPara qu\u00e9\u00bb que no hace m\u00e1s que pararme. Y as\u00ed, \u00abpara qu\u00e9\u00bb a \u00abpara qu\u00e9\u00bb, crece un \u00abpor qu\u00e9\u00bb. Por qu\u00e9 escribir cuando no se tiene nada que decir. O peor, cuando no se tiene nada interesante que decir.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Supongo que la soluci\u00f3n pasa por dejarlo estar un tiempo. Entre cada uno de los peque\u00f1os \u00abpara qu\u00e9\u00bb y los grandes \u00abpor qu\u00e9\u00bb siempre termina apareciendo un \u00aby por qu\u00e9 no\u00bb. Unas veces viene precedido por un libro, otras se camufla entre una aparente conversaci\u00f3n superflua. A veces es una peli de Marvel y otras es una de Villeneuve. Tambi\u00e9n hay veces que llega en forma de canci\u00f3n, como ha pasado hoy. Te har\u00edas un favor bastante majo si dejas de leer esto y te paras a escuchar, que no o\u00edr, la \u00faltima de Zahara, Merichane. Eso s\u00ed, si luego vuelves a estas palabras, las terminas y me dices cu\u00e1nto te han gustado pues eso que me llevo. Y que si no te ha gustado tampoco pasa nada, est\u00e1 la vida como para andar fabricando problemas del todo a cien y preocuparse por ellos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mam\u00e1 lleva unos d\u00edas en el hospital. Est\u00e1 bien, pronto saldr\u00e1, pero qu\u00e9 mal rato, x\u00e9. A m\u00ed me preocupaba haberle pegado el bicho por no haber sabido decir que no a tiempo. Me preocupaba haberlo llevado a casa por ese pensamiento tan humano de no temer lo que no puedes ver, hasta que lo ves, hasta que lo ves muy de cerca. Es curioso como un pensamiento tan humano nos vuelve tan inhumanos. Todo eso me preocupaba pero lo camuflaba preocup\u00e1ndome por el fr\u00edo que hac\u00eda en el apartamento. Con eso y lo desconcentrado que he estado en el trabajo ya ten\u00eda excusa suficiente para no castigarme con mis propios pensamientos. Y qu\u00e9 mal cuando lo que te hace da\u00f1o viene de dentro. Pero bueno, mam\u00e1 est\u00e1 mejor, pronto saldr\u00e1.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Me pasa a veces que estoy triste y no quiero contarlo.
Pero escribo y se me pasa.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Me pasa a veces que tengo ganas de escribir pero no tengo nada que contar. \u00abPara qu\u00e9\u00bb, pienso. Y no 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