Is that aging?

I was not really focusing my attention on something. It was still raining at the beginning of the evening, i had this little cold that weighs down the bladder, tickles the nose and bugs the throat. In the office, the air conditioning system did not help, unable to decide between spring, winter, maybe even autumn.

It was a rather dull office day. And I drag my little fatigue towards choir rehearsal, heavy eyes, the thought still attached to his anguish or weakness. I fell asleep, I still fall asleep, twenty-four hours later. The cold has not yet let go, but we are promised one of those fifteen degrees Celsius that will make city dwellers and idle people smile again. It is a beautiful sunny day. Earth and life are turning.

Another day at the office, then. Another accumulation of fatigue. Then, thirty minutes to analyze the increasingly sophisticated vocal exercises of the Concone method. Another thirty minutes to a Totsi tune, my eyes fixed on this beautiful song, but my ear that always sings to me just a little too high. It makes me angry. I do have the impression that I have hit the wall with my abilities at this level, mechanical in my singing, deaf to the melody.

Fatigue, therefore, the recognizable feeling of maintaining myself in a balance that is afraid of my own vertigo. If I can take deep breaths, if I can calm my heart, there is still at the end of my thoughts, at the tip of my fingers, the reflex to grind black pepper.

I seem to be able to write only to complain. I’m the first one to feel sad. I can laugh with people. In fact, I only laugh with people, I am only leaning against souls, surrounded by the intense friendship of this man on the ground floor, accompanied also by the beautiful camaraderie of my teammates at work, nourished by the presence of Ganymede’s singers. I am satisfied with this loneliness, which is not loneliness. However, I am always on the lookout for a glance, a promise before reasoning with myself and telling myself that if I want to look too hard, I can’t find anything.

I don’t know how to say this, because I know all this.

I have all this and I have nothing. To put it bluntly, I calm down and calm down. And I continue ruminating like bad digestion that manages to mix the acidity of the stomach with the reasoning of the brain.

What is this black fire that warms me and cools my heart? Is that growing old?