What to talk about when there is so much to talk about? What to think with so much noise around? Where to look without getting lost in the landscape?
We could speak, for example, of Time change. Of that extra hour that they give us on a Sunday, when autumn has arrived, but that, mercilessly, they demand that we return another Sunday, as soon as spring begins, like someone who takes the toy from the child due to lack of attention to the rules of the game. We could speak, yes, of that hour of more and less, of that return gift that generates the same and divergent discussions every six months. We could. But would it do any good? I doubt it. From 1974 until today, experts from all over Europe are reflecting on what is better and what is worse, that if the moon or the sun, that if the night or the dawn, and in those almost fifty years they have been unable to reach an agreement. Would it help if we now spend the time in this article thinking about the subject? I am clear that not. So I give up writing about it.
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We could also speak, for example, of the resilience. Of our resistance capacity, put to the test in each newscast. How far or until when we will be able to endure. Of our emotional balance. But would it do any good? I doubt it. Each one manages their emotions as best they can. And when it comes to balance, I know few people who can stand on one leg for long periods of time. Since the beginning of the pandemic – one year and eight months now, who vaccinates us against that bad memory? – We are all in search of a “permanent center of gravity & rdquor ;, But it is clear that the center has been lost and that the only gravity that remains is that of the events that overwhelm us: from the coronavirus to the volcano and from the light to the chronicle of events, not to make the list longer. Would we gain stability if I extended myself now in any of these subjects? I’m sure not. That is why I also give up writing about it.
We could speak, perhaps, of the latest and most recent threat: the global logistics collapse. Three words like three missiles. I type them on the keyboard and my teeth chatter. I say them out loud and the walls crack. Collapse, that is, patatus. Logistics, that is organization. And worldwide, that is, of everything and everyone. That the leads are going to melt, well. That there is no bread for so many mouths. And that in a little while we will run out of supplies, without containers and without Christmas gifts. I understand that it is as if due to the pandemic the distance between China and Barcelona had multiplied by a thousand, the same with the transport time and the same, logically, with the prices. Would it alleviate your concern if I began to ponder now about the microchip drought that awaits us? I bet not. Because I give up writing about it.So what will I write about this Monday so as not to upset your bridge? Chestnuts, sweet potatoes, ‘panellets’, saint’s bones and a good glass of cava. Enjoy it. And what has to be, will be.
Reference-www.elperiodico.com