Category Archives: Personal

Do you still remember me?

Last time I wrote was almost two years ago. I remember having coming through a series of deaths in my family. Guess what? There’s life after death. Yep, now I’m a future soccer mom/already a ballet mom of two. My little girl now has a little brother.

Vintage Mother’s Day IllustrationI was thrilled when I realized all those stomach problems weren’t caused by food poisoning. Hubby was so surprised because we weren’t expecting it. Aimee’s pregnancy wasn’t an easy business. Who knew, baby Richie’s would be a breeze.

Now we’re a happy family and I’m pretty much ready to go back writing. Let’s see how it goes.

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Remember me?

No, really, do you remember me? I’m the future soccer mom who still wants to be a writer.

The last couple of month I’ve been MIA. What happens is that life is actually a haiku. I’ve learned that when a series of sudden deaths plagued my relatives.

It’s not been easy coping with all the pain death causes, especially if there’s been several of them.

Color picture of an old typewriter

Bodie Typewriter by Jon Sullivan

Now that I’m back on track, I’m back into writing.

Last year I wanted to write a short story. Now I’m full into the poetic drive. I usually write poems in Spanish, but I’m writing and that’s what really matter.

The short story must wait; now poetry rules.


Surrealist feelings

I was still feeling a little off when I wrote the earlier entry. I’m not sure what I wanted to say exactly. Maybe it all was the effect of all the medicines. Maybe I should erase it, but I don’t want to. I’m recording my struggles trying to write and bizarre entries are part of it.

When I’m sick with the flu or any feverish illness, I get into a delirious state even if it’s a non-flu flu. I used to get the weirdest dreams that reminded me of the Surrealists. Have anybody ever seen Luis Buñuel‘s Un perrro andaluz? I saw it at New York’s MoMA a couple of years back. That’s the kind of dream I’m talking about.

Luis Buñuel caricature-like ilustración

Luis Buñuel by El Humilde Fotero del Pánico

They’d be perfect if I actually manage to remember them, but all I could recall are incoherent pieces and I’m not sure I’ll be able to use them in any way.

I’m not the kind of person that wakes up and write all her dreams. Never did it before and I won’t start now. However, sometimes I wish I were, because I’d have a journal filled with hundreds of ideas ready for me to write about. Or maybe not.

Meanwhile I’m still unable to write and wishing ardently I’d be able to.


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