... a friend came by. We stayed in the winter garden. We talked less than we usually do when we are together. Coffee in the table. Talking about research work. Talking about life. Back to working again. Each one, facing it's own computer.
Inside I'm thinking about the meaning of live. A much to big question. Start to think that is easier if I just think about the meaning of live for me. Guess I'm starting to understand that the meaning of life is loving passionately. When we love someone or something, we can build dreams. Inside us grows a force that tells us that we can make anything. Everything. Must be the reason why people in love feel younger, rejuvenated, energized.
We talk again. The sound of typing in each computer and the clicks on her mouse, must be a sign that we are both working. I light another cigarette... Way to many in this last days! I go on thinking about love and the meaning of life, and how we need to love and feel loved. This must be a to often talked about topic. But my mind wants me to go on. My fingers are doing the typing. And that makes me feel like working. I'm not. Sometimes, we just have to keep on. Typing, you know. Even if nothing comes out, they say we have to keep typing. I wonder. I keep typing, nevertheless.
Back to thinking about what's the meaning of life. No. Back to thinking about what's the meaning of my existence. Thoughts like these should have ended long ago in my teenage years. It seems not. Forty one years, and now I don't have an answer. Funny to think that in the meantime, along the way, I thought I had the answers. The effort we put on reconstructing, all the way, the meaning of our lives in such a delicate balance. Sometimes, without anticipation, they simply disappear. Collapse. Maybe we can't just remember. Maybe it's just a system malfunction. Maybe some events trigger these kind of thoughts. Mid life crises. If only I could be just a label, life would carry on. Normal. Usual.
Back from thinking, still in the winter garden. Just some sounds. We're both still working. Well, at least we are both still looking into our computers and typing. The sound of the mouse is louder. So is the sound of typing. We must be both working hard... because that's the only sound in here. Now we don't talk. I go make us more coffee. Maybe it will keep us typing longer. And we talk about the coffee and then get back to working (or should I say, back to typing). So many things that need not to be said when we are with a long time friend. Life, sometimes, does not look easy. We keep on. We must all keep on. We clinch to dreams. Dreaming is good. I need those to keep running. But I'm tired...
Had I been dreaming all along? How can a dream, so delightful, so long awaited for, can be taken back? My mind tries to recreate past events. Memorable. Are they real? They must have been. They are so vivid in my mind that they seem real. Once upon a time, there was a women who worked in a Government Research Lab. An ordinary women, working in an extraordinary place. There was not a single day that matched the previous one(s). Everyday had something special. Something unique, that needed to be learnt and shared... [...].
No. It was a dream, I'm sure. There's no trace of that place. Went looking for the office that faced the private garden, with the books on the shelves, the green plants, the mind map pieces glued on the door, the traces of past, present and future projects, the energetic team, all the partners involved in the projects, the working, the challenges.... nothing. None of those things exist. But if those 5 years, were but a dream, what was I doing during that time? Why do I keep pretending that they are still there? Why does my mind keeps convincing me that they existed?... I must be tired.
Have to think about getting back to life (whatever that is)! In the mean time, maybe I get to live another dream and my mind can fly away from all the reality that is sucking me.