Today, April 12, it is a day for Space celebrations. 50 years downstream it looks like a true miracle for the layman; the achievements done in the name of political -and not so much political- wars were all the great, no doubt the human mind was overstretched. Now the findings and goals reached during those years are sitting collecting dust -like the computers in the nuclear shelter at the end of Terminator 3- and memories do not shine.
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On April 12, 1933 my aunt C. was born. An authoritative woman, remained single her whole life. As time passed by, the last years have seen her deteriorate, a mental fade-out. She might be in a similar groove as the one her older brother trailed upon until his death, the same one fate could be saving for me. I used to be her favourite. I used to join her and her sister, M.C. for dinner on Sundays, with more zeal and faithfulness than a priest to the Holy Mass, a bunch of years ago already: "How do you find the flounder?... It's and splendid one. It cost me 650 pesetas (about 4 euros)". Laziness and evil are taken over, as the weeds in a forsaken garden: today my call half bother her, half make her indifferent.
This is getting too personal, I guess. Publish it, quick! Or I'll erase it.
Well, have nothing to spare. My Self belongs to Him.
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