U-do or maybe not

Today I feel like writing again, maybe it's the weather that's helping: it's cold and rainy, and meesa like that.

I've had a flashback that took me back to 2005, to Udo. I hadn't thought of him in a while, 11 years... poor guy, he was nice, he was real... I've had a few flashing memories treading on that path and I've remembered that beautiful red-haired girl, can't recall her name though it was probably sometihing like Sabine (sounds right I think). For a while I have been thinking (whenever I got to thinking about this) that I fucked up pretty good chances of having long lasting friends on the other end of this beautiful yet everdying continent. But more recently I've come to realize that maybe I didn't strive to keep them close because I didn't feel they were right for me. Maybe they were just supposed to be the railing you cling on to when you lose your step... They are gone, but they'll never be really gone for me, even now they are a part of me, of myself back then.

Okay, brief news: this weekend I felt really adult, but in a really good and cool sense, neither paternalistic nor patrozing. I was asked, I replied, I said I wouldn't mind, I really didn't mind, and I felt good for realizing that I've grown. And I was happy.

And today, browsing through facebook, utterly physically destroyed, I came upon a video of a friend of mine singing Hurt by Johnny Cash, and I liked it. And I remembered the funny way in which I met her, and how for a while I had phantasized about what kissing her would be like, what hearing her play for me would be like... And then suddenly I felt the urge to play the guitar and sing. It came over me like a claw in the dark, I had to play and sing, it was just what I needed to lift my spirits up. Picked up the guitar, looked for the chords and the lyrics and began playing. and my spirits rose, first singing coarsly, then singing mildly, but firm. My fingers remembered the old metal skin embalming the strings, that raw and sharp pressure upon the tips, the way the hand gripped tightly yet seemd to flow in a succession of movements that I didn't even require me to need to look at the frets to check whether I was playing right. And I was happy.

Today I remembered something some wise person once told me: happiness is not a state one can achieve. Happiness is a succession of tiny little events that take place in your life that give you a stroke of sudden bliss without any need for justification.

And then I was happy again.