Las palabras justas

This is a diary about sad days and happy days -"Absolute euphoria and happiness are a millimeter away from a panic attack"-, written without trap or cardboard, without false modesty, or pompous pomp. Written following this premise: "One writes only in the face of danger, there is no other honest way to do it, the slightest hint of complacency is a sign of cowardice. You write against yourself first and then against everyone. You put yourself against the strings, it's the loneliest job in the world, you don't even have yourself, you show up completely stripped, it's worse than love". In these pages, masks appear from time to time, but above all, life appears: children, love, yoga classes, visits to the psychiatrist, chance encounters, reunions, walks around the neighborhood, writing as a daily gymnastics... And seduction and the passage of time also appear, the disquisitions on true elegance, Proust, the literary and vital lessons of Chekhov, the emotion to tears before the celebration of life of West Side Story of Spielberg or a hilarious list of typologies of readers observed during the long signing sessions at fairs. And love, always love: "In love nothing is a waste of time, everything is useful, the most banal, the most absurd, the most ridiculous, the most humiliating, the most painful experience is useful, nothing ever falls on deaf ears. It is impossible wasting time with love, falling in love - even if it's only for two days, even if it's foolishly, even if it's out of spite or boredom or curiosity - it always serves precisely the opposite, to buy time".