few days ago I do not know what to write. I sit at the computer, I watch the white rectangle where until several weeks ago I wrote an entry every day and I wonder who has stolen all my words. For weeks now I think I need a change, a breath of fresh air, extreme regeneration. I'm not a desperate woman. In fact, today more than ever. So Desperate I said goodbye. Greet you soon, from another place and another dimension. And under another name.
Today is April 14 . I thought talking about the pride that has little Carmen Chacón awakened in me giving orders to the army. Or about the sorry spectacle of the mayor of my town this morning, when he refused to part with a group of children who picked up an award for that photographers could immortalize shouting "This is my home" and "If I say I'm in the picture, I go." I do not know if the words are verbatim. The message certainly yes. But on April 14. And I do not want to finish the day remembering this. I prefer close eye on the future. A future in which the cry A THIRD FOR is an echo of the past. Going for us.
Every Sunday Balaídos I despair at the amount of insults you hear in the stands. It seems that many of these people go to Balaídos to vent their frustrations. The worrying thing for me is that few viewers are surprised (usually women) of the atrocities that are heard. That is, it has already taken as something normal for a big greasy as unfortunately I have behind (just to Jabba The Hut from Star Wars ) will spend 90 minutes throwing screaming like "I shit in your fucking mother fucker of shit. " But today, reading The Country , I felt relieved: 'm not the only one who does not understand this custom futbolero national insult. The report is entitled "The insult is also violence." Quite right. But if every time some other insulting Jabba reprobásemos him, even if his eyes, probably eradicate these behaviors. One thing is to shout, with the heater on one play, and spend another 90 minutes insulting. 
