“I wanted to stay at home and rest. Or that what I thought, until the confinement came and it was horrible, that's when I started having anxiety. I'm tired of fighting inertia," she said as she held a cup of coffee, moving the spoon in circles, faster and faster, until it formed a frothy swirl.
She looked everywhere avoiding me, carefully choosing the next words to come out of her mouth.
I, like oneself hunting a fly, waited patiently for her eyes to land.
She looked at me and said:
I am a spoon.
I'm a teapot! I crooned, choreographing the famous song from my childhood. My continual need to please people sometimes makes me do this shit. I was expecting to get a slimy grimace for the effort but no, I got a hearty laugh.
Not a spoon, no, I'm this spoon!
She said as he held the cutlery like on the cover of the Amelie movie. I don't know if she did it on purpose or if it was an unintentional homage. I decided not to comment on it.
Showed me the cup, dropped the spoon and the tsunami of coffee washed over the cutlery. The staging was not very spectacular, it barely moved a few centimetres.
My head spins round and round faster and faster and I go with it. I know I'm not well but I'm afraid to stop, I'm afraid because when I stop, that's when I'll notice everything I've been dragging around, I don't want to go back to having anxiety so I'm addicted to stress, it makes sense, does it make sense? In my head it does.
She took a sip from her cup and concluded:
-That's why we have coffee in the morning and anxiolytics, isn't it?
