This year will be

During the first hours of the year, the ancestral purpose of the amendment weighs heavily: I will go to the gym, I will stop drinking, I will watch less TV, I will save money, I will pay off the mortgage, blah blah blah. The New Year’s hangover delays our desire for reform at least until the midday frenzy, … the sad sadness of the remains. And we always promulgate the aspiration of eating healthily by pressing a shortbread. But it comforts us to fantasize that it will be the case this year. This one does it. It’s the right one. Some of us even abandon the idea that in 2026 we will see Pedro Sánchez fall. We couldn’t go on a diet and wanted nothing less than for the president to call elections. This is why New Year’s Day is so beautiful. There is a fascinating charm there which draws us towards a fierce optimism, towards the definitive change of cycle, towards the beginning of our new life. That’s the error. Where does it say new is better? Everything disappears on the second page of the almanac, or at most on the day of the return from the presidential vacation, the day of the first parliamentary session with the perverse spirit of Fray Luis de León, we said yesterday… But today is today and we must allow ourselves the chimerical fabulation before the noisemaker fades, taciturn and salivating, and the routine overwhelms us with its overwhelming far-right melopea, which works early in the morning under a sheet in the hallway, boo, boo, he’s coming. Today we have the opportunity to dream of a united Spain, without corrupt people or macho masters of feminism, without investigations of family members or public institutions demolished by the almighty, without deputies in prison or foreigners in the secretariats of organizations, with budgets, with plurality, with common sense, with ethics and with shame. Tomorrow Puigdemont will return, Aldama will sing, Koldo will put another hard drive on sale, there will be another one in front of Ábalos and the red line of illegal financing will be repainted green. But not today, today we must light the candles of 2026 with the hope of the ballot boxes. This year, that will be the case. This one does it.

In the last glass of Chinchón or Cazalla, Machaquito or Mono we will take a jipio towards the utopia of electoral advancement because the fire of alcohol that passes through our chest will push us to cry that it is impossible to continue like this, that no one can resist this, that this time it will fall, that the partners will no longer be able to support it and that the UCO will narrow the path until there is no other way out. But tomorrow we will still see that the top hat of La Moncloa is like Mary Poppins’ purse, that from there can come salary increases for civil servants without approved budgets, the Catalan quota without a financing agreement, the constitutionality of the amnesty and the unconstitutionality of the sentence of the Attorney General, the lackeys of TVE and the zero counter of Peugeot.

And how beautiful is it to eat the leftover spun eggs while thinking about what it will be like this year?

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