Tati Bernardi: Julia does not believe in new days – 02/04/2023 – The Worst of the Week

Julia, I find it interesting to receive your letter just this Friday morning, after having been capsized for twelve uninterrupted hours. I love to sleep. For me, sleeping is better than eating farofa with rice that burned in the pan, better than eating fifteen of those square milk caramel candies in a row, better than taking very tasty revenge on someone who made you lose sleep and better even than than Praia do Espelho in low season.

Julia disagrees. Thinks sleeping doesn’t make any sense: “I don’t know how we bought this idea!”. She insists that dreaming doesn’t change life at all. Those who were already unemployed, sad or owing money will wake up the next day and “continue from the exact place where they left off”.

Julia, you are a poet, a philosopher, a writer. Funniest sleepless pessimist ever wrote to me. However, I am concerned about your health. The pandemic that worries me the most right now is autoimmune disease – and not sleeping is almost like buying ten tickets to the VIP area of ​​hypothyroidism, neuropathy or even diabetes.

Even though I love to sleep, I’m very pissed off. And I sleep badly and little. I find it curious who takes drugs to feel more excited and agitated. I wish there was a drug that would turn my bloodstream into the placid brook of a Zen spa. There are several of these drugs in the pharmacy, I know very well, but I avoid it as much as possible, because I need my brain to work.

It turns out that I only rest about six, seven hours a night. I go to bed thinking about work, I wake up about four times in the middle of the night thinking about work (sometimes I even get up, work, then go back to sleep) and I wake up with that horrible feeling of a frozen bile elevator, which goes from my anus to my cerebellum, telling me: you’re late! You will not close the accounts for the month! You are still nobody! Will do more and more and better!

And I live dejected, with body pain and controlling myself not to poke hard in the shoulder blade of any guy who does something slowly in front of me. And that’s not life, Julia. I think I’m turning into a kind of thick, kind of unbearable person, precisely because I don’t rest.

This week was very boring, heavy, full of disapproved people looking for trouble, and I realized that if I didn’t remove myself from my waking nightmares for at least half a day, the explosive sum of my four houses in aries with my mild bipolar with my ADHD (newly diagnosed by my friend Janones) would make me a criminal.

So I forced myself to go to bed at 9 pm and sleep for twelve hours. Twelve hours. And I disagree with you that I woke up with the same problems as the day before. None of that. I had the problems from the day before, and because I overslept, I had about 34 new problems.

Julia heard from her friend (another poet, philosopher, writer) that she doesn’t sleep because she doesn’t believe in new days. “Sometimes (always) I have this bizarre feeling that I’ve been living the same day since I was born. No date, no dividing time into months or years. I hate those little naps that interrupt the infinity of the same day and deceive me , leading me to think something is over so another can begin”.

Julia, reading you, I remembered my New Year’s phobia. I always cry, thinking that everyone is going to die, that the people who left town for the holidays will never come back and I’ll be alone for eternity in my little white outfit. I feel retching, panic. I find the change of year very sad. Not because I don’t believe in new days, but because I’m almost always very attached to old days. I believe too much in the old days because in them we are still young. Finitude scares pacas.

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Tati Bernardi answers the most unusual questions and strangest comments from her readers. Do you want to participate in the O Pior da Semana column? Send your message to [email protected]

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