Manel wakes up with grief in his heart, drenched in sweat, his eyes scared and a feeling of guilt for the work he has not done. And tired; he also feels very tired.
He spent the whole night dreaming that he was making useless decisions, running around the office getting nowhere, obeying orders over the phone that he didn't understand, fighting the computer system (slow and leaving him on his ass in the air because it was hanging), seeing how the delayed work (that which is left for the last minute) could not be done, and trying to balance impossible balances.
Why is there always money missing from the balance sheets?, he wonders. Why are there never any left over? With the surplus we could have a seafood dinner, he thinks, while sloshing around in a muddy puddle where he doesn't know if he's still dreaming or if his brain has told him enough and it's time to wake up.
Sitting on the bed, Manel doubts whether he is at home, because the fact that he is in balls is not enough clarification. Whether it's a bad (or a good) thing, it also doesn't help him find his place, because with Laura they've done everything and more during the long nights at the end of the month that they've spent at the company, when they've of settling the accounts and joining the bodies, when the hours are long and there is no hurry with the caresses, and the reports are piled on the tables just as the sighs are piled up, soaked, on the sofa in the office of the brand new director... And the work remains to be done, floating in that whisper in his ear that asks him for more and not to slack off, while the thought gives him the usual advice: I'll get to it tomorrow... that I still have time That in this dream Laura was there, is evidenced by the shiny tibantor of the member, the shoulder that Manel considers the most valuable in his body.
Soft snorts from the woman, Montse, still asleep, make things clear to him with GPS precision: she's home.
Still sweaty, he gets up and goes to the shower. Cold water. It will do him good to calm the longing of desire and to try to wash away the sense of guilt, mixed with a sadness that drowns him when he remembers the monumental boo that the brand new director - Mr. Pujades for the readers who have come this far - gave him he boasted yesterday and that he must have been to blame for this nightmare which, with the anxiety over the pending work, has overshadowed the joy of the rapport with Laura.
I have never seen a person with less trace and organizational ability (in a calm tone). If we always leave our work at the end, the mistakes are counted in heaps, as happened last time (with sufficient force). With the years he's been here, it seems like a lie that he falls into the same trap every month (admonition with an air of superiority). Afterwards, we all have to go on our ass because of him (now he's already got busy and some chaplains are coming out of his mouth). One of these days, you will have a surprise and you won't be able to say that we didn't warn you (the raised finger threatens a storm). The future is won every day! (the eyes are out of the sockets and the veins are about to pop).
With the memory of Mr. Pujades' last rant, Manel comes out of the shower with a changed mood and with little desire to go back to work and find this neck-breaker who doesn't leave a mark on me and who, after all, I'm sick...
Good morning!, says the daughter, Lídia, who is tearing around the kitchen like a goat. I fell asleep, explains the girl, and now I haven't done the work I have to hand in first thing in the morning, she adds worriedly. What did you order a month ago?, asks the father. Yes, Lídia says softly, a monosyllable that deflates as she looks for things and runs around the house like a spirit without a north. The pope pursues her and lets loose the litany: You can't leave work at the end (he says calmly). I've been telling you this for many years and you always do the same (the tone now is one of sufficiency). That you are already old and the same thing always happens to you (warning of those who think they know everything). Then you're on your ass, like now, because you haven't been foresight and responsible (you're tense and splashing with saliva). One of these days you'll have a surprise and you won't be able to say that you weren't warned (the raised finger endangers the new cell phone that Lídia is waiting for). You have to think that now you are working for your future; every day! (turns red like a pepper, angry).
Lídia pretends to be the pope and slides down the corridor towards the door, which he opens, and runs away, free from this repetitious scolding that he is about to hear.
In the street, Lídia looks at her mobile phone. In front of the mirror, Manel ties his tie.
"There's nothing for that", they both think, at the same time, convinced that they are right.
