Arrugas Interiores

Sorry, but I don't know how to define this book. It is a mixture of essay, diary, fiction, autofiction... and maybe something more. It basically deals, and in a humorous way, with almost all the ills that affect the old people -elders, yayos, seniors, fossils, vetustos...-, that is to say, myself. There is anger, pessimism, irony, cynicism and a lot of anger. Because growing old, as I see it and as I suffer it, is much worse than dying, especially because the trance lasts much longer, the predicament in which life seems to gloat, doing all sorts of things to you: diseases, loneliness and, above all, the feeling of having become the guy you never wanted to be. The worst thing about old age is, perhaps, not feeling old. Sexual desire remains, but opportunities are scarce and dates are nonexistent. Yes, this book talks about that too, about the misery of sex in the "third age". Of the desire to have everything you will never have again. Of emptiness. Of the need for others (companionship)..., and at the same time of the estrangement from others. Of everything we don't want to talk about and yet it is there. Of the truth and the lies we tell ourselves. Of how dangerous it can be to start liking loneliness. Of our bad relationship with reality. It is humpbacked to grow old, dear reader, but at least let's have a few laughs, don't you think?