Suddenly nothing is urgent

Where were you? I was in a hotel, without a telephone, taking a viticulture course, and suddenly the receptionist told us that the power was out outside. But in Andorra and Germany too (we later learned that the false information had spread very quickly). I had to send the article; I had written it and it needed to be reworked. But that article, an article about who knows what, has become completely obsolete. What was it talking about? Normal life? If I can call, I think, I'll do like the old days, like Josep Pla, who dictated. But no, there's no power. We went out to eat; however, of course, restaurants don't have kitchens or payment terminals, and we don't have any cash. One of the students has his daughter at school, far from Barcelona. The other—who works at El Celler de Can Roca—had to take the high-speed train back to Girona. Should I take the train? I don't have a metro ticket. I'll bring you, if I can get in touch with my family. We had an appointment.

Suddenly, all the urgent things, the things that couldn't wait at all, are now waiting. Time management suddenly changes. The waiter at the restaurant tells us we'll pay him tomorrow. We can't take taxis, and the hotel generator will run out. The food we froze will spoil. We're cut off like before, like when we didn't hear from the people we love all day long, not like now. What are they doing?

"Don't you know what happened?" the hotel receptionists ask us. "No, we don't." And they tell us no, that the power is out, that we have it but no one else does. And the hospitals? And everything that was supposed to happen and hasn't? The appointments, the commitments, the WhatsApp and the bizumasUrgent emails, which arrive suddenly, are from another era. We feel alive; suddenly we're a tribe.