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How are you?

It’s a question that hardly anyone asks me.
People contact me because they need this, they need that, or they have a problem.
And those who ask me don’t care about the answer.

And so I’m writing here, because hardly anyone frequents this place anymore: I feel unpresentable.
Physically, I hate my body and cannot improve it.
Psychologically, I always seem not to say the right things, not do the right things, be nice enough, or smile enough.
Work-wise, I couldn’t do anything but survive, barely.

That’s the way I feel.
When I think of this song, I go back to my 15 years, and I realise that nothing has changed except that I have become old in the meantime.

It is a question of quality
Or a formality I no longer remember
Like deciding to get a haircut
To give up coffee or cigarettes
Of ending it with someone or something
A formality
Or a matter of quality

I am well I am sick I do not know where to stay
I am well I am sick I don’t know what to do
I don’t study I don’t work I don’t watch TV
I don’t go to the cinema I don’t do sport

It is a question of quality
Or a formality I no longer remember
Like deciding to get a haircut
To give up coffee or cigarettes
Of ending it with someone or something
A formality
Or a matter of quality

I am well I am bad
but it is a formality

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