I think my stories 'on the other side' and juicy memories (that are not more than that) will have to be left for some other time.
I am going soon on holidays, so my mind is somewhere else.
I will try to post from Southamerica, though not sure if I will have the time. Unfortunately, though. Because it is more difficult to collect the memories this way, to gather them up when they are done.
By the way, seems I am back to the good old times and will be performing as a dancing chick, I have got some gigs as a dancer. Who would have thought!
18 de desembre 2007
13 de desembre 2007
Sweet Miss Darling
Miss Darling, I still miss you. But it seems you have disappeared from the face of the planet.
Still looking for you...
Still looking for you...
05 de desembre 2007
My gay place
I was this weekend out and about Hamburg, enjoying the best company possible and getting my feet absolutely wet.
I told my ex-flatmate last time I saw him, after taking care of his dog again, that I can't find the strength to do anything productive. I won't get into details, I still call it stage.
Ex-Flatmate took my house keys and asked me to leave 100 Euros on the table. Whilst in Hamburg he redecorated my place. My shoes are organized instead of piled on top of each other and he has organized all my cosmetics. He's been in drawers, shelves and has even cleaned the mirrors. Things look neat and taken care of. He set the floor on the terrace, I have plant pots and not those brown plastic things they come with, paintings and modern meaningless sculptures that make the place look like a trendy Amsterdam flat rather than a recycled post-student shared apartment.
Thanks, Reina! I dare not touching anything, and though it looks so much nicer, some details, like hanging floral paintings are not quite me. I still love to see you were there, I love you heaps, loads and I am totally in debt with you.
Good that you came when I wasn't there or you would have had someone on your back telling you: this is too gay.
I told my ex-flatmate last time I saw him, after taking care of his dog again, that I can't find the strength to do anything productive. I won't get into details, I still call it stage.
Ex-Flatmate took my house keys and asked me to leave 100 Euros on the table. Whilst in Hamburg he redecorated my place. My shoes are organized instead of piled on top of each other and he has organized all my cosmetics. He's been in drawers, shelves and has even cleaned the mirrors. Things look neat and taken care of. He set the floor on the terrace, I have plant pots and not those brown plastic things they come with, paintings and modern meaningless sculptures that make the place look like a trendy Amsterdam flat rather than a recycled post-student shared apartment.
Thanks, Reina! I dare not touching anything, and though it looks so much nicer, some details, like hanging floral paintings are not quite me. I still love to see you were there, I love you heaps, loads and I am totally in debt with you.
Good that you came when I wasn't there or you would have had someone on your back telling you: this is too gay.
28 de novembre 2007
25 de novembre 2007
that IS it!
Short update NOV 25: Yesterday I had to use the pink little saviour
see MAY 8 2007 aka the therapist.
It was that, or eating my blanket.
And it is a pity, because it is so easy to be happy, and sometimes I seem to forget...
Better said: sometimes it seems I remember
see MAY 8 2007 aka the therapist.
It was that, or eating my blanket.
And it is a pity, because it is so easy to be happy, and sometimes I seem to forget...
Better said: sometimes it seems I remember
13 de novembre 2007
29 d’octubre 2007
I sniffed cement
Well. This story stayed in the stack of stories to be told, since I wanted to add bitter comedy to the history of these ongoing restless months.
I guess there is no humour left here for a while, and unfortunately I had no camera to immortalize such a ridiculous moment: the day I sniffed cement.
Do you know when you receive some news you are actually not surprised of, but somehow not really ready to accept?
Well, what happens after? It has to be celebrated. You open your best red to sadly say farewell to the most precious moments, the most precious memories and the most precious individual you keep close to your heart.
Sometimes you have to be ceremonial .
At some point you get tired of the unilateral farewell and discover such moments can yield to other sensations that can keep your lyrical ego flowing in conceptual clouds. Clouds...
My best idea at that moment was a physical act: to finally remove old stuff from the terrace. You know, you want to stay clean in the inside and suddenly scrap the outside as if it was a temporary solution, to postpone the pain to come. Oh, yeah, you see it coming.
In my case a terrace full of a year of dried material and old useless gadgets (somebody sees the connection there?)
I swear I couldn't think of anything else than that filthy terrace, the result of a day by day of endless "mañanas".
One of the gadgets in question was a 25 Kilo heavy cement bag. Why not carrying a bag slightly lighter than half my weight on a dark October night? It had to go out that_very_moment. Out with the gadgets, the thoughts, the memories and the precious pain. Out with the excretions, the dusty static, the fetal cramps, the dry cretinism, the impertinent cataclysm, the inevitable implosion.
A heavy weight. A heavy weight held on my ceremonious sweaty, shaky hands, the crusty guano, ah, the roting carton.
3, 2 ... 1 it slept. Slept like all those hugs, like the memories, like all those words that will not be said, swollen, swallowed... Sniffed!
The bag, like my heart broke down the steps, both, one pounding upwards, the other bouncing downwards in a cloud of grey... My life turned suddenly in a dusty black and white peripathetic film.
My clothes, my hair and my face, the light faded, and I sat there, fetal, again trying to comprehend, looking at those grey dusty spots, like a Dutch sky indoors above red carpet, all over the stairway. I saw it coming, but how couldn't I help it from happening? Why? WHY??!!
Apart from lyrical allegory, all that was left were 25 Kilograms of dry cement spread on each step. I was too afraid to cry for fear I would petrify that very moment and become an amalgam of cement and salty water.
Oh dear! It took me about one and a half hours to get it all out, to accept the failure and my lack of planning skill: I could have secured it, act preventively, but now, spread on the floor, now it was too late. There comes the time to pick up the pieces, to sweep the leftovers, to gather a pile of dust all around, over and partly inside of you. And make a new bag with whatever can still be collected.
Coming back to wine, after the exhausting task of cleaning, I decided to indulge myself with another couple of glasses of sweet, ceremonial aroma and taste. My unilateral farewell party wasn't over, yet. Could it get worse?
The mix resulted in a stomach ball. I felt it in the morning, I couldn't sleep, couldn't quite walk. It felt as if I had made a mixture of 10 Kilos of cement with wine in my stomach. In fact I kinda did...
That day I didn't leave the house. The sky was heavy, so was my head, so were my guts.
I babbled my last words, this time in an asynchronously bilateral textual farewell speech. My tribute. My "I lost you one day, and when I lost your heart I lost myself". I searched for the arms that rocked my cradle to refuge under the wings of involuntarily re-experienced childhood.
The ball of cement eventually dissipated leaving an empty spheric and heavier ball in my insides, an ball full of very heavy empty. The grey cloud still goes with me to bed and doesn't let me sleep.
The day I lost myself I disappeared amidst a 25 Kilo cloud of cement. The smoky cement greyness flowed over my petrified heart and now wanders around grey streets under dark canals.
My tears now taste like concrete and roll down my cheeks like gravel.
May my clearing act flow with the wind like a cloud of dust for the sake of other's happiness... but mine.
I guess there is no humour left here for a while, and unfortunately I had no camera to immortalize such a ridiculous moment: the day I sniffed cement.
Do you know when you receive some news you are actually not surprised of, but somehow not really ready to accept?
Well, what happens after? It has to be celebrated. You open your best red to sadly say farewell to the most precious moments, the most precious memories and the most precious individual you keep close to your heart.
Sometimes you have to be ceremonial .
At some point you get tired of the unilateral farewell and discover such moments can yield to other sensations that can keep your lyrical ego flowing in conceptual clouds. Clouds...
My best idea at that moment was a physical act: to finally remove old stuff from the terrace. You know, you want to stay clean in the inside and suddenly scrap the outside as if it was a temporary solution, to postpone the pain to come. Oh, yeah, you see it coming.
In my case a terrace full of a year of dried material and old useless gadgets (somebody sees the connection there?)
I swear I couldn't think of anything else than that filthy terrace, the result of a day by day of endless "mañanas".
One of the gadgets in question was a 25 Kilo heavy cement bag. Why not carrying a bag slightly lighter than half my weight on a dark October night? It had to go out that_very_moment. Out with the gadgets, the thoughts, the memories and the precious pain. Out with the excretions, the dusty static, the fetal cramps, the dry cretinism, the impertinent cataclysm, the inevitable implosion.
A heavy weight. A heavy weight held on my ceremonious sweaty, shaky hands, the crusty guano, ah, the roting carton.
3, 2 ... 1 it slept. Slept like all those hugs, like the memories, like all those words that will not be said, swollen, swallowed... Sniffed!
The bag, like my heart broke down the steps, both, one pounding upwards, the other bouncing downwards in a cloud of grey... My life turned suddenly in a dusty black and white peripathetic film.
My clothes, my hair and my face, the light faded, and I sat there, fetal, again trying to comprehend, looking at those grey dusty spots, like a Dutch sky indoors above red carpet, all over the stairway. I saw it coming, but how couldn't I help it from happening? Why? WHY??!!
Apart from lyrical allegory, all that was left were 25 Kilograms of dry cement spread on each step. I was too afraid to cry for fear I would petrify that very moment and become an amalgam of cement and salty water.
Oh dear! It took me about one and a half hours to get it all out, to accept the failure and my lack of planning skill: I could have secured it, act preventively, but now, spread on the floor, now it was too late. There comes the time to pick up the pieces, to sweep the leftovers, to gather a pile of dust all around, over and partly inside of you. And make a new bag with whatever can still be collected.
Coming back to wine, after the exhausting task of cleaning, I decided to indulge myself with another couple of glasses of sweet, ceremonial aroma and taste. My unilateral farewell party wasn't over, yet. Could it get worse?
The mix resulted in a stomach ball. I felt it in the morning, I couldn't sleep, couldn't quite walk. It felt as if I had made a mixture of 10 Kilos of cement with wine in my stomach. In fact I kinda did...
That day I didn't leave the house. The sky was heavy, so was my head, so were my guts.
I babbled my last words, this time in an asynchronously bilateral textual farewell speech. My tribute. My "I lost you one day, and when I lost your heart I lost myself". I searched for the arms that rocked my cradle to refuge under the wings of involuntarily re-experienced childhood.
The ball of cement eventually dissipated leaving an empty spheric and heavier ball in my insides, an ball full of very heavy empty. The grey cloud still goes with me to bed and doesn't let me sleep.
The day I lost myself I disappeared amidst a 25 Kilo cloud of cement. The smoky cement greyness flowed over my petrified heart and now wanders around grey streets under dark canals.
My tears now taste like concrete and roll down my cheeks like gravel.
May my clearing act flow with the wind like a cloud of dust for the sake of other's happiness... but mine.
24 d’octubre 2007
Drama, drama and melogadrama
I was cleaning the terrace today. Stopped now and will do it in bits since I cannot throw all the things away I'd like to at once.
It is also a disgusting job, all that pigeon shit.
I put some spikes on the edges and now I don't have to hear the pigeons when I sleep.
I was standing one leg on a veranda, one leg on a stair, scrubbing with my right hand and holding a soap-ammonia solution in the other.
Some background music was building a soundtrack of poo cleaning. Apart from the fact that the background must have been most possibly Pachabel.
There I discover my neighbour built a cute little isolated house in the garden to play the cello. I immediately became interested in this stranger. If he lives alone, or if he has a husband or if he is married to a woman or worse, with children and poor man needs the retrieve of music to feel close to something.
In any case it reminded me it's been a long time I don't practice guitar. I gave up the moment I realised that book was not going to teach me to get used to different positions. I have to get a teacher ASAP.
Then started thinking how much I admire people who can paint, write or make music. It is plastic, so full of meaning. Specially painters. Be able to say so much in just a few traces...
I got over the fact that I am sensitive instead of smart, I guess I cannot change my heritage of sleepy, totally resigned braincells. Wonder what makes me always so unsatisfied, where all my dismay, all my anxiety comes from. And alas, I am still quite conformed, and therefore unhappy.
I look at this neighbor playing cello, his eyes closed, the time he will spend concentrated in little moves that make such art... I see talent and try to look for mine. No particular one. I always think I can work on that. But I am getting older and my life so lame and event less.
Ay!
Today's feelings:
Little, I knew it was going to be an apathetic winter
I miss some moments with some people. But they will never be there. That's called melancholy...
It is also a disgusting job, all that pigeon shit.
I put some spikes on the edges and now I don't have to hear the pigeons when I sleep.
I was standing one leg on a veranda, one leg on a stair, scrubbing with my right hand and holding a soap-ammonia solution in the other.
Some background music was building a soundtrack of poo cleaning. Apart from the fact that the background must have been most possibly Pachabel.
There I discover my neighbour built a cute little isolated house in the garden to play the cello. I immediately became interested in this stranger. If he lives alone, or if he has a husband or if he is married to a woman or worse, with children and poor man needs the retrieve of music to feel close to something.
In any case it reminded me it's been a long time I don't practice guitar. I gave up the moment I realised that book was not going to teach me to get used to different positions. I have to get a teacher ASAP.
Then started thinking how much I admire people who can paint, write or make music. It is plastic, so full of meaning. Specially painters. Be able to say so much in just a few traces...
I got over the fact that I am sensitive instead of smart, I guess I cannot change my heritage of sleepy, totally resigned braincells. Wonder what makes me always so unsatisfied, where all my dismay, all my anxiety comes from. And alas, I am still quite conformed, and therefore unhappy.
I look at this neighbor playing cello, his eyes closed, the time he will spend concentrated in little moves that make such art... I see talent and try to look for mine. No particular one. I always think I can work on that. But I am getting older and my life so lame and event less.
Ay!
Today's feelings:
Little, I knew it was going to be an apathetic winter
I miss some moments with some people. But they will never be there. That's called melancholy...
02 d’octubre 2007
the day internet abandoned me
Beginning October and still not having my own connection.
Mid October and connection is there again, an amazing quick and powerful 24/7 internet. Funny enough I am more used to be without it, so the 4 internetless months have delivered good things.
As an apology, the bad thing is the abandoning of the blog. I haven't been able to write without a computer with internet connection in front of me, which is somehow disturbing.
When talking about transmitting the deeds of everyday feelings, thoughts and events, it has remained somehow still and empty. But only in text...
If the idea was to keep in touch with people and more or less transmit what's been up to me I must say I still have been doing a good job at it. Without internet my telephone had to become a bit more active and I gained some time off to be able to see people and in fact be in touch with those I didn't see in a long time, summer helped a lot, and the time off I got to get to travel a bit.
Winter days, time, temperature is approaching and I retrieve, again. In a sense of "early retire rather than defeat" I stopped commuting from one life to other and decided to deal first with mine, stay in one place and try to sort out the overwhelming and sad weight that it is to be subdued to so-called grown up crap. I think it is more fair to carry it alone than banging on thresholds where you will never be understood, nevertheless supported.
So, a step into winter depression having the feeling that this year, is going to be more apathy than depression. Ah! and a whole lotta loneliness I will learn to live with the hard way. Way to go! and well deserved.
My camera doesn't work anymore, which pushes me to write endless texts that a few people might gonna read. I understand. It is the era of visual stimulation.
I leave it here in the hope to continue. believe it or not, it has been eventful, outgoing months, but let's breathe that cold air and take it a bit at a time.
Mid October and connection is there again, an amazing quick and powerful 24/7 internet. Funny enough I am more used to be without it, so the 4 internetless months have delivered good things.
As an apology, the bad thing is the abandoning of the blog. I haven't been able to write without a computer with internet connection in front of me, which is somehow disturbing.
When talking about transmitting the deeds of everyday feelings, thoughts and events, it has remained somehow still and empty. But only in text...
If the idea was to keep in touch with people and more or less transmit what's been up to me I must say I still have been doing a good job at it. Without internet my telephone had to become a bit more active and I gained some time off to be able to see people and in fact be in touch with those I didn't see in a long time, summer helped a lot, and the time off I got to get to travel a bit.
Winter days, time, temperature is approaching and I retrieve, again. In a sense of "early retire rather than defeat" I stopped commuting from one life to other and decided to deal first with mine, stay in one place and try to sort out the overwhelming and sad weight that it is to be subdued to so-called grown up crap. I think it is more fair to carry it alone than banging on thresholds where you will never be understood, nevertheless supported.
So, a step into winter depression having the feeling that this year, is going to be more apathy than depression. Ah! and a whole lotta loneliness I will learn to live with the hard way. Way to go! and well deserved.
My camera doesn't work anymore, which pushes me to write endless texts that a few people might gonna read. I understand. It is the era of visual stimulation.
I leave it here in the hope to continue. believe it or not, it has been eventful, outgoing months, but let's breathe that cold air and take it a bit at a time.
10 d’agost 2007
mein activist Kampf (week versioned)
Kampf you say? I almost get to fists with a very unaware and unsensitive lady.
So. Let's get it straight. I have a problem with pigeons. It is growing, because they love hanging around on my terrace, I am even dedicating them a hate song.
It is not that they are not allowed to live, I don't want to gt murderish with them. They are not allowed to be fed. Basta.
So this is what happened: I come back form taking myself out for a jog in the park and these two women, who definetely had no social life (not that mine is that exciting, but they were a sadder example) were chatting while feeding the pigeons, as if it was a natural and habitual thing of theirs.
I hated the guts of that action and in my sweatty state I looked at them in disgust and anger (and aaah am I good with facial expresions).
One of the ?ladies?, who looked like the wannabe_wife_of_a_torero turns to me and says: "wha?"
So I use my most friendly-slightly concerned and pedagogic tone to tell that shame of a lady that feeding pigeons will also attract rats.
She replies that rats hide on corners, so I say to her: well, pigeons are like flying rats anyway.
I think she must have been a rat or a pigeon in a previous life (which would explain what she turned into in this life) because she took it personal. You won’t believe this lady wanted to start a physical fight with me.
I definitely have no fighting skills, talent or tendency to get into physical fights, but I do have that sassied adrenaline drive when someone gets aggressive at me, so I replied: "woman, it is my opinion. And I really think what you do is sick.
I just calmly turned around and left with clear non-verbal signs that she was absolutely out of her mind. Of course she was already getting ready to get up and kick the shit out of my face, but I kost interest.
Whatever the case, I had quite an activist week. Also at the fish market.
This lady next to me was ordering a big junk of tuna. Again, I started having goose pimples and shivers all over my body and had to let it go:
"Tuna is being overfished, you are just contributing of having more tuna being killed before they even reach a decent shape and to the desertation of the Mediterranean (although it is naive to assume that the Mediterrenean has a chance by now).
So you see. I am not sure if these little acts contribute in any way to make people aware, but hey!, if they have internet maybe it makes a difference. Or next time they see an article on the newspapers about tuna fishing it will catch their attention or hey!, people do watch TV, no? Maybe between talk show, gossip, MTV and reality show, maybe, maybe there is a chance some channel would have nothing better to do than bring the overfishing issue to attention.
For more information I left some links in one of my posts. See JAN 16, on tag 'overfishing'
And Greenpeace made this hilarious clip about it.
http://www.greenpeace.org/international/fungames/e-cards/blame-canada-and-espa-a
There was a "pulp fishing" one, Tarantion style, but has been removed...
So. Let's get it straight. I have a problem with pigeons. It is growing, because they love hanging around on my terrace, I am even dedicating them a hate song.
It is not that they are not allowed to live, I don't want to gt murderish with them. They are not allowed to be fed. Basta.
So this is what happened: I come back form taking myself out for a jog in the park and these two women, who definetely had no social life (not that mine is that exciting, but they were a sadder example) were chatting while feeding the pigeons, as if it was a natural and habitual thing of theirs.
I hated the guts of that action and in my sweatty state I looked at them in disgust and anger (and aaah am I good with facial expresions).
One of the ?ladies?, who looked like the wannabe_wife_of_a_torero turns to me and says: "wha?"
So I use my most friendly-slightly concerned and pedagogic tone to tell that shame of a lady that feeding pigeons will also attract rats.
She replies that rats hide on corners, so I say to her: well, pigeons are like flying rats anyway.
I think she must have been a rat or a pigeon in a previous life (which would explain what she turned into in this life) because she took it personal. You won’t believe this lady wanted to start a physical fight with me.
I definitely have no fighting skills, talent or tendency to get into physical fights, but I do have that sassied adrenaline drive when someone gets aggressive at me, so I replied: "woman, it is my opinion. And I really think what you do is sick.
I just calmly turned around and left with clear non-verbal signs that she was absolutely out of her mind. Of course she was already getting ready to get up and kick the shit out of my face, but I kost interest.
Whatever the case, I had quite an activist week. Also at the fish market.
This lady next to me was ordering a big junk of tuna. Again, I started having goose pimples and shivers all over my body and had to let it go:
"Tuna is being overfished, you are just contributing of having more tuna being killed before they even reach a decent shape and to the desertation of the Mediterranean (although it is naive to assume that the Mediterrenean has a chance by now).
So you see. I am not sure if these little acts contribute in any way to make people aware, but hey!, if they have internet maybe it makes a difference. Or next time they see an article on the newspapers about tuna fishing it will catch their attention or hey!, people do watch TV, no? Maybe between talk show, gossip, MTV and reality show, maybe, maybe there is a chance some channel would have nothing better to do than bring the overfishing issue to attention.
For more information I left some links in one of my posts. See JAN 16, on tag 'overfishing'
And Greenpeace made this hilarious clip about it.
http://www.greenpeace.org/international/fungames/e-cards/blame-canada-and-espa-a
There was a "pulp fishing" one, Tarantion style, but has been removed...
31 de juliol 2007
Your only chance
This is sooo weird!
Guess what I did the other day...
It all started with an innocent statement of my friend: "there is a wedding dress I want to sell..." Next I realized I became the model, you will probably see it on e-bay the next days.
Fear, for this is the one and only time I will be fancy dressed as a cupcake.
I should have got paid for it.
PS: If I am a virgin? ... maybe....
Guess what I did the other day...
It all started with an innocent statement of my friend: "there is a wedding dress I want to sell..." Next I realized I became the model, you will probably see it on e-bay the next days.
Fear, for this is the one and only time I will be fancy dressed as a cupcake.
I should have got paid for it.
PS: If I am a virgin? ... maybe....
29 de juliol 2007
I need a holiday to get over my holidays
I have been out and about for a while already, Spain, Portugal, Germany and preparing to the days to come. Almost 3 months without being able to take a break and leave for a while.
The feeling of coming back after leaving behind other habits is great for the first hours, you have complete control over everything. After the first nap it gets boring.
The things you have in your to do list will be done, and there is no next day of work. That means to me handling without planned stress. I don’t know if many people would understand the concept. Imagine you have to wake up early the next morning. My planned stress tells me that I have to get as many hours of sleep as possible and that is why any other activity not bed related supposes an extra body effort. This is my state today. I know I have to wake up at 6 the next morning and there is nothing I can get to do without thinking about it. I guess it is not understandable if you follow a Monday to Friday schedule. But part of my life right now turns around the fact that I am constantly changing my working hours. I love it. Makes me feel it is part of a biological chaos. And I am addicted to sleeping, which allows me to sleep constatly under the excuse “I have to work nights”or “I have to recover from shifts”.
Nough said. Just to reflect that yesterday I was able to drive from Germany, get an hour of sleep, chat with my new flatmate, go shopping, fix some food, wash the car and I would have been able to stretch a bit if I wouldn’t have dedicated the hour left to do that, what women so very much like: talk.
I parked the car in a nearby alley and picked my bike to go back home. On the way home, the air was clean and warm. I was sitting on my fat saddle, in an almost upright position, being able to observe my environment, see the people rushing to work and me confirming to be happy to believe to this shifting pattern, being off on a Wednesday and a Thursday, I kept pedalling with the feeling of having completed a mission… Sweet!
But the usual dread of being up here is back today. I have no internet and will probably post this as soon as I remember to save it in a memory stick I cannot find at the moment. Neither I can find my headphones, the washing is spread on the bed and I cannot believe I have to go to work again. I don’t have enough colourful pens to do my idiot-proof studying and I just came back from the shops where I bought myself another miniskirt I won’t wear.
In overall I love my bed, I could just lay down and not do anything until waking up, if I didn’t have to change the sheets and fold all the washing that is resting on top of it. In the kitchen the new bin’s box is in the middle of it, the instructions on the floor and a map of the world waiting to be hung. I really don’t know where to start with. So I write about it. And deliver proof.
On top of it is dark and cold again as if summer would have been a dream.
My biological built in rechargeable sun battery is running low. Another thing only understandable by people born and raised under the sun. At least I now found a logical explanation to winter depression.
I don't want to loose my south...
The feeling of coming back after leaving behind other habits is great for the first hours, you have complete control over everything. After the first nap it gets boring.
The things you have in your to do list will be done, and there is no next day of work. That means to me handling without planned stress. I don’t know if many people would understand the concept. Imagine you have to wake up early the next morning. My planned stress tells me that I have to get as many hours of sleep as possible and that is why any other activity not bed related supposes an extra body effort. This is my state today. I know I have to wake up at 6 the next morning and there is nothing I can get to do without thinking about it. I guess it is not understandable if you follow a Monday to Friday schedule. But part of my life right now turns around the fact that I am constantly changing my working hours. I love it. Makes me feel it is part of a biological chaos. And I am addicted to sleeping, which allows me to sleep constatly under the excuse “I have to work nights”or “I have to recover from shifts”.
Nough said. Just to reflect that yesterday I was able to drive from Germany, get an hour of sleep, chat with my new flatmate, go shopping, fix some food, wash the car and I would have been able to stretch a bit if I wouldn’t have dedicated the hour left to do that, what women so very much like: talk.
I parked the car in a nearby alley and picked my bike to go back home. On the way home, the air was clean and warm. I was sitting on my fat saddle, in an almost upright position, being able to observe my environment, see the people rushing to work and me confirming to be happy to believe to this shifting pattern, being off on a Wednesday and a Thursday, I kept pedalling with the feeling of having completed a mission… Sweet!
But the usual dread of being up here is back today. I have no internet and will probably post this as soon as I remember to save it in a memory stick I cannot find at the moment. Neither I can find my headphones, the washing is spread on the bed and I cannot believe I have to go to work again. I don’t have enough colourful pens to do my idiot-proof studying and I just came back from the shops where I bought myself another miniskirt I won’t wear.
In overall I love my bed, I could just lay down and not do anything until waking up, if I didn’t have to change the sheets and fold all the washing that is resting on top of it. In the kitchen the new bin’s box is in the middle of it, the instructions on the floor and a map of the world waiting to be hung. I really don’t know where to start with. So I write about it. And deliver proof.
On top of it is dark and cold again as if summer would have been a dream.
My biological built in rechargeable sun battery is running low. Another thing only understandable by people born and raised under the sun. At least I now found a logical explanation to winter depression.
I don't want to loose my south...
29 de juny 2007
prólogo
Sempre m'ha interessat aquesta paraula, pròleg... És curiosa, no?
Avui tinc temps de començar a escriure una miqueta més.
I com a introducció, vaig començar ahir a aprendre a tocar guitarra. El millor és que he entès cosetes, estic molt contenta.
Today's feelings:
It's only toughts, out of feelings, it is only sensations. Però tinc els nervis a punt de rebentar.
Em sento com fent un exàmen contínuament del que se que mai treuré la nota que vull assolir. I amb els nervis fets una coca. Així vaig
Ahir alguna força estranya em va tocar l'espatlla. Però després no va respondre...
Avui tinc temps de començar a escriure una miqueta més.
I com a introducció, vaig començar ahir a aprendre a tocar guitarra. El millor és que he entès cosetes, estic molt contenta.
Today's feelings:
It's only toughts, out of feelings, it is only sensations. Però tinc els nervis a punt de rebentar.
Em sento com fent un exàmen contínuament del que se que mai treuré la nota que vull assolir. I amb els nervis fets una coca. Així vaig
Ahir alguna força estranya em va tocar l'espatlla. Però després no va respondre...
23 de juny 2007
seafood i ternura
Un motto de temps passats.
A València de moment, a la lluna de València? Amb unes ganes de fer una orxata que ja no puc esperar i amb una calor de la qual la gent es queixa. Jo no pas.
M'agraden les retrobades. Quan fa temps que no has vist una o unes persones en concret, és com si tornessis a retrobar el que tens en comú, i el que va fer-ho ser així.
NIt de Sant Joan, sóna música patxanga des de la terrassa, no estem especialment preocupats per sortir i ens hem pres el temps per fer bon peix, uns musclos de roca, gambons... Haig de reconèixer que el meu anfitrió te un concepte gastrònomic, quasi sibarita del bon viure. Una cosa de la que una es pot acostumar fàcilmet, la veritat sigui dita. No em puc queixar, al contrari, li estic molt agraïda.
Estic més preocupada per continuar passant calor i fer merescudes "mind holidays" que per viure la gresca. Avui uns bons Km en bici, una mica de solet i un bon menjar. No menjava tant bé en molt de temps. I amb mesura.
No explicaré massa. M'agradaria tenir la càmera i poder deixar un parell de fotos.
Com estic de vacances mentals, tots aquests temes que em preocupen o em tenen en vil, s'han quedat enrere, allà, als Països baixos. Això és bo.
Bé, tornaran les inquietuds Centroeuropees amb la tornada a la rutina. La caòtica rutina a la que em veig en part encadenada.
A València de moment, a la lluna de València? Amb unes ganes de fer una orxata que ja no puc esperar i amb una calor de la qual la gent es queixa. Jo no pas.
M'agraden les retrobades. Quan fa temps que no has vist una o unes persones en concret, és com si tornessis a retrobar el que tens en comú, i el que va fer-ho ser així.
NIt de Sant Joan, sóna música patxanga des de la terrassa, no estem especialment preocupats per sortir i ens hem pres el temps per fer bon peix, uns musclos de roca, gambons... Haig de reconèixer que el meu anfitrió te un concepte gastrònomic, quasi sibarita del bon viure. Una cosa de la que una es pot acostumar fàcilmet, la veritat sigui dita. No em puc queixar, al contrari, li estic molt agraïda.
Estic més preocupada per continuar passant calor i fer merescudes "mind holidays" que per viure la gresca. Avui uns bons Km en bici, una mica de solet i un bon menjar. No menjava tant bé en molt de temps. I amb mesura.
No explicaré massa. M'agradaria tenir la càmera i poder deixar un parell de fotos.
Com estic de vacances mentals, tots aquests temes que em preocupen o em tenen en vil, s'han quedat enrere, allà, als Països baixos. Això és bo.
Bé, tornaran les inquietuds Centroeuropees amb la tornada a la rutina. La caòtica rutina a la que em veig en part encadenada.
19 de juny 2007
why?
Bona tarda a la vila dels canals!
This afternoon I had another long trip to shops trying to get a guitar swapped.
I have my first(second-first) guitar now. Of course the first one I bought was faulty. I am used to not getting things in order the first time.
I went jogging as well. The previous day we had a wonderful festival on the park, it was beautiful and so nice to see everyone I expected to be there... It was well worth it, although a bit muddy and as far as I can recall, also a bit trueb...
The park was slowly looking like a park again.
Today I was wondering why, why this after dreaming of sth unrelated I cannot recall.
Sometimes it jsut comes and invades my thoughts. Today it was a song. Yeah, you know everybody have that "our song". Mine is very irrelevant and has to be sang out of tune. I listened to it at least 10 times. I first laughed, then i wanted to cry, let cristal clear tears that bring me crystal clear memories. The ones with smell and touch, with voice and echoing laughs. I don't think I like remembering, but alas. Always in my mind. From time to time. Never really want to talk about it. It made me sad to have the memories so far. So long ago.
I went running in the park. Found out someone was feeding the dirty pigeons. They leave them bread. I remembered how filthy they are. Is there any campaign about them?
I looked in the Internet and it seems people will get a fine for drinking in some areas or smoking joints, but not for feeding the pigeos.
Really unfair.
Went up to the lady who was carrying the bread and runned faster to her, got in front of her and lokked at her in anger and hate.
I guess that stupid lady wondered why I looked at her like that.
Some people should be banned from bakeries
This afternoon I had another long trip to shops trying to get a guitar swapped.
I have my first(second-first) guitar now. Of course the first one I bought was faulty. I am used to not getting things in order the first time.
I went jogging as well. The previous day we had a wonderful festival on the park, it was beautiful and so nice to see everyone I expected to be there... It was well worth it, although a bit muddy and as far as I can recall, also a bit trueb...
The park was slowly looking like a park again.
Today I was wondering why, why this after dreaming of sth unrelated I cannot recall.
Sometimes it jsut comes and invades my thoughts. Today it was a song. Yeah, you know everybody have that "our song". Mine is very irrelevant and has to be sang out of tune. I listened to it at least 10 times. I first laughed, then i wanted to cry, let cristal clear tears that bring me crystal clear memories. The ones with smell and touch, with voice and echoing laughs. I don't think I like remembering, but alas. Always in my mind. From time to time. Never really want to talk about it. It made me sad to have the memories so far. So long ago.
I went running in the park. Found out someone was feeding the dirty pigeons. They leave them bread. I remembered how filthy they are. Is there any campaign about them?
I looked in the Internet and it seems people will get a fine for drinking in some areas or smoking joints, but not for feeding the pigeos.
Really unfair.
Went up to the lady who was carrying the bread and runned faster to her, got in front of her and lokked at her in anger and hate.
I guess that stupid lady wondered why I looked at her like that.
Some people should be banned from bakeries
15 de juny 2007
In brief
just to go through it shortly, I wanted to ask my mother about the panic attacks.
It was a goal for me in BCN.
Funny. I asked. "There was a stage I didn't want to be left alone, right?"
She said: "sure, but then you used to terrorize people around you making up horror tales".
"People around" was my poor little sister, or any kid neighbours I was left together with. I used to make up a good night story for my sis, almost every night. Some were really beautiful. She would remember some and ask the following night: "Tell me about the story of the girl who crawled the rainbow" and I would have forgotten.
And yes, I remember, that in order to cope with the fear, when left alone, my stories would turn into very descritive horror tales.
I saw my former downstairs neighbour just this last time in BCN after many years of, say, poor communication and it is one of the things she remembers from me inour childhood. That and the cassette coreogrphies in the garden. Oh, man!
I still must say I was panicking when left alone. But hell!, also delegating.
To prove facts I must say what I recalled I was panicking in 2 occasions my mother went shopping. I don't even know where my sister was. I guess in my biological clock it was taking her too long to come back from the shops. The first time I came out of the terrace and shouted my lungs out to get help. A neighbour came out and told me not to worry. I didn't worry.
The second time I shouted and shouted, and no-one would listen. I shouted: can someone listen? Please, my parents are dead! And then later this guy came out of the terrace next door and helped me jump to the neighbour's terrace. He told me everything was going to be OK.
At that point my mother showed up. Shouting her lungs off (remember, we are talking about the Mediterranean string).
I had to get back home. Pity, because I was very curious to where that stanger coming from the neighbours terrace was going to take me. Unfortunately to get back to my parents' I had to use the stair and move buildings the old fashioned way, through the street. I even made an attempt to be hung off the terrace again, but no-one wanted to help... mm :-(
Pity, because I kinda found cool the jumping terraces thing. Woo-hoo!
It was a goal for me in BCN.
Funny. I asked. "There was a stage I didn't want to be left alone, right?"
She said: "sure, but then you used to terrorize people around you making up horror tales".
"People around" was my poor little sister, or any kid neighbours I was left together with. I used to make up a good night story for my sis, almost every night. Some were really beautiful. She would remember some and ask the following night: "Tell me about the story of the girl who crawled the rainbow" and I would have forgotten.
And yes, I remember, that in order to cope with the fear, when left alone, my stories would turn into very descritive horror tales.
I saw my former downstairs neighbour just this last time in BCN after many years of, say, poor communication and it is one of the things she remembers from me inour childhood. That and the cassette coreogrphies in the garden. Oh, man!
I still must say I was panicking when left alone. But hell!, also delegating.
To prove facts I must say what I recalled I was panicking in 2 occasions my mother went shopping. I don't even know where my sister was. I guess in my biological clock it was taking her too long to come back from the shops. The first time I came out of the terrace and shouted my lungs out to get help. A neighbour came out and told me not to worry. I didn't worry.
The second time I shouted and shouted, and no-one would listen. I shouted: can someone listen? Please, my parents are dead! And then later this guy came out of the terrace next door and helped me jump to the neighbour's terrace. He told me everything was going to be OK.
At that point my mother showed up. Shouting her lungs off (remember, we are talking about the Mediterranean string).
I had to get back home. Pity, because I was very curious to where that stanger coming from the neighbours terrace was going to take me. Unfortunately to get back to my parents' I had to use the stair and move buildings the old fashioned way, through the street. I even made an attempt to be hung off the terrace again, but no-one wanted to help... mm :-(
Pity, because I kinda found cool the jumping terraces thing. Woo-hoo!
What comes after internet crash II
It’s been a long time, I know. Amazing how many things stay to be done in little time and you find yourself going from one place to another producing thoughts, and not having the time to bring them to shape.
I sometimes think what a pity it is to leave some thoughts for later. They are like snowflakes, not two are the same.
It ended after Barcelona. My internet connection after that was never the same again. All I get is sad bouncing tries to connect to innocent and unaware open wireless networks, but I think I’ve been blocked from all already. It would be a long story to explain my troubles with customer services in the Netherlands, pa qué? I only get heartburn. Let’s say I have been stalking my future ex-provider every other week to take my time to find the proper one. And that after one month, two letters, 4 calls and a fax it seems we are heading towards the right direction.
Barcelona was per se, as a city, nothing special. I found myself on this square, waiting for a friend and looking around. I had some paper and a pen with me so, caught by the “la meva ciutat” spirit I wanted to record what I was feeling. I started wirting: "What do I like about Barcelona", since I always concentrate in what I don’t like, poor city. I could only come up with “more bikes”, I guess one gets influenced by the city they live in. I couldn’t come up with anything else. It is true that people were all relaxed. Way too relaxed. Sometimes due to the botellón phenomenom and the damp weather I was feeling I was walkin through the allies of some Asian overcrowded city. Street drinking has become a mass-practice. And if there are a few ok bars, people don’t care if they cannot get in. You will see them just hanging around outside the doors, in masses.
See this pict, is very representative, although a very bad one (it was dark) you can see 2 bikes, at least 2 beers and what you don't see is the full bar because it is hidden by the masses of people hainging around in front of it.
In the square I was waiting for this friend there was no Catalan at reach. 2 Germans on the left, 3 French on the right and a cloggie passing by, screaming at a mobile phone. It is funny to understand each person around you in their own language and briefly following seconds of a life. I liked that. I guess the cosmpolitan feeling grows when you are in your own country. You are a local to their eyes, but not to your own. I also realized I kinda have a central European influence already. I start seeing things pictoresque... oh, ooh... Well, as long as I can recall, BCN hasn't been my spot for years. It just lost all the character I thought it onnce had and I was so proud of.
I made it not to speak a single word of any other language but my own. Catalan, for the ones who still wonder what people speak in Barcelona, or Catalonia to a bigger extent.
It is hard to recall the sentimental burden I was carrying. You know, feelings can change in a week, and you can quickly fall off the melancholic cloud and ride the busy bee again to stop feeling sorry for yourself. I had my good deal of crying in Barcelona and all thanks to my family and this friend I hadn’t seen maybe in 10 years. That was very necessary. They are adorable. They were adorable all along, only, not so free in a way. I don’t know how to explain. My older relatives have emancipated from their parents in the past 7 years. And so the latest generation has blossomed with it. The hierarchical tree has fallen. And that’s so very nice!
In my barrio people kept reproducing. It seems as if the economy wasn’t doing so bad, but, then again, it never seems so no matter what. The salaries will still be shitty and the living costs scandalous and I guess the worst it gets, the more people will probably seek for a consolation price. I won’t be mean. As Homer Simpson said, the fact that I don’t care doesn’t mean I don’t understand. Just another thing I didn’t add to the “I like” list.
I tried to initiate a conversation with my mother, but the TV was always on. I didn’t watch TV this time. It is strange because even ignoring whatever must be playing I tend to follow any movie playing, my parents have satellite, and the movies are the good thing about it. I think I tried to watch one, but football was on as soon as I came back from the toilet. Zapping has always been a common practise among my family.
We had a girls’ night out with the girls. The sister, the cousin. We are three in the family. 2 blondes one brunnete.
That rounded and topped the warm feeling of belonging. We talked and we listen to each other. Even having grown together or almost, we don’t always have the time to listen to each other, and maybe we didn't then carried by the familying way of caring to each other by reflecting us in the preselected values. And it is a pity. Family ties used the right way are cool, you need little to explain to be understood right away.
One day, somehow, we stopped judging each other, measured from the now obsolete endometric family-o-meter, and started listening, agreeing that the perfect family is a lie. Then suddenly every individual had a personality, a life, their faults and their virtues. And then, that very moment we sat together and felt each other as individuals.
At that point the statement that no family is perfect suddenly made my family perfect.
I sometimes think what a pity it is to leave some thoughts for later. They are like snowflakes, not two are the same.
It ended after Barcelona. My internet connection after that was never the same again. All I get is sad bouncing tries to connect to innocent and unaware open wireless networks, but I think I’ve been blocked from all already. It would be a long story to explain my troubles with customer services in the Netherlands, pa qué? I only get heartburn. Let’s say I have been stalking my future ex-provider every other week to take my time to find the proper one. And that after one month, two letters, 4 calls and a fax it seems we are heading towards the right direction.
Barcelona was per se, as a city, nothing special. I found myself on this square, waiting for a friend and looking around. I had some paper and a pen with me so, caught by the “la meva ciutat” spirit I wanted to record what I was feeling. I started wirting: "What do I like about Barcelona", since I always concentrate in what I don’t like, poor city. I could only come up with “more bikes”, I guess one gets influenced by the city they live in. I couldn’t come up with anything else. It is true that people were all relaxed. Way too relaxed. Sometimes due to the botellón phenomenom and the damp weather I was feeling I was walkin through the allies of some Asian overcrowded city. Street drinking has become a mass-practice. And if there are a few ok bars, people don’t care if they cannot get in. You will see them just hanging around outside the doors, in masses.
See this pict, is very representative, although a very bad one (it was dark) you can see 2 bikes, at least 2 beers and what you don't see is the full bar because it is hidden by the masses of people hainging around in front of it.
In the square I was waiting for this friend there was no Catalan at reach. 2 Germans on the left, 3 French on the right and a cloggie passing by, screaming at a mobile phone. It is funny to understand each person around you in their own language and briefly following seconds of a life. I liked that. I guess the cosmpolitan feeling grows when you are in your own country. You are a local to their eyes, but not to your own. I also realized I kinda have a central European influence already. I start seeing things pictoresque... oh, ooh... Well, as long as I can recall, BCN hasn't been my spot for years. It just lost all the character I thought it onnce had and I was so proud of.
I made it not to speak a single word of any other language but my own. Catalan, for the ones who still wonder what people speak in Barcelona, or Catalonia to a bigger extent.
It is hard to recall the sentimental burden I was carrying. You know, feelings can change in a week, and you can quickly fall off the melancholic cloud and ride the busy bee again to stop feeling sorry for yourself. I had my good deal of crying in Barcelona and all thanks to my family and this friend I hadn’t seen maybe in 10 years. That was very necessary. They are adorable. They were adorable all along, only, not so free in a way. I don’t know how to explain. My older relatives have emancipated from their parents in the past 7 years. And so the latest generation has blossomed with it. The hierarchical tree has fallen. And that’s so very nice!
In my barrio people kept reproducing. It seems as if the economy wasn’t doing so bad, but, then again, it never seems so no matter what. The salaries will still be shitty and the living costs scandalous and I guess the worst it gets, the more people will probably seek for a consolation price. I won’t be mean. As Homer Simpson said, the fact that I don’t care doesn’t mean I don’t understand. Just another thing I didn’t add to the “I like” list.
I tried to initiate a conversation with my mother, but the TV was always on. I didn’t watch TV this time. It is strange because even ignoring whatever must be playing I tend to follow any movie playing, my parents have satellite, and the movies are the good thing about it. I think I tried to watch one, but football was on as soon as I came back from the toilet. Zapping has always been a common practise among my family.
We had a girls’ night out with the girls. The sister, the cousin. We are three in the family. 2 blondes one brunnete.
That rounded and topped the warm feeling of belonging. We talked and we listen to each other. Even having grown together or almost, we don’t always have the time to listen to each other, and maybe we didn't then carried by the familying way of caring to each other by reflecting us in the preselected values. And it is a pity. Family ties used the right way are cool, you need little to explain to be understood right away.
One day, somehow, we stopped judging each other, measured from the now obsolete endometric family-o-meter, and started listening, agreeing that the perfect family is a lie. Then suddenly every individual had a personality, a life, their faults and their virtues. And then, that very moment we sat together and felt each other as individuals.
At that point the statement that no family is perfect suddenly made my family perfect.
25 de maig 2007
pasejant Miss Tommy
7:30, a walk in the park, walking miss Tommy. Alltogether no place to sit on wet grass but finally made it to finish my book. Next!
During the previous walk something amazing called my attention, it was all these trees covered in something like spiderwebs.
I took my camera this morning. I carefully approached the infested tree. What do I see? Cuques de seda!. They reminded me of these silk worms.
In my story of adopted insects I got carried away from a fashion to own these "silk worms".
We used to nurse them in show boxes. Then they would create a web and eventually turn into butterflies. I guess parents allowed us to own them so we could have a close experience with metamorphosis. I was so amazed by them that in my school assignment for the science project I created a play-doh model of their different stages. The ones I am going to show are probably not them, but I was so magnetized by the image the previous day I had to register it:
Tommy was getting anxious to play, I went to the doggies area and let him catch the ball, over, over and over again until he was tired. How many times do you have to run behind a ball until you get tired? The day before he gave up quick, the ground was dry and the area more crowded with other dogs that wanted to steal the ball away, but this time, with the morning fresh grass, the breeze and all that space for him alone he seemed to have some backup energy.
Deducing: << The time it takes to ge tired to run after a ball that keeps being thrown away from you hangs in direct relation to the circumstances.>>
At some point, we will get tired. Or after catching some air we won't pick up with the same excitement.
The fresh morning breeze and the sun on eye level, the visit to the worms, the dog always running after the ball... It all became a microuniverse in open space. Alone, and still with a slight slumbery feeling, smoothed by an incipient breeze.
I sat on the foot of an old knotty tree, held my hair, hid inside my coat and daydreamt while breathing the fresh grass morning scent.
On the lake shore, not far away from me, a metamorphosis had begun. For the sake of those worms, a tree will suffer. What do we turn into? Can we hide in a coccoon and come back with new powers? Some can. Can we settle in a tree without damaging it? (well, I have an answer for that, look at Mother Earth). Is it all about being able to build a cocoon, and take some time? Or will the gardening department come and spray you away?
Today's feelings: It's a location. Currently in Barcelona. Full stomach and reuniting my identity here. A warm feeling of belonging.
More about Barcelona to come.
During the previous walk something amazing called my attention, it was all these trees covered in something like spiderwebs.
I took my camera this morning. I carefully approached the infested tree. What do I see? Cuques de seda!. They reminded me of these silk worms.
In my story of adopted insects I got carried away from a fashion to own these "silk worms".
We used to nurse them in show boxes. Then they would create a web and eventually turn into butterflies. I guess parents allowed us to own them so we could have a close experience with metamorphosis. I was so amazed by them that in my school assignment for the science project I created a play-doh model of their different stages. The ones I am going to show are probably not them, but I was so magnetized by the image the previous day I had to register it:
Tommy was getting anxious to play, I went to the doggies area and let him catch the ball, over, over and over again until he was tired. How many times do you have to run behind a ball until you get tired? The day before he gave up quick, the ground was dry and the area more crowded with other dogs that wanted to steal the ball away, but this time, with the morning fresh grass, the breeze and all that space for him alone he seemed to have some backup energy.
Deducing: << The time it takes to ge tired to run after a ball that keeps being thrown away from you hangs in direct relation to the circumstances.>>
At some point, we will get tired. Or after catching some air we won't pick up with the same excitement.
The fresh morning breeze and the sun on eye level, the visit to the worms, the dog always running after the ball... It all became a microuniverse in open space. Alone, and still with a slight slumbery feeling, smoothed by an incipient breeze.
I sat on the foot of an old knotty tree, held my hair, hid inside my coat and daydreamt while breathing the fresh grass morning scent.
On the lake shore, not far away from me, a metamorphosis had begun. For the sake of those worms, a tree will suffer. What do we turn into? Can we hide in a coccoon and come back with new powers? Some can. Can we settle in a tree without damaging it? (well, I have an answer for that, look at Mother Earth). Is it all about being able to build a cocoon, and take some time? Or will the gardening department come and spray you away?
Today's feelings: It's a location. Currently in Barcelona. Full stomach and reuniting my identity here. A warm feeling of belonging.
More about Barcelona to come.
24 de maig 2007
how funny is that
I have been trying to add some posts, but so far, they have stayed as drafts.
For the avid "too much text" haters, I guess good news.
I am having hell at work, working with 3 different party providers in testing loops in different parts of the network. Note it is the first time I test loops and I had to do it 'live' while on the phone (some acting required).
A colleague tripped on my camera's wire and took advantage of the situation.
Result of my expertise: this face!
See the tetric darkness I work in. Did I say I am turning into a geek?
Well, the other day I opened the blinds during daytime and the guys almost turn from Gizmo into Gremlins... EEEhhh! liiiiight! Shut thaaaaat... thing!
For the avid "too much text" haters, I guess good news.
I am having hell at work, working with 3 different party providers in testing loops in different parts of the network. Note it is the first time I test loops and I had to do it 'live' while on the phone (some acting required).
A colleague tripped on my camera's wire and took advantage of the situation.
Result of my expertise: this face!
See the tetric darkness I work in. Did I say I am turning into a geek?
Well, the other day I opened the blinds during daytime and the guys almost turn from Gizmo into Gremlins... EEEhhh! liiiiight! Shut thaaaaat... thing!
19 de maig 2007
bueno...
I knew that!
And honestly, I don't think the Netherlands even gets close to OZ or NZ...
Stuff: NZ Fourth-Best Place In World To Live
New Zealand is the fourth-best place in the world to live, according to an international quality of life study. The International Living travel website ranked New Zealand fourth out of 193 countries, with only France, the Netherlands and Australia rating higher.
And honestly, I don't think the Netherlands even gets close to OZ or NZ...
Stuff: NZ Fourth-Best Place In World To Live
New Zealand is the fourth-best place in the world to live, according to an international quality of life study. The International Living travel website ranked New Zealand fourth out of 193 countries, with only France, the Netherlands and Australia rating higher.
RAGE
GILIPOLLAS
Tros d'imbècil!!!!!!
Confiada, pardilla...
HÒSTIA!!!
Per què no es pot confiar en la gent? Per que soc tan imbècil? Per que tinc fe cega en les persones? Per què penso que puc ser important per a algú!????
No queden crits, ni paraules, ni insults per definir això. I em quedo aquí darrera el silenci de la taula de treball per reprimir aquesta ràbia que m'està menjant viva.
He perdut la fe en les persones. Necessito que algú m'ajudi a recuperar-la. M'ha trobat avui, de cop, pensant.
HÒSTIES
La gent pot ser tan dolenta, i jo em passo de bona.
Espero equivocar-me, pero de cop tot te sentit... Què fort!
Necessito fer mal, no vull fer-me més mal.
Today's feelings: odi i odi d'odiar
Tros d'imbècil!!!!!!
Confiada, pardilla...
HÒSTIA!!!
Per què no es pot confiar en la gent? Per que soc tan imbècil? Per que tinc fe cega en les persones? Per què penso que puc ser important per a algú!????
No queden crits, ni paraules, ni insults per definir això. I em quedo aquí darrera el silenci de la taula de treball per reprimir aquesta ràbia que m'està menjant viva.
He perdut la fe en les persones. Necessito que algú m'ajudi a recuperar-la. M'ha trobat avui, de cop, pensant.
HÒSTIES
La gent pot ser tan dolenta, i jo em passo de bona.
Espero equivocar-me, pero de cop tot te sentit... Què fort!
Necessito fer mal, no vull fer-me més mal.
Today's feelings: odi i odi d'odiar
18 de maig 2007
merci Txetxu!
NEWS!
I spent my 4 days off home, apart from going to the Spanish movie festival. And not entering it.
I feel so good! I finished the house, all those little details that bothered me.
On the 3rd day the postman arrived. A packet was waiting for me.
BEGO TIA PERO QUE GUAI!!!! I LOVED IT!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!! T'ESTIMO, tant...
Great, great b-day present.
Giving more names of people, since this is getting very gezellig. I will doublecheck if that is ok.
Thanks Txetxu for staying over and helping me, in all senses. You know I don't like being alone and you are great company. And very clean too :-)
Thanks for the movies: Pan's laberynth, La mala educacion, Volver (wow) and the ones I will watch next.
Thanks for the thousands of music you let me download from your private collection. I feel complete.
Specially the Pink Floyd one. Now I have everything I need.
Thanks for telling me I would be the last woman on earth you would go to bed with. In your case, it is a very big compliment and a proof of love. I take your word. You are a real friend.
And thanks for the popcorn, the beer, letting me cook for you, allow me to make you eat "plants" and let me choose my own food and not overfeed me (although you eat like a beast) and for having coffee ready when I woke up. Oh! And thanks for not cleaning my cup.
I survived 4 days without internet. It was beneficial. Somebody will save me today though and crack some connection until I find the perfect provider.
I will soon get a new flatmate and be able to share one more time... It comes handy in a very good moment.
See how it goes!
In the meantime Tommy is moving in with me again... Park walks, drooling tennis balls, licked legs and excitement everytime I enter the house... A hyperactive dog...
Oh dear!
I spent my 4 days off home, apart from going to the Spanish movie festival. And not entering it.
I feel so good! I finished the house, all those little details that bothered me.
On the 3rd day the postman arrived. A packet was waiting for me.
BEGO TIA PERO QUE GUAI!!!! I LOVED IT!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!! T'ESTIMO, tant...
Great, great b-day present.
Giving more names of people, since this is getting very gezellig. I will doublecheck if that is ok.
Thanks Txetxu for staying over and helping me, in all senses. You know I don't like being alone and you are great company. And very clean too :-)
Thanks for the movies: Pan's laberynth, La mala educacion, Volver (wow) and the ones I will watch next.
Thanks for the thousands of music you let me download from your private collection. I feel complete.
Specially the Pink Floyd one. Now I have everything I need.
Thanks for telling me I would be the last woman on earth you would go to bed with. In your case, it is a very big compliment and a proof of love. I take your word. You are a real friend.
And thanks for the popcorn, the beer, letting me cook for you, allow me to make you eat "plants" and let me choose my own food and not overfeed me (although you eat like a beast) and for having coffee ready when I woke up. Oh! And thanks for not cleaning my cup.
I survived 4 days without internet. It was beneficial. Somebody will save me today though and crack some connection until I find the perfect provider.
I will soon get a new flatmate and be able to share one more time... It comes handy in a very good moment.
See how it goes!
In the meantime Tommy is moving in with me again... Park walks, drooling tennis balls, licked legs and excitement everytime I enter the house... A hyperactive dog...
Oh dear!
12 de maig 2007
MOTHER
Tonight I had a dream, I was going to put this into the DREAMS section, but funny enough, after waking up, still remembering every part of it, I daydreamed a bit and started thinking about my mother, which had nothing to do with what I dreamt (cars and a cradle of beer), but thought it would bring me more in an introspective trip, although I know nobody will make it to the end of this post.
Mother. Some great moments I remeber as a child and very difficult ones as a teenager.
I was promising to be the easiest kid since I was born. Apparently never moaned, never made a scene, never claimed too much attention... But I was bloddy stubborn as hell. And that made the hell for my parents to educate me. I never accepted a 'no' you see? On top of it I was supertrusting, fearless, hyperactive oh and hypercreative, I had too much imagination. I lived in my own world of love and hapiness until I met my first boyfriend...
That is unrelated. I thought about her, because as Carol said, muttergestoerte Leute we never stop thinking about her and make sure we will never turn like her. And in both cases the similarities kinda filter. And it's scary. At times.
My mother allowed me to look at the diaries she wrote up until she turned about 18. Back then I could only see a very sensitive girl growing up in a slight ignorant and rough environment. A mother who made her feel dirty when she became a woman, a rather tight and controlling father.
She used to write stories all the time. I read her stories, they were full of compassion, freedom and sensitivity. She wondered about the sea, the nature of laugh, friendship...
It took her 6 years to make the step with my father, she wasn't sure. He was obsessed with getting married, she wasn't sure.
It hurts me to hear she doesn't believe in friendship, but she made a friend out of my father, I believe. I like to think she married him because she felt disappointed by some friends that put her aside to "catch a good party". I will never do this to you, cigroneta, because no matter what I love you over everything (there are levels, no matter what comes between us, we will get our chance ) <-- just making sure my best friend sees that I don't even share the thought...
But my parents couldn't stay together if they weren't friends. My dad was a loud, show off boy, with a promising future, being, as they were, the prolo-praps in a hippy generation. The ones of the cinquecentos, the girls with bras and beehives, the hairgel, tupe and polyester; the ones that looked like the boys and girls in "Grease" instead of "Hair".
I woke up this morning and I thought of her like the person in her stories, sensitive, full of compassion. And it made sense.
There are many, many things I don't agree with her, but some others she refuses to let go on the surface I find so cool.
She is afraid of being compassive, but she is: she won't listen, she will critizise and hurt you verbally when she runs out of argumentation. But when you cease talking and you leave her alone some hours, you find out she feels bad about it and will compensate you with amazing compassion and generosity. That's a thing I also realized about my sister (although she has strong argumentations and can make her point) and she is not afraid of being compassive, I think she only has it with me.
She is very generous. Also, she won't show that. She'll have always expenses under control but she knows she is generous, with everyone. She loves doing gifts, something I think I inheritated. I love making people happy. And light them up now and then with something uncompromised (hate presents that have to be given in a certain date)
She is very sensitive, but found shelter in my father not to be a soft egg.
He provides the sense to the sensitivity. That makes them happy instead of profusely worried. I've never felt overparented. Well, hell! I fought a lot against that, I didn't like being overprotected or controlled (or overfed. Everyone knows I have a healthy appetite, that's unrelated but I love to repeat it. I hated my grandparents stuffing food in my mouth and following me around with edibles, God! I have such a trauma with that)
Just wanna bring Maxi on this one, because the pict is very representative
Anyway, I learnt to work on my freedom in my teenies, and despite my extreme extrovert character I could be trusted. No drugs, no (unprotected) sex, no violence and overall I think I was and I am a honest person.
In the contrary a lot of staying out and a lot of passed curfews (which made my sister's life so much easier).
As a kid I have to blame she (my mother) was the softie, who couldn't do anything but shout and get my father to do the dirty work. I hated that. I was hoping her to once give me a proper dry slap, for f**k's sake! Or some explanation that wouldn't involve "I am your mother and I tell you so".
And then she wouldn't enjoy my father's punishing and be compassive again. But she kept going telly-tell my father. I think I started behaving when he stopped hitting me one day and opened up to show me his worries. We could finally talk and I understood him. I cried as I could never cry with physical pain!
I am pretty soon going to BCN and I want to have a little chat with her. I know I can not walk up to her and say that I am going through a lost stage in which I am feeling deserted, anxious and unloved.
Vamos! if I went into detail she wouldn't understand, she would then attack and tell me I am a weirdo. I need to get some information by scratching a bit the genetical information as per why and where do some things come from. Or how to be more open and easy about it. A little 'flesh or your flesh' exchange of impressions could help see things from another angle.
Quite unplanned I came to work a bit earlier to get my internet dosis and dedicate my mother a couple of lines, after thinking so much about her the whole evening. Then, I found a comment from my sister (merci per passar-t'hi) already threatening with lecturing me. And taking over her motherly/younger-but-more-responsible-sister-role. Arrgggg...
Maybe I should let her lecture me and get the talking with mum. I think its a wicked strategy.
I remember my mother always saying she'd like us to be friends, and that's how I understood she didn't believe in friendship. I cannot trust inner worries to my mother. She would tolerate from other people, but has little diplomacy when it comes to me.
Particularly me. But asking the right questions she can be a very enriching source.
Mother. Some great moments I remeber as a child and very difficult ones as a teenager.
I was promising to be the easiest kid since I was born. Apparently never moaned, never made a scene, never claimed too much attention... But I was bloddy stubborn as hell. And that made the hell for my parents to educate me. I never accepted a 'no' you see? On top of it I was supertrusting, fearless, hyperactive oh and hypercreative, I had too much imagination. I lived in my own world of love and hapiness until I met my first boyfriend...
That is unrelated. I thought about her, because as Carol said, muttergestoerte Leute we never stop thinking about her and make sure we will never turn like her. And in both cases the similarities kinda filter. And it's scary. At times.
My mother allowed me to look at the diaries she wrote up until she turned about 18. Back then I could only see a very sensitive girl growing up in a slight ignorant and rough environment. A mother who made her feel dirty when she became a woman, a rather tight and controlling father.
She used to write stories all the time. I read her stories, they were full of compassion, freedom and sensitivity. She wondered about the sea, the nature of laugh, friendship...
It took her 6 years to make the step with my father, she wasn't sure. He was obsessed with getting married, she wasn't sure.
It hurts me to hear she doesn't believe in friendship, but she made a friend out of my father, I believe. I like to think she married him because she felt disappointed by some friends that put her aside to "catch a good party". I will never do this to you, cigroneta, because no matter what I love you over everything (there are levels, no matter what comes between us, we will get our chance ) <-- just making sure my best friend sees that I don't even share the thought...
But my parents couldn't stay together if they weren't friends. My dad was a loud, show off boy, with a promising future, being, as they were, the prolo-praps in a hippy generation. The ones of the cinquecentos, the girls with bras and beehives, the hairgel, tupe and polyester; the ones that looked like the boys and girls in "Grease" instead of "Hair".
I woke up this morning and I thought of her like the person in her stories, sensitive, full of compassion. And it made sense.
There are many, many things I don't agree with her, but some others she refuses to let go on the surface I find so cool.
She is afraid of being compassive, but she is: she won't listen, she will critizise and hurt you verbally when she runs out of argumentation. But when you cease talking and you leave her alone some hours, you find out she feels bad about it and will compensate you with amazing compassion and generosity. That's a thing I also realized about my sister (although she has strong argumentations and can make her point) and she is not afraid of being compassive, I think she only has it with me.
She is very generous. Also, she won't show that. She'll have always expenses under control but she knows she is generous, with everyone. She loves doing gifts, something I think I inheritated. I love making people happy. And light them up now and then with something uncompromised (hate presents that have to be given in a certain date)
She is very sensitive, but found shelter in my father not to be a soft egg.
He provides the sense to the sensitivity. That makes them happy instead of profusely worried. I've never felt overparented. Well, hell! I fought a lot against that, I didn't like being overprotected or controlled (or overfed. Everyone knows I have a healthy appetite, that's unrelated but I love to repeat it. I hated my grandparents stuffing food in my mouth and following me around with edibles, God! I have such a trauma with that)
Just wanna bring Maxi on this one, because the pict is very representative
Anyway, I learnt to work on my freedom in my teenies, and despite my extreme extrovert character I could be trusted. No drugs, no (unprotected) sex, no violence and overall I think I was and I am a honest person.
In the contrary a lot of staying out and a lot of passed curfews (which made my sister's life so much easier).
As a kid I have to blame she (my mother) was the softie, who couldn't do anything but shout and get my father to do the dirty work. I hated that. I was hoping her to once give me a proper dry slap, for f**k's sake! Or some explanation that wouldn't involve "I am your mother and I tell you so".
And then she wouldn't enjoy my father's punishing and be compassive again. But she kept going telly-tell my father. I think I started behaving when he stopped hitting me one day and opened up to show me his worries. We could finally talk and I understood him. I cried as I could never cry with physical pain!
I am pretty soon going to BCN and I want to have a little chat with her. I know I can not walk up to her and say that I am going through a lost stage in which I am feeling deserted, anxious and unloved.
Vamos! if I went into detail she wouldn't understand, she would then attack and tell me I am a weirdo. I need to get some information by scratching a bit the genetical information as per why and where do some things come from. Or how to be more open and easy about it. A little 'flesh or your flesh' exchange of impressions could help see things from another angle.
Quite unplanned I came to work a bit earlier to get my internet dosis and dedicate my mother a couple of lines, after thinking so much about her the whole evening. Then, I found a comment from my sister (merci per passar-t'hi) already threatening with lecturing me. And taking over her motherly/younger-but-more-responsible-sister-role. Arrgggg...
Maybe I should let her lecture me and get the talking with mum. I think its a wicked strategy.
I remember my mother always saying she'd like us to be friends, and that's how I understood she didn't believe in friendship. I cannot trust inner worries to my mother. She would tolerate from other people, but has little diplomacy when it comes to me.
Particularly me. But asking the right questions she can be a very enriching source.
11 de maig 2007
another one cuts the fun
My old internet company has cut me access to internet. Poor me! Pity, because now I do my e-stuff from work, but I have no time to explain how ridiculous the E-spanish consulate is because I have to go out...
In any case, my next connection is glass fiber, should have been there 1 month ago. But as everything in the Netherlands, I will have to stalk them until I even get them to recognize me.
Whenever I leave this country I will remember the best thing I learnt to do is complain.
In any case, my next connection is glass fiber, should have been there 1 month ago. But as everything in the Netherlands, I will have to stalk them until I even get them to recognize me.
Whenever I leave this country I will remember the best thing I learnt to do is complain.
09 de maig 2007
happy new age
How strange is life... It is really a weird trip. Here I am listening to jazz tunes, bringing me memories of my last over-30 b-day. Mensch! I was so down!
Not that I am the cheeriest chicky in the stall right now, but strangely, I couldn't care less to get older. Differences, growing up.
Facts:
o Some friends have been quite surprised to find me quite chilled about motherhood.
Whatever the bullocks. I will still though repeat my mantra: people, adopt! The
world is overpopulated. Travel and see.
o Last year my presents involved themes like music and sex. This year I got
anti-stress thingies (do I have to get the message?)
o I have been enormously blessed to receive many calls and mails and hugs. I have
never appreciated it so much. And that makes me wanna spread love to everyone!
o I found myself drooling for a huge sweating chocolate man in the sauna (during my
anti stress therapy present). Wait! that hasn't changed, but would you believe that
even though he was butt naked I didn't even try to look at his genitals? not even a
glance...
o I am having the anxiety attacks I had when I was 20 (isn't that cute?)
o I actually carried a 1:30h phone conversation 2 times this week with people other
than my two best friends. I guess, not working with phones allows me to get wild
sometimes
o I have been officially told I drink too much. And of course, as the control freak I
am I will do something about it tomorrow or next Monday.
o I got surprised of my TV knowledge until 1996. Wow, there are things you don't
forget even not caring about them. I thought it wasn't possible. I don't think it
works the other way around.
o I am going to my first rock festival ever and I don't care being called a hippie.
I was one once in my previous life anyway. Although I begin to think I was a man
instead of a woman... Which makes very weird my affair with Jim Morrison, not
because of me being gay, but for him being bisexual. Well, it was the 60's anyway.
Today's feelings: Mental enema
Not that I am the cheeriest chicky in the stall right now, but strangely, I couldn't care less to get older. Differences, growing up.
Facts:
o Some friends have been quite surprised to find me quite chilled about motherhood.
Whatever the bullocks. I will still though repeat my mantra: people, adopt! The
world is overpopulated. Travel and see.
o Last year my presents involved themes like music and sex. This year I got
anti-stress thingies (do I have to get the message?)
o I have been enormously blessed to receive many calls and mails and hugs. I have
never appreciated it so much. And that makes me wanna spread love to everyone!
o I found myself drooling for a huge sweating chocolate man in the sauna (during my
anti stress therapy present). Wait! that hasn't changed, but would you believe that
even though he was butt naked I didn't even try to look at his genitals? not even a
glance...
o I am having the anxiety attacks I had when I was 20 (isn't that cute?)
o I actually carried a 1:30h phone conversation 2 times this week with people other
than my two best friends. I guess, not working with phones allows me to get wild
sometimes
o I have been officially told I drink too much. And of course, as the control freak I
am I will do something about it tomorrow or next Monday.
o I got surprised of my TV knowledge until 1996. Wow, there are things you don't
forget even not caring about them. I thought it wasn't possible. I don't think it
works the other way around.
o I am going to my first rock festival ever and I don't care being called a hippie.
I was one once in my previous life anyway. Although I begin to think I was a man
instead of a woman... Which makes very weird my affair with Jim Morrison, not
because of me being gay, but for him being bisexual. Well, it was the 60's anyway.
Today's feelings: Mental enema
08 de maig 2007
"the therapist"
I begin to accept. So what if I tend to have anxiety if I repress feelings? I must say it's nicer to cry. The neurons are amazing, they really are.
I found the solution. "The therapist", a friend used and experienced with it gave me what I should take. I found it so so cute I took it as a birthday present.
Although it inspired me to handle it some other way and get away with it in a much easier way. Conformation... And will.
... remt bepaalde prikkels af in de hersenen en werkt kalmerend. Gevoelens van angst, spanning, rusteloosheid en bezorgdheid nemen af. Ook eventuele lichamelijke klachten die het gevolg zijn van de angst en spanning (beven, klamme handen, transpireren, hartkloppingen, gespannen spieren) worden minder.
These magic pills...
And further, oh, I promise I won't use it, alternative medicine should work better. And I think I know the remedy. My door to acceptance.
Bellow the cute pink savior, good sleepless night!
I found the solution. "The therapist", a friend used and experienced with it gave me what I should take. I found it so so cute I took it as a birthday present.
Although it inspired me to handle it some other way and get away with it in a much easier way. Conformation... And will.
... remt bepaalde prikkels af in de hersenen en werkt kalmerend. Gevoelens van angst, spanning, rusteloosheid en bezorgdheid nemen af. Ook eventuele lichamelijke klachten die het gevolg zijn van de angst en spanning (beven, klamme handen, transpireren, hartkloppingen, gespannen spieren) worden minder.
These magic pills...
And further, oh, I promise I won't use it, alternative medicine should work better. And I think I know the remedy. My door to acceptance.
Bellow the cute pink savior, good sleepless night!
02 de maig 2007
sorry, nena
Yesterdaaay...
Es pero que encara llegeixis el meu blog, així et puc preparar pq et dec excuses.
Perdona.
And directly connected to the apologies comes the reason of yesterday's madness. I have been treated like shit.
I don't know why I allow it, or let people untrust me, throw silent shit on me.
This affected me deeply and I had an anxiety attack. I just felt I couldn't be left mute, but I had to repress it and feel slapped as a bitch.
I hadn't had one since 1998, but since I know how to handle it I had it ok without having to call the ambulance.
I guess it is the first thing one thinks about when having an attack: "this is it, I'm dying!
I got to know anxiety when I left my hometown for the second time to go back to Germany. It was really, really hard. I was carrying the shock of the death of a close family member and worse, the weight of leaving my family. And a very special person who probably remembers all that pain. I had forgotten how much it hurt to leave. But I chose a new language and public education from a job I already had in a marketing department and the man I love most in this life.
Back then you want to convince yourself you are doing the right thing. I will never know what it would have turned up of me, of us in BCN, but I have to say the choice was right, but it's hard to stick to it sometimes. Specially when everybody else turned their back on me.
I felt bad, because I felt refused straight away. I was living, as I do unconsciously in two countries at a time. This hasn't change.
I couldn't handle the distance, but I knew I had to. Every night it was the same. I was feeling I was about to die. And I was scared to think that nobody would understand. I would get up the bed and think I should knock on some door, ask for help. I used to do it as a kid, but those were no anxiety attacks. Those were panic attacks, because I couldn't be left alone. I'll have to talk about it with my mother. She's never mentioned, but I remember very well.
Back to the anxiety, I just wanted to describe it, because otherwise I forget all I saw, thought and felt.
The ceiling was getting dark, and shapes were coming, my heartbeat accelerated. And then I recognized it: this is it Selveta. Start breathing or you'll die. Everything twists and you reach a mute calm, and the lights dim and and everything is peaceful and quiet. And then you try to listen to yourself and you are not breathing. You wonder if this is death and for a moment try to accept it. And then, I jump out of the bed, wander around the house to show I am not dead, wonder if I should call 112 and go to bed again because I am cold.
Then I remembered that something reached and overpassed my pain level. It felt very heavy, very heavy. I couldn't breathe.
I like to think romantically and believe that I can't stand being left alone. Mum?
26 d’abril 2007
confesion
In order to continue to this piece of history I found, I have to make a confesion. This will ease things.
In the year 2000 I sold my eggs in order to afford a ticket to Sydney to spend the millenium. I was in love with the city and someone was waiting for me. I didn't have the moral burden and I didn't have any money (some things never change). Although... I kinda started having my issues when the hormone cocktail they gave me started to kick in. I started wondering why these women wanted to get bloody pregnant.
Among the whole hormone cocktail and close to being operated I wrote my then-boyfriend.
Today 2007 I am spending some days at his place and he found this piece of history and shared it with me.
I read it and thought... Oh, I'm so sweet.
So I am going to transcript it now, see what you think:
Hi X
It's a beautiful morning. People get ready to vote some narrow minded asshole to lead the future of a sourceless country - I lived in BCN at the time, i guess the Spanish elections were taking place, it was march 12 2000, -
He, I'm just sitting around in a cafeteria, before going to my interview before the operation. This is the stage of the "are you sure?" & everything. I already made my story. There are some families around here, doing the same as me, getting their body ready, them, to receive what I have to give. I know it's them because they come at the same visiting hour on Saturdays (in vitros are from 8 to 9) and you see them really "shiny faces".
I just think: "wow, you are gonna get my eggs" and sometimes it makes me think why are these couples so desperate to have children, or else: 'WHY are these women so obsessed with bearing babies?'
I guess they are really bored in their semi-detatched 3-story house in the suburbs, too many empty rooms and lots of money to pay for a pregnancy. X's father was kinda right, he said: "I would be a donour, not for the money, but to help people in the public health sector"
Yes, but. We don't wanna help poorer people have kids. They usually have no problem with getting pregnant, and if they can't have any, it's probably more about saving some money in condoms, or at least they don't have the deep sadness of the private egg-buyers, that "how are we going to fill the east side wing" or "what are we going to do with the 6-seat station wagon we bought?". Poor rich people (yeah, I'm so sorry).
Sorry it just makes me wonder... alltogether.
I end it here. Basically because that is the main part I thought to be so sweet. Later, approaching the operation I remember I was too obsessed with adoption. I started wondering why these wealthy people, who have done the in-vitro thing once (I met a couple one Saturday, they were going for the 2nd one)
WHY these people, who could afford another child and give it everything it needs, DON'T adopt?
Is that racism??? he??? I mean, if you have the blessing of being unfertile at least you can give the chance to a kid of a poor fertile mum... No?. They should allow these people to have have 1 in-vitro and suggest them to go for adoption the 2nd time. Give them information, allow them to think how many children will never have a chance. Some not even a future.
Anyway, I realized too late that I had issues with the whole donour story. Only it was too late. Now I have at least 3 kids in Barcelona carrying my genetical information. And filling the east wing of a semi-detached house.
In the year 2000 I sold my eggs in order to afford a ticket to Sydney to spend the millenium. I was in love with the city and someone was waiting for me. I didn't have the moral burden and I didn't have any money (some things never change). Although... I kinda started having my issues when the hormone cocktail they gave me started to kick in. I started wondering why these women wanted to get bloody pregnant.
Among the whole hormone cocktail and close to being operated I wrote my then-boyfriend.
Today 2007 I am spending some days at his place and he found this piece of history and shared it with me.
I read it and thought... Oh, I'm so sweet.
So I am going to transcript it now, see what you think:
Hi X
It's a beautiful morning. People get ready to vote some narrow minded asshole to lead the future of a sourceless country - I lived in BCN at the time, i guess the Spanish elections were taking place, it was march 12 2000, -
He, I'm just sitting around in a cafeteria, before going to my interview before the operation. This is the stage of the "are you sure?" & everything. I already made my story. There are some families around here, doing the same as me, getting their body ready, them, to receive what I have to give. I know it's them because they come at the same visiting hour on Saturdays (in vitros are from 8 to 9) and you see them really "shiny faces".
I just think: "wow, you are gonna get my eggs" and sometimes it makes me think why are these couples so desperate to have children, or else: 'WHY are these women so obsessed with bearing babies?'
I guess they are really bored in their semi-detatched 3-story house in the suburbs, too many empty rooms and lots of money to pay for a pregnancy. X's father was kinda right, he said: "I would be a donour, not for the money, but to help people in the public health sector"
Yes, but. We don't wanna help poorer people have kids. They usually have no problem with getting pregnant, and if they can't have any, it's probably more about saving some money in condoms, or at least they don't have the deep sadness of the private egg-buyers, that "how are we going to fill the east side wing" or "what are we going to do with the 6-seat station wagon we bought?". Poor rich people (yeah, I'm so sorry).
Sorry it just makes me wonder... alltogether.
I end it here. Basically because that is the main part I thought to be so sweet. Later, approaching the operation I remember I was too obsessed with adoption. I started wondering why these wealthy people, who have done the in-vitro thing once (I met a couple one Saturday, they were going for the 2nd one)
WHY these people, who could afford another child and give it everything it needs, DON'T adopt?
Is that racism??? he??? I mean, if you have the blessing of being unfertile at least you can give the chance to a kid of a poor fertile mum... No?. They should allow these people to have have 1 in-vitro and suggest them to go for adoption the 2nd time. Give them information, allow them to think how many children will never have a chance. Some not even a future.
Anyway, I realized too late that I had issues with the whole donour story. Only it was too late. Now I have at least 3 kids in Barcelona carrying my genetical information. And filling the east wing of a semi-detached house.
23 d’abril 2007
that's what you get!
- SANT JORDI -
Avui havia de fer-ho i havia de ser-ho.
Sant jordi. Un dels pocs dies que celebro. O dels que me'n recordo.
I aquest any, per la meva sorpresa m'agafa entre torns de nit, i tinc a penes una hora per anar a buscar roses que regalaré a qui s'escaigui. Segurament als micos amb els que treballo, però en fi... Tirar els diners li dic jo amb lo cares que estan les roses.
En tot cas, per els/les que es puguin sentir malament, penseu en mi. Són les 18:45 i ni tan sols mon pare m'ha enviat un e-mail per Sant Jordi. Ni un puto e-mail. Ni nòvio ni ná, però d'això no em queixo, al contrari. Jo no he pogut enviar e-mails i roses pq haig de dormir durant el dia per treballar de nit... What is your excuse?
En tot cas voldria desitjar, de manera massiva a tots els catalans i/o catalanoparlants una feliç diada i inclosos aquells que per la primavera estiguin descobrint de nou el gust de les ferormones: FELICITATS
En el fons, pels que esteu a Barcelona, Diosss, la jentáh por las Ramblas oishhh... quita, quita, quitaaa
Avui havia de fer-ho i havia de ser-ho.
Sant jordi. Un dels pocs dies que celebro. O dels que me'n recordo.
I aquest any, per la meva sorpresa m'agafa entre torns de nit, i tinc a penes una hora per anar a buscar roses que regalaré a qui s'escaigui. Segurament als micos amb els que treballo, però en fi... Tirar els diners li dic jo amb lo cares que estan les roses.
En tot cas, per els/les que es puguin sentir malament, penseu en mi. Són les 18:45 i ni tan sols mon pare m'ha enviat un e-mail per Sant Jordi. Ni un puto e-mail. Ni nòvio ni ná, però d'això no em queixo, al contrari. Jo no he pogut enviar e-mails i roses pq haig de dormir durant el dia per treballar de nit... What is your excuse?
En tot cas voldria desitjar, de manera massiva a tots els catalans i/o catalanoparlants una feliç diada i inclosos aquells que per la primavera estiguin descobrint de nou el gust de les ferormones: FELICITATS
En el fons, pels que esteu a Barcelona, Diosss, la jentáh por las Ramblas oishhh... quita, quita, quitaaa
22 d’abril 2007
Faces
Almost more interesting than a book. Just an unexpected sunny Sunday. The park was ablast and the fauna very funny. How are we so social and at the same time we search our own identity groups, and it works. If you looked at the groups around you could see it then. The one in front of me was clearly a gay lesbian gathering. Whether I am very observing or those two girls on top of each other smooching made the kick. But bunch next to them were these very pale cloggies, looking like part of the marketing sector of an enterprise and not quite used to casual clothes. That or the fact that they were pale and playing with casino chips and drinking corona on their free time made me somehow create a match.
I would have gladly jumped into the gay gathering, introduce myself and ask how they met. But in the park grouping I was the one who woke up alone after a bit too many drink, put on some clothes on, was going to work all night and trying to get some sleep. To no avail. After watching them the book was boring.
I would have gladly jumped into the gay gathering, introduce myself and ask how they met. But in the park grouping I was the one who woke up alone after a bit too many drink, put on some clothes on, was going to work all night and trying to get some sleep. To no avail. After watching them the book was boring.
12 d’abril 2007
Anywhoo after the swimming I went to the animal pound to see if there was a cat I could help out. But they all come with special wishes: some want a garden, some want total attention (a cat?) some are aggressive, some unsocial... It was hard to be compatible with them. I felt I wasn't good enough for any. And so it should be, I guess, a cat has to be able to tame you, not the other way around... I told the lady maybe it was easier to educate a baby after all.
But I will keep an eye to see if I could be of any help for a cat looking for a home, without garden, with lots of visit, for a single working woman who's not always home and also loving owner who can spend some time cuddling and giving attention, but not too much, ah! and playful, I forgot. Most of the cats in the pound were the "most difficult" ones, and not much into playing.
For the better understanding of others, I would still so very not try to tame a kid!
But I will keep an eye to see if I could be of any help for a cat looking for a home, without garden, with lots of visit, for a single working woman who's not always home and also loving owner who can spend some time cuddling and giving attention, but not too much, ah! and playful, I forgot. Most of the cats in the pound were the "most difficult" ones, and not much into playing.
For the better understanding of others, I would still so very not try to tame a kid!
barreja de dies
I de llengües? I will be posting in bilingual, trilingual sorry, and with no order, to honour the blog's title. A que el títol del blog es reflecteix al caos lingüístic que desprenc?
I demà vaig a Alemanya, to top it of!
Estic preparant-me per sortir una estoneta a fer quatre voltes al parc. l'estamina. És que funciono amb energia solar. Subidón que porto amb la primavera, redéu!
L'altre dia per variar vaig anar a nedar: annarnedar. Mai més. Nie mehr. And now the English description, because I was observing n English, sorry.
The whales:
I have to say for the sake of the konijlijke rijk van Nederland that people are not as whale-ish as the cabezorros. But there are still a huge amount of floating bodies blocking the lanes for swimmers. Why don't they go to the general, bigger and recreative lane? It is a mistery to me. Maybe they think they are swimming... So this woman totally moving her arms like a mill (she was Dutch) occupied the whole lane swimming(?) on her back and even complaining if she would hit someone. Qué gilipollas! In the crawl swimmers lane there was a whale, but she swam wonderfully. Apologies for misjudging her when I saw her coming. There is only one lane where you can actually swim and you are allowed only crawl... discriminating swimmers, endevé, and I like to change stiles every now and then. Besides the doctor recommended me to do backstyle, but due to the floating turds in swimming suits it is almost impossible. I do care not to bump into anyone, but they don't. So it is a bit unconfortable to trn around every 2 strikes to make sure no turd came your way.
Besides. The pool was disgusting, which is strange because even old and yellowish, it tends to be quite clean. While swimmng I got stuck on an algi-like bundle of hair, I almost drawn in black curls and pubic wires. Ah, and saw at least two plasters, can people not keep an eye on that? ieeww!
So my swimming ended as usual, upset. But I was too relaxed to start splashing floating bodies. I love to do it, because they get desperate, as if they were going to drown. I need to raise awareness to them, and since I cannot talk on the water, I tend to show them that the lane is to SWIM. I wonder what are livesavers for. They should fish them out and put them in the kid's pool to practice.
Ahhh my favourite. KIDS. Lovely. Swimmers have about 1:30 hours to do lanes, then the pool will be used for courses or clubs. BUT. Kid's lessons start just about 30 min after the lane swimming. So they take one lane and eventually kick you out of another (great for swimmers) During my frustration due to the incapability to swim normally I could observe the kids and I actually enjoyed it. Some are so annoying, some so sweet... you can see it as they dive and how some already grow the unawareness of sharing a lane. But the difference is that the floating ones don't complaint and try their best to be on the side for their own sake. Yep, some adults should learn from kids.
After this experience i decided to lay a bit in the whirlpool. Since hte swimming pool is goverment funded, the water in the whirlpool is rather cold, and they provide 10 minutes bubbles and 10 minutes still, I guess alltogether to save money. But I enjoyed 10 minutes of sitting and cursing the floating bodies in my thoughts. It helped me come to terms with it, relax a bit and promise myself not to go swimming anymore. After all it seems a swimming pool is thought for some to float and not to swim. I suggest they call it: floating pool, it would make more justice.
A quick listing of the fauna you find there:
1- the horny buggers who come to scan you from the outside and in the water, swimming behind you to see between your legs.
2- the hot babes, who are usually no more than two and usually together. You don't care if they swim, they tend to go to the general pool, no lane, because they will just kinda move and make sure the bikini (no swimming suit) won't slip (and type 1 is already supervising that)
3- les Teresines. The grannies. The absolute "don't give a shit about others", hey, they go to the pool already 10 years. Be lucky if they are 2. They also tend to occupy the general side and swim in blockades of 2 and 3. A barricade of flowery hats. Not the strongest tide would set them apart or keep them from chatting the 2 hours they spend floating. They are like bikes for Holland. Gods in flowery patterns.
4- oh I hate those ones. They think they can swim and are geared semi professionally. They do loud arm moves while their legs can never make it to the surface. Yeah, you sink, because you ain't got any idea. You are slow, annoying and arrogant.
5- I talked about the floating turds in the swimming lanes already. Nr 4 is a sub group, but at least they keep up a pace, ergo, they move. This group is predominant, they have no job, come regularly, have their regular lane and they still don't get it: they know shit about swimming and prevent real swimmers to come.
6- the swimmers. I guess I belong to this group. They follow a scheduled exercise in a regular pace. Some are really quick, and I am probably a sub 4 for them. But i am aware and yield, because they are doing serious stuff. You will find them in the crawl lane, condemned to crawl, because of all the others. That lane is rather organized, no collisions, the fastest go first, the slowliers after. There is hierarchy and respect, because they understand what swimming is about. Sometimes you get the so called sharks, overtaking constantly and pushing you to follow their pace. Some can be annoying, but you have to show respect. They should do 2 lanes of them. In Asutralia they have 3 lanes (at leastin the uni-swimming pool): fast, medium-slow. So as you cmoe you can check the speeds and adapt. Life would be much easier if the concept could be adopted in other countries.
7- Mother with child: Tedious! Even in the general lane, they not only float but keep an eye on the offspring constantly. It is annoying, because the offsprings tend to do whatever they like because they are permitted and take advantage of the overprotective stage of the parents in an environment like water. Luckly some swimming pools dedicate them some days, so they can annoy each other and the kids can socialise and start building their won hierarchy. Unfortunately some swimming pools consider them as normal crowd, they are not. They are multiplied, asynchronous and unequal. They deserve their own family day.
There are sure other categories, but these are the main you confront.
So no more swimming for me in artificial pools. I know of someone who will be happy to hear this. I gave up.
I demà vaig a Alemanya, to top it of!
Estic preparant-me per sortir una estoneta a fer quatre voltes al parc. l'estamina. És que funciono amb energia solar. Subidón que porto amb la primavera, redéu!
L'altre dia per variar vaig anar a nedar: annarnedar. Mai més. Nie mehr. And now the English description, because I was observing n English, sorry.
The whales:
I have to say for the sake of the konijlijke rijk van Nederland that people are not as whale-ish as the cabezorros. But there are still a huge amount of floating bodies blocking the lanes for swimmers. Why don't they go to the general, bigger and recreative lane? It is a mistery to me. Maybe they think they are swimming... So this woman totally moving her arms like a mill (she was Dutch) occupied the whole lane swimming(?) on her back and even complaining if she would hit someone. Qué gilipollas! In the crawl swimmers lane there was a whale, but she swam wonderfully. Apologies for misjudging her when I saw her coming. There is only one lane where you can actually swim and you are allowed only crawl... discriminating swimmers, endevé, and I like to change stiles every now and then. Besides the doctor recommended me to do backstyle, but due to the floating turds in swimming suits it is almost impossible. I do care not to bump into anyone, but they don't. So it is a bit unconfortable to trn around every 2 strikes to make sure no turd came your way.
Besides. The pool was disgusting, which is strange because even old and yellowish, it tends to be quite clean. While swimmng I got stuck on an algi-like bundle of hair, I almost drawn in black curls and pubic wires. Ah, and saw at least two plasters, can people not keep an eye on that? ieeww!
So my swimming ended as usual, upset. But I was too relaxed to start splashing floating bodies. I love to do it, because they get desperate, as if they were going to drown. I need to raise awareness to them, and since I cannot talk on the water, I tend to show them that the lane is to SWIM. I wonder what are livesavers for. They should fish them out and put them in the kid's pool to practice.
Ahhh my favourite. KIDS. Lovely. Swimmers have about 1:30 hours to do lanes, then the pool will be used for courses or clubs. BUT. Kid's lessons start just about 30 min after the lane swimming. So they take one lane and eventually kick you out of another (great for swimmers) During my frustration due to the incapability to swim normally I could observe the kids and I actually enjoyed it. Some are so annoying, some so sweet... you can see it as they dive and how some already grow the unawareness of sharing a lane. But the difference is that the floating ones don't complaint and try their best to be on the side for their own sake. Yep, some adults should learn from kids.
After this experience i decided to lay a bit in the whirlpool. Since hte swimming pool is goverment funded, the water in the whirlpool is rather cold, and they provide 10 minutes bubbles and 10 minutes still, I guess alltogether to save money. But I enjoyed 10 minutes of sitting and cursing the floating bodies in my thoughts. It helped me come to terms with it, relax a bit and promise myself not to go swimming anymore. After all it seems a swimming pool is thought for some to float and not to swim. I suggest they call it: floating pool, it would make more justice.
A quick listing of the fauna you find there:
1- the horny buggers who come to scan you from the outside and in the water, swimming behind you to see between your legs.
2- the hot babes, who are usually no more than two and usually together. You don't care if they swim, they tend to go to the general pool, no lane, because they will just kinda move and make sure the bikini (no swimming suit) won't slip (and type 1 is already supervising that)
3- les Teresines. The grannies. The absolute "don't give a shit about others", hey, they go to the pool already 10 years. Be lucky if they are 2. They also tend to occupy the general side and swim in blockades of 2 and 3. A barricade of flowery hats. Not the strongest tide would set them apart or keep them from chatting the 2 hours they spend floating. They are like bikes for Holland. Gods in flowery patterns.
4- oh I hate those ones. They think they can swim and are geared semi professionally. They do loud arm moves while their legs can never make it to the surface. Yeah, you sink, because you ain't got any idea. You are slow, annoying and arrogant.
5- I talked about the floating turds in the swimming lanes already. Nr 4 is a sub group, but at least they keep up a pace, ergo, they move. This group is predominant, they have no job, come regularly, have their regular lane and they still don't get it: they know shit about swimming and prevent real swimmers to come.
6- the swimmers. I guess I belong to this group. They follow a scheduled exercise in a regular pace. Some are really quick, and I am probably a sub 4 for them. But i am aware and yield, because they are doing serious stuff. You will find them in the crawl lane, condemned to crawl, because of all the others. That lane is rather organized, no collisions, the fastest go first, the slowliers after. There is hierarchy and respect, because they understand what swimming is about. Sometimes you get the so called sharks, overtaking constantly and pushing you to follow their pace. Some can be annoying, but you have to show respect. They should do 2 lanes of them. In Asutralia they have 3 lanes (at leastin the uni-swimming pool): fast, medium-slow. So as you cmoe you can check the speeds and adapt. Life would be much easier if the concept could be adopted in other countries.
7- Mother with child: Tedious! Even in the general lane, they not only float but keep an eye on the offspring constantly. It is annoying, because the offsprings tend to do whatever they like because they are permitted and take advantage of the overprotective stage of the parents in an environment like water. Luckly some swimming pools dedicate them some days, so they can annoy each other and the kids can socialise and start building their won hierarchy. Unfortunately some swimming pools consider them as normal crowd, they are not. They are multiplied, asynchronous and unequal. They deserve their own family day.
There are sure other categories, but these are the main you confront.
So no more swimming for me in artificial pools. I know of someone who will be happy to hear this. I gave up.
08 d’abril 2007
was it the vodka?
Vodka is nice, and that one was great. Thanks to my Vodka buddy for the evening, I went to bed absolutelly clear head and positive energy.
It showed in dreams.
I had two. One was strange, because it involved a friend of mine diving in dirtwater. Maybe some kind of sign? In the dream I didn't want to dive. I don't like diving in water I cannot see the bottom.
It has been the weekend of the Eastern straycats. I saw more people these two last days than the last two weeks together. Chat, go out, have some Vodka and find out what's new with everyone. Since nothing really new is up with me.
I mentioned someone during my Vodka session. And he appeared in my dreams. I wouldn't have imagined dreaming I was having 'intimate relations' (yes, I have been watching abfab lately) with that person, but it awoke some curiosity. What if...?
At least he pretty much satisfied me in dreams (it is nice to wake up with an orgasm). Well, you never know.
So there you go. Nice dream.
It showed in dreams.
I had two. One was strange, because it involved a friend of mine diving in dirtwater. Maybe some kind of sign? In the dream I didn't want to dive. I don't like diving in water I cannot see the bottom.
It has been the weekend of the Eastern straycats. I saw more people these two last days than the last two weeks together. Chat, go out, have some Vodka and find out what's new with everyone. Since nothing really new is up with me.
I mentioned someone during my Vodka session. And he appeared in my dreams. I wouldn't have imagined dreaming I was having 'intimate relations' (yes, I have been watching abfab lately) with that person, but it awoke some curiosity. What if...?
At least he pretty much satisfied me in dreams (it is nice to wake up with an orgasm). Well, you never know.
So there you go. Nice dream.
04 d’abril 2007
i quina emoció
And what an exictement.
So lange nicht geschrieben... wieder. Und das leben fasst sich in ein Bündel von Emotionen zusammen.
La vida puede que no sea más que un ovillo de emociones. Bien enredado...
And this is proof. And this has to go on.
So far nothing happening, as I assumed it was going to be when starting working. Absorbing new knowledgde.
Does it happen to others when they have to learn? That you get horribly sleepy?
Please forgive me. Will be sharing.
Today's feelings: abandoning the texts
apathy again?
gotta get going.
My computer failed for some days and I felt so lonely.
Sorry, wine speaking a bit.
So lange nicht geschrieben... wieder. Und das leben fasst sich in ein Bündel von Emotionen zusammen.
La vida puede que no sea más que un ovillo de emociones. Bien enredado...
And this is proof. And this has to go on.
So far nothing happening, as I assumed it was going to be when starting working. Absorbing new knowledgde.
Does it happen to others when they have to learn? That you get horribly sleepy?
Please forgive me. Will be sharing.
Today's feelings: abandoning the texts
apathy again?
gotta get going.
My computer failed for some days and I felt so lonely.
Sorry, wine speaking a bit.
23 de març 2007
Großartig!
Estic surant pels efectes post concert. Nine Inch Nails... They were... Loud! I en veure Trent en escena, agafar el micro i començar a cantar les primeres notes... Quasi m'hi pixo a sobre. Per sort només vaig mullar els ulls amb unes llagrimetes incipients... Però la mar d'emocionades, reconec. Què bé que senta emocionar-se amb la música.
Tita, em vaig comportar, i com. Vaig pensar molt en tu, si hagués tingut un mòbil t'hauria passat un mini vídeo abans del teu concert per fer-te salibar una estona. Vam agafar un lloc privilegiat. A dalt, assegudets com iaies i amb vista de l'escenari panoràmic. Allà l'acústica era molt bona.
Trent Reznor gaudeix de l'escenari, s'ho passa bé, transmet moltíssim. Una gaudeix de veure'l gaudir. I es comunica de maravella amb el públic. No puc dir més. Només que van pirar-se-les abrúptament. Ni Zugabe ni hòsties. I als holandesos, tan sosos com sempre, els va faltar temps per pirar organitzadament uns 2 minuts de crits més tard.
Ara venen els petits paral.lelismes de la vida. Un dia després la sala Paradiso d'Amsterdam s'omplirà per darrer cop per rebre uns individus foscos, sorollosos i irreverentment provocatius mentre una gran part de Catalunya s'hi aplegarà a Verges a rebre un artista reconegut als Països Catalans i famossíssim a Kolomna (si no que li preguntin a tots els rusos que canten ara el "tomba, tomba" des que vaig marxar, és el meu sobrenom), artista si més no provocatiu, en un estil completament diferent, però de cap manera comparable amb l'estil i estètica dels Nine Inch Nails.
Per què els comparo, doncs?
Coses dels gens, amics. Pels que no saben que tinc una germana, sí, la tinc. És una mica l'altra cara però definitivament de la mateixa moneda. Amb els anys ens hem sorprès de descobrir les nostres afinitats. I apreciar les nostres diferències.
Portaria molt de temps descriure la diversitat dels caràcters tot i haver estat educades conjúntament i haver compartit 16 anys de vida. Però el que segueix crec que farà mostra a mode de metàfora melòmana del contrast.
La germana petita sempre ha estat més responsable, predictible i organitzada. No és difícil si la gran (moi) va néixer amb certes capacitats humanes un pèl subdesenvolupades. Vamos, que la rara sóc jo.
Però imagineu les imatges. Les dues germanes amb la seva entrada a la mà. La gran, exposant NIN, sala Paradiso, Amsterdam. After party al Korsakov. La petita, carpa organitzada a Verges per a l'event, amb tertúlia a l'ajuntament. A l'entrada hi diu: Lluís Llach, Envelat, Verges, Girona. Tota una llegenda, que es retira del món de la música. I que deixa llegat...
I puc veure les dues germanes, cadascuna en el moment de clímax del concert. En Llach entona "l'avi siset", el "tomba, tomba" a Rúsia. Sé d'una que segurament quasi s'hi pixa a sobre.
El mateix efecte a la gran, versió hardcore. Trent Reznor comença a tocar "March of the Pigs", jo pensava que em saltava el cor i la bufeta.
Clar que cap dels dos estils són comparables. Tampoc ho són les germanes. El cas és que no vaig poder evitar imaginar-me-la al seu esperat concert i el seu comportament. La situació en general.
La gran: head-banging, march of the pigs: "but doesn't it make you feel better + soroll elèctric indescriptible..."
La petita: sospenent el cap, de costat a costat "segur que tomba, tomba, toooombaaa", la carpa amarada de senyeres i encenedors... O espelmetes.
L'atavi:
La gran: per l'ocasió s'ha posat unes mitges de xarxa, un vestit negre de gasa i top de serp, maquillatge (no és la norma, però pel dress code convidava) lleugerament exagerat als ulls (una no volia anar de goth, no fotem, però el negre era quasi obligatori) i botes, negres, de cama alta. Per favor.
No posseixo imatges de la petita, i em temo que tampoc el permís de mostrar-ne si en tingués (menuda es!): Però quasi m'ho puc imaginar: pantalons de pana o texans, còmodes, àmplis; camisa sòbria, jersei de punt, potser d'estampat discret, sabata plana, potser bota menorquina, maquillatge? No, no és cap festa de disfresses. És el concert d'en Llach al seu poble natal! Si us plau.
No vaig poder evitar comparar el quadre familiar, incloent-hi el pare, qui va ser el que em va informar de l'event i l'assistència de la petita. Quan, al telèfon va preguntar: "ah, vas a un concert?" "de qui?" i jo responent amb emoció: "de Nine Inch Nails..." I la seva resposta: "de... qui? Rolling Stones?". "La teva germana hi va tb de concert: d'en Lluís Llach". Sorpresa, sorpresa.
Joder, igualetes!
Toquen Closer. No vaig fer cap striptease, Yoyo. Però al head banging el va acompanyar una mica de hip-banging. Què menys!
Puc imaginar la petita cridant: "la gallineta diu no!", amb un moviment que anomenariem: 'sacsejant el cap i les mans'.
A uns 1400 Km al Nord una morena tenyida de vermell amb serell brama: "I wanna fuck you like an animal!". No digueu que els textos no són reivindicatius, però alguna cosa em diu que la gallineta, no estava tan aturmentada, ni necessitava dir marranades per ser provocativa. Bé, segurament la gallineta també follava com un animal. Però no per sentir-se més propera a Déu i fugir d'ella mateixa. Coses del Rock.
Coses dels gens...
Tita, em vaig comportar, i com. Vaig pensar molt en tu, si hagués tingut un mòbil t'hauria passat un mini vídeo abans del teu concert per fer-te salibar una estona. Vam agafar un lloc privilegiat. A dalt, assegudets com iaies i amb vista de l'escenari panoràmic. Allà l'acústica era molt bona.
Trent Reznor gaudeix de l'escenari, s'ho passa bé, transmet moltíssim. Una gaudeix de veure'l gaudir. I es comunica de maravella amb el públic. No puc dir més. Només que van pirar-se-les abrúptament. Ni Zugabe ni hòsties. I als holandesos, tan sosos com sempre, els va faltar temps per pirar organitzadament uns 2 minuts de crits més tard.
Ara venen els petits paral.lelismes de la vida. Un dia després la sala Paradiso d'Amsterdam s'omplirà per darrer cop per rebre uns individus foscos, sorollosos i irreverentment provocatius mentre una gran part de Catalunya s'hi aplegarà a Verges a rebre un artista reconegut als Països Catalans i famossíssim a Kolomna (si no que li preguntin a tots els rusos que canten ara el "tomba, tomba" des que vaig marxar, és el meu sobrenom), artista si més no provocatiu, en un estil completament diferent, però de cap manera comparable amb l'estil i estètica dels Nine Inch Nails.
Per què els comparo, doncs?
Coses dels gens, amics. Pels que no saben que tinc una germana, sí, la tinc. És una mica l'altra cara però definitivament de la mateixa moneda. Amb els anys ens hem sorprès de descobrir les nostres afinitats. I apreciar les nostres diferències.
Portaria molt de temps descriure la diversitat dels caràcters tot i haver estat educades conjúntament i haver compartit 16 anys de vida. Però el que segueix crec que farà mostra a mode de metàfora melòmana del contrast.
La germana petita sempre ha estat més responsable, predictible i organitzada. No és difícil si la gran (moi) va néixer amb certes capacitats humanes un pèl subdesenvolupades. Vamos, que la rara sóc jo.
Però imagineu les imatges. Les dues germanes amb la seva entrada a la mà. La gran, exposant NIN, sala Paradiso, Amsterdam. After party al Korsakov. La petita, carpa organitzada a Verges per a l'event, amb tertúlia a l'ajuntament. A l'entrada hi diu: Lluís Llach, Envelat, Verges, Girona. Tota una llegenda, que es retira del món de la música. I que deixa llegat...
I puc veure les dues germanes, cadascuna en el moment de clímax del concert. En Llach entona "l'avi siset", el "tomba, tomba" a Rúsia. Sé d'una que segurament quasi s'hi pixa a sobre.
El mateix efecte a la gran, versió hardcore. Trent Reznor comença a tocar "March of the Pigs", jo pensava que em saltava el cor i la bufeta.
Clar que cap dels dos estils són comparables. Tampoc ho són les germanes. El cas és que no vaig poder evitar imaginar-me-la al seu esperat concert i el seu comportament. La situació en general.
La gran: head-banging, march of the pigs: "but doesn't it make you feel better + soroll elèctric indescriptible..."
La petita: sospenent el cap, de costat a costat "segur que tomba, tomba, toooombaaa", la carpa amarada de senyeres i encenedors... O espelmetes.
L'atavi:
La gran: per l'ocasió s'ha posat unes mitges de xarxa, un vestit negre de gasa i top de serp, maquillatge (no és la norma, però pel dress code convidava) lleugerament exagerat als ulls (una no volia anar de goth, no fotem, però el negre era quasi obligatori) i botes, negres, de cama alta. Per favor.
No posseixo imatges de la petita, i em temo que tampoc el permís de mostrar-ne si en tingués (menuda es!): Però quasi m'ho puc imaginar: pantalons de pana o texans, còmodes, àmplis; camisa sòbria, jersei de punt, potser d'estampat discret, sabata plana, potser bota menorquina, maquillatge? No, no és cap festa de disfresses. És el concert d'en Llach al seu poble natal! Si us plau.
No vaig poder evitar comparar el quadre familiar, incloent-hi el pare, qui va ser el que em va informar de l'event i l'assistència de la petita. Quan, al telèfon va preguntar: "ah, vas a un concert?" "de qui?" i jo responent amb emoció: "de Nine Inch Nails..." I la seva resposta: "de... qui? Rolling Stones?". "La teva germana hi va tb de concert: d'en Lluís Llach". Sorpresa, sorpresa.
Joder, igualetes!
Toquen Closer. No vaig fer cap striptease, Yoyo. Però al head banging el va acompanyar una mica de hip-banging. Què menys!
Puc imaginar la petita cridant: "la gallineta diu no!", amb un moviment que anomenariem: 'sacsejant el cap i les mans'.
A uns 1400 Km al Nord una morena tenyida de vermell amb serell brama: "I wanna fuck you like an animal!". No digueu que els textos no són reivindicatius, però alguna cosa em diu que la gallineta, no estava tan aturmentada, ni necessitava dir marranades per ser provocativa. Bé, segurament la gallineta també follava com un animal. Però no per sentir-se més propera a Déu i fugir d'ella mateixa. Coses del Rock.
Coses dels gens...
18 de març 2007
el que fa l'alcohol
Matar un parell de neurones inútils, total...
AS i have loads of ideas, and little time (this cannot go on like this) here a picture of the evening.
Remember in February, that I was about to nick the wheel of an abandoned bike to have a piece I needed for the grey bike?
Alcohol makes miracles.
A group pict in advanced alcoholic stage (some more than others), I actually remeber stumbling against a car on the bike on the way home, as usual rainy and windy, and hear people going "wey-oh!" and the sound of a side window bending. Hope it wasn't bad.
And no more going to Irish pubs for Saint Patrick's day. Too crowded. Too smelly.
12 de març 2007
theories
... I guess I will never be good at throwing theories, since, as far as I remember, I am good JUST at research ergo browsing around and finding sources but not the part that includes filing and putting things together.
I say this because we briefly elaborated an "Alfa person" theory in a bar on a gracht and now I am determined to scratch it out and put the bits together. Another on the list to come.
Nevermind.
I haven't drunk coffee a couple of days now and I get a stiff neck and a headache. I didn't mean to, I just forgot to make any yesterday and thought it was cool to stay so for some days. But 'so' describes me now with a 2 day buzzing head, painful sleep (the one you wake up with a stiff tongue, dried and cut in cracks) and the whole day long ready to go to the neighbour's to visit the cat, and getting distracted on the process. I got dressed, which is a great achievement, and put my coat on. then I got distracted with the problems of globalisation related to the impact in the enviroment and kinda kept sitting like this and clicking pages until I somehow ended up reading about David Fincher's films. Isn't it amazing how we change subjects?
What one thing can so remotely connect to the other?
Like my unability to get dressed. I would do much more outdoors if I didn't have to get dressed. One day I will pass a fashion list of my indoors models. I think that if I don't go out that much it is because I am too lazy to get dressed. It used to happen to me as well back when I was a young girl and lived with my parents. And it was winter. Only winter could do that. It was just cozy to stay in my pajamas. Since I live in a cold country this happens over and over, day by day. I usually leave with my pajamas on and a long coat on top. To the supermarket, to the post office, to the library and back. It takes me at least one hour to convince myself to get some shoes on.
Strange. When the weather is nice it goes the other way around. Nothing compresses, nothing bothers. I just wear dresses, if the chance allows it with nothing else underneath, on the beach, same same, nothing if possible, topless a rule. Shoes ain't a problem, as you can slip them in like slippers. I just have to wait for those months a year (or 15 days in Holland) and try to take one month holidays to anywhere warm. And think that life could be like that.
Such a prelude just to show around and say I'm fine. And looking forward to hear from all. Particularly one person, I won't name her here, but will write soon.
Anyhoo, below a picture sent by Cris. As she came to NL for some days and we got to hang around (però no vam fer prou mal...). Pity we missed a good bar session.
I must say I'm not that satified with my image, and I don't really want to post images of myself, but a promise is a promise. And otherwise she looks sooo cute!
.JPG)
I say this because we briefly elaborated an "Alfa person" theory in a bar on a gracht and now I am determined to scratch it out and put the bits together. Another on the list to come.
Nevermind.
I haven't drunk coffee a couple of days now and I get a stiff neck and a headache. I didn't mean to, I just forgot to make any yesterday and thought it was cool to stay so for some days. But 'so' describes me now with a 2 day buzzing head, painful sleep (the one you wake up with a stiff tongue, dried and cut in cracks) and the whole day long ready to go to the neighbour's to visit the cat, and getting distracted on the process. I got dressed, which is a great achievement, and put my coat on. then I got distracted with the problems of globalisation related to the impact in the enviroment and kinda kept sitting like this and clicking pages until I somehow ended up reading about David Fincher's films. Isn't it amazing how we change subjects?
What one thing can so remotely connect to the other?
Like my unability to get dressed. I would do much more outdoors if I didn't have to get dressed. One day I will pass a fashion list of my indoors models. I think that if I don't go out that much it is because I am too lazy to get dressed. It used to happen to me as well back when I was a young girl and lived with my parents. And it was winter. Only winter could do that. It was just cozy to stay in my pajamas. Since I live in a cold country this happens over and over, day by day. I usually leave with my pajamas on and a long coat on top. To the supermarket, to the post office, to the library and back. It takes me at least one hour to convince myself to get some shoes on.
Strange. When the weather is nice it goes the other way around. Nothing compresses, nothing bothers. I just wear dresses, if the chance allows it with nothing else underneath, on the beach, same same, nothing if possible, topless a rule. Shoes ain't a problem, as you can slip them in like slippers. I just have to wait for those months a year (or 15 days in Holland) and try to take one month holidays to anywhere warm. And think that life could be like that.
Such a prelude just to show around and say I'm fine. And looking forward to hear from all. Particularly one person, I won't name her here, but will write soon.
Anyhoo, below a picture sent by Cris. As she came to NL for some days and we got to hang around (però no vam fer prou mal...). Pity we missed a good bar session.
I must say I'm not that satified with my image, and I don't really want to post images of myself, but a promise is a promise. And otherwise she looks sooo cute!
.JPG)
09 de març 2007
the good, the bad and the impossible
Do good things in life come in three?...
I just woke up of my day sleep to face another night of work. I work shifts. It's not healthy, but I love it.
That apart, everytime I have a dream related to that I get somehow disturbed by the thought of it existing. IT??!
, an undescribable 'it', the essence of the existence of what I call a live memory. Anyway, let's say there are three loves I recognize: The one you should love, the one you shouldn't and the one you can't. And subsequently: you won't keep the one you should love, you love the one you shouldn't and you want to be able to have the one you can't. It feels as an unrequited love. Far in distance and in the whole sense of it: unreachable by any other means. Basta.
Luckly the thought occupies my mind only when I dream of him, which I thank my subconscious to be scarcely, the memory thogh lingers on. It is not pleasant to dream about good times and wish they were back. Because they are not and they won't. And it sucks.
I don't want to recreate the sense or the nonsense of it. I think you will always go back to the platonic memories because they awake feelings you may believe to be in a slumber, to be numb. It doesn't matter what you feel anymore, because you want to be realistic and move on.
So I dreamt about him. It's something I can't control. It was sad. I dreamt a kind of a cyclic punishment, in which I was seeing him everyday and he would not notice me. In the end of this dream, in a room full of people where I could recognize him I cry in one of the occasions. Oh, how sweet and hopeless, that: "he doesn't notice me anymore" that I confirm and deconfirm as time goes by, I cry and dry my tears twisted palms, to the outside. If it means anything.
I don't think I master routine relationships.
I wonder too much until they loose meaning. If I managed to last in this so unreal harmony is because "the good"
was always by my side, as it should be, giving me a lesson of endurance and meaningful reasons to coexist. When I think back, it all made sense, "the good" is the dream man, you know the perfect man, that one we say it doesn't exist: it exists. The one who always listens to you, who holds when you need to, whose eyes shine when you make yourself pretty. WE were a living example of balanced harmony, of mutual respect, a gift of personal freedom, the other half that fit. Aware of my privileged position I let my mind seek for dreamy "impossibles" because of having an island in him to come back when the dream was over. And life made sense again. And I could taste harmony again, let my heart beat freely, regularly.
It crashed by it's own idyllic nature, loyal until the end, I let go because I needed suspense, tension, passionate sadness, challenge. I craved for "the bad", the one who loves you for the wrong reasons, the one I shouldn't love, the one that turns me inside out, upside down and makes my world rock, we give away to each other in a way I never experienced, I wonder I ever will or if it is possible to feel that... All that passion, the hurricane of feelings I missed. So physical.
I haven't had the time to analyse that. In order to state a theory, like scientists, I have to experiment. There is no empiric proof on the permanence of relationships. I jumped on a rollercoaster with "the bad". Can't be with or without him.
I chose that, but I know I shouldn't go there...
I breathe, dream on, I look to the ceiling and think: And there came a dream to remember what I can't forget, what I can't have.
I just woke up of my day sleep to face another night of work. I work shifts. It's not healthy, but I love it.
That apart, everytime I have a dream related to that I get somehow disturbed by the thought of it existing. IT??!
, an undescribable 'it', the essence of the existence of what I call a live memory. Anyway, let's say there are three loves I recognize: The one you should love, the one you shouldn't and the one you can't. And subsequently: you won't keep the one you should love, you love the one you shouldn't and you want to be able to have the one you can't. It feels as an unrequited love. Far in distance and in the whole sense of it: unreachable by any other means. Basta.
Luckly the thought occupies my mind only when I dream of him, which I thank my subconscious to be scarcely, the memory thogh lingers on. It is not pleasant to dream about good times and wish they were back. Because they are not and they won't. And it sucks.
I don't want to recreate the sense or the nonsense of it. I think you will always go back to the platonic memories because they awake feelings you may believe to be in a slumber, to be numb. It doesn't matter what you feel anymore, because you want to be realistic and move on.
So I dreamt about him. It's something I can't control. It was sad. I dreamt a kind of a cyclic punishment, in which I was seeing him everyday and he would not notice me. In the end of this dream, in a room full of people where I could recognize him I cry in one of the occasions. Oh, how sweet and hopeless, that: "he doesn't notice me anymore" that I confirm and deconfirm as time goes by, I cry and dry my tears twisted palms, to the outside. If it means anything.
I don't think I master routine relationships.
I wonder too much until they loose meaning. If I managed to last in this so unreal harmony is because "the good"
was always by my side, as it should be, giving me a lesson of endurance and meaningful reasons to coexist. When I think back, it all made sense, "the good" is the dream man, you know the perfect man, that one we say it doesn't exist: it exists. The one who always listens to you, who holds when you need to, whose eyes shine when you make yourself pretty. WE were a living example of balanced harmony, of mutual respect, a gift of personal freedom, the other half that fit. Aware of my privileged position I let my mind seek for dreamy "impossibles" because of having an island in him to come back when the dream was over. And life made sense again. And I could taste harmony again, let my heart beat freely, regularly. It crashed by it's own idyllic nature, loyal until the end, I let go because I needed suspense, tension, passionate sadness, challenge. I craved for "the bad", the one who loves you for the wrong reasons, the one I shouldn't love, the one that turns me inside out, upside down and makes my world rock, we give away to each other in a way I never experienced, I wonder I ever will or if it is possible to feel that... All that passion, the hurricane of feelings I missed. So physical.
I haven't had the time to analyse that. In order to state a theory, like scientists, I have to experiment. There is no empiric proof on the permanence of relationships. I jumped on a rollercoaster with "the bad". Can't be with or without him.
I chose that, but I know I shouldn't go there...
I breathe, dream on, I look to the ceiling and think: And there came a dream to remember what I can't forget, what I can't have.
01 de març 2007
I actually left the house
Amazing,
On Monday night I couldn't go to work because I accidentally drank a whole bottle of wine in the time it takes to carry a chat conversation (don't feel guilty Maita mou).
My head was a mix of Paracetamol and visits to Mr Roca to expel pinky bits.
Today I finally left the house coming out of my self-pityness. A great achievement.
I went to the supermarket and bought so much stuff the security guys had to help me lift my backpack. It was so heavy that the front wheel of my bike was lifting up, because I was resting my ass and groceries in the back. I've had worse supermarket returns. One time my grocery box spread in the middle of a crossing and over the tram rails just on time for the tram to cross and quench a couple of yoghourts, and no-one but an elderly woman helped me pick it all up and even asked me if I was ok. Bless her whoever she was.
I watched "city of God" and became very concerned about human nature. I just applied the guettoish dirty survival and ambicious game to higher spheres and became very scared of today's governments and their soffisticated mobbing. Fear, for a lot of power becomes a very ruthless addiction. Arrggg!
And moving on to gossip vomiting, I saw the flat next door is on sale. It was sold for about 20% the value of mine. And it looks exactly the same, same size, and even less cute. If it goes on like this in one year, cigroneta, maybe I will be able to sell it and move in with you down under. Oh man! the thought makes me so happy. I was biking in the rain, annoying fringe in my eyes and freezing rain blurring my sight and wondered again "what the hell am I doing in this country?" no place for a summeblume.
Today's feelings: kinda wondering about "life support system for..." - I made up a new alias. Hmm what now?
Self-pityness moving towards the "Gotta change" stage. Started by cutting my hair and request an annoying fringe. THIS annoying. Enjoy
PS: pict as been changed after hearing how unlucky the other was... I guess one for the vanity!
On Monday night I couldn't go to work because I accidentally drank a whole bottle of wine in the time it takes to carry a chat conversation (don't feel guilty Maita mou).
My head was a mix of Paracetamol and visits to Mr Roca to expel pinky bits.
Today I finally left the house coming out of my self-pityness. A great achievement.
I went to the supermarket and bought so much stuff the security guys had to help me lift my backpack. It was so heavy that the front wheel of my bike was lifting up, because I was resting my ass and groceries in the back. I've had worse supermarket returns. One time my grocery box spread in the middle of a crossing and over the tram rails just on time for the tram to cross and quench a couple of yoghourts, and no-one but an elderly woman helped me pick it all up and even asked me if I was ok. Bless her whoever she was.
I watched "city of God" and became very concerned about human nature. I just applied the guettoish dirty survival and ambicious game to higher spheres and became very scared of today's governments and their soffisticated mobbing. Fear, for a lot of power becomes a very ruthless addiction. Arrggg!
And moving on to gossip vomiting, I saw the flat next door is on sale. It was sold for about 20% the value of mine. And it looks exactly the same, same size, and even less cute. If it goes on like this in one year, cigroneta, maybe I will be able to sell it and move in with you down under. Oh man! the thought makes me so happy. I was biking in the rain, annoying fringe in my eyes and freezing rain blurring my sight and wondered again "what the hell am I doing in this country?" no place for a summeblume.
Today's feelings: kinda wondering about "life support system for..." - I made up a new alias. Hmm what now?
Self-pityness moving towards the "Gotta change" stage. Started by cutting my hair and request an annoying fringe. THIS annoying. Enjoy
PS: pict as been changed after hearing how unlucky the other was... I guess one for the vanity!
24 de febrer 2007
QUIRKS
I'm trying to collect my quirks, those things that make me "special", since I think everyone has some, and it is funny to see how people develop the most peculiar ones, out of experiences or innherent habits. When I get to know people it is a fascinating subject I like to find out about. You know someone well when you are aware of their quirks... And of course I am no exception.
I have a cup. See my cup.
I bought this cup in Sydney, a city where I wish I could live happily ever after (and not here in the cold). Back then I was living with 7 guys and I was the only girl in the flat, I called it an adult and down under version of Snowhite and the seven dwarfs. The guys all had physical jobs, whereas I was the soft ass little princess who was on an exchange program of Pompoi Harvard and taking care of children to earn some money and travel up the coast. I gave up the cleaning in Vicar St 21 Flat#1 after 2 weeks living together and learnt to get used to the crispy sound of stepping on cockroaches instead.
My mug was purchased in Randwick, NSW, in a dollar shop.
It found me, it was love at first sight, but I forgot it in the flat in Vicar St. upon my departure. That's why I came back to Sydney 6 months later to pick it up.
It was slightly damaged but still there. I could consider it a luck cup, since thanks to it, one of the Vicar St tennants recognized me at a party, and due to it I hung around at the party and so I got to meet ... *sigh* ... nevermind. What's past is past.
My cup has a sister, and both no name. That's because I saw another version of the cup during 3rd visit to Australia, in the same shop :
now I use it more than the older one. You can tell by the many stains. Proof that I don't tend to wash it much...
So his would be then make my first quirk
Nr#1
I always have to drink coffee from the same cup. From my cup, or when visiting, always the same one. I don't like anyone else use mine and I hardly ever wash it, I also don't like anyone else to wash it up it for me. It's one of the first things people learn when they move in with me and the first apology I make for sounding a bit weird. Otherwise I'm ok to live with... Hope all my ex-flatmates read this some day and deliver proof <..> eeo?!!
QUIRK NR 2
I never wear a watch. I once lost one and learned how to live without. I'm better
at guessing the temperature than the time, but strange enough I haven't had the need
of a watch for over 14 years.
2.1 --> I will put it all together because this adds up to my aversion against
devices.
I don't have a TV, I haven't had one since 1996. Same thing as the watch, I
one day didn't have one and got used to it. I only watch TV as a guest and even
so, I don't get a good feeling after watching. Tell me about series,
advertisements... I have little idea. But I really don't mind. I don't know if
this makes me an anti-TV person, I don't think so, but I don't feel too
confortable when I'm visiting and that thing is always on. Amazing how our
habits change... I can browse the biggest junk on the internet, tho so I guess it
compensates for the TV thing.
2.2 -->
I HATE telephones. I don't know when or why it happened. Because I like to talk to
people since I tend to spend probably 10x the time of a phone call paying a visit
and probably 4x the monthly amount of a phone bill to get there and back (bear in
mind many friends live abroad) and I still prefer it. Although I don't mind
chatting or even talking over the PC. It is the carrying a device that might
interrupt me what disconforts me. And the fact that people call for the stupidest
reasons. The worst case is if they want to give me directions or try to start a
conversation when I'm calling for a question-answer thing, I am so concentrated in
hanging up I can't process information. A headset would make me feel funny and I'm
probably one of the few persons who runs when the mobile rings in public to hide on
a corner.
My desire to comunicate avoiding phones as much as possible was one of the reasons I thought it would be a good idea to post stuff. To communicate through other means, since I can't write always everyone and a mailing is sometimes not best welcome... I think about lots of persons at different times of the day, or at the same time. It is hard to be everywhere...
I want to apologise as well if anyone finds it hard to reach me. I sometimes leave the mobile home if I know I don't have to be reachable. I don't have a land line, because once I had so much trouble with the telephone company and old bills of flatmates I let them cut the line, and I didn't reactivate it. My father gave me an old mobile (zapatófono) which in fact was better, since you can take it with you in case you need it.
I use the phone if necessary, not to chat. I don't understand why people like publically shout around their bullshit whilst talking on the mobile, as if we cared.
By the way, I don't listen much to the mailbox. If you want to reach me WRITE me on the mobile. Then you will be sure I receive the news, I keep them, and I respond.
I have more, like hating umbrellas and being pulled into one when it rains, but I think that is enough to be processed for a while. I didn't want to turn this into an ode to my quirks. I do admit the device fobia makes me somehow old fashioned, but hey! What about computers? I couldn't live without one. And it still surprises me when I learn that some people have no internet and can get away without it.
By the way, another quirk is that I find it so difficult to ask for help...
Stupid me, I want to think people read my mind. Still fitting in the "einzelgänger" profile, and though, I could never have enough of being sorrounded by people, friends, specially under the same roof. Learn their stories, share moments... (ja m'estic posant hippie un altre cop...)
Enough from now. I will be happy to learn more about your quirks.
Kisses to all and thanks for the e-mails. It really makes me happy and in moments of loneliness, less lonely to hear from you...
I have a cup. See my cup.
I bought this cup in Sydney, a city where I wish I could live happily ever after (and not here in the cold). Back then I was living with 7 guys and I was the only girl in the flat, I called it an adult and down under version of Snowhite and the seven dwarfs. The guys all had physical jobs, whereas I was the soft ass little princess who was on an exchange program of Pompoi Harvard and taking care of children to earn some money and travel up the coast. I gave up the cleaning in Vicar St 21 Flat#1 after 2 weeks living together and learnt to get used to the crispy sound of stepping on cockroaches instead.
My mug was purchased in Randwick, NSW, in a dollar shop.
It found me, it was love at first sight, but I forgot it in the flat in Vicar St. upon my departure. That's why I came back to Sydney 6 months later to pick it up.
It was slightly damaged but still there. I could consider it a luck cup, since thanks to it, one of the Vicar St tennants recognized me at a party, and due to it I hung around at the party and so I got to meet ... *sigh* ... nevermind. What's past is past.
My cup has a sister, and both no name. That's because I saw another version of the cup during 3rd visit to Australia, in the same shop :
now I use it more than the older one. You can tell by the many stains. Proof that I don't tend to wash it much...
So his would be then make my first quirk
Nr#1
I always have to drink coffee from the same cup. From my cup, or when visiting, always the same one. I don't like anyone else use mine and I hardly ever wash it, I also don't like anyone else to wash it up it for me. It's one of the first things people learn when they move in with me and the first apology I make for sounding a bit weird. Otherwise I'm ok to live with... Hope all my ex-flatmates read this some day and deliver proof <..> eeo?!!
QUIRK NR 2
I never wear a watch. I once lost one and learned how to live without. I'm better
at guessing the temperature than the time, but strange enough I haven't had the need
of a watch for over 14 years.
2.1 --> I will put it all together because this adds up to my aversion against
devices.
I don't have a TV, I haven't had one since 1996. Same thing as the watch, I
one day didn't have one and got used to it. I only watch TV as a guest and even
so, I don't get a good feeling after watching. Tell me about series,
advertisements... I have little idea. But I really don't mind. I don't know if
this makes me an anti-TV person, I don't think so, but I don't feel too
confortable when I'm visiting and that thing is always on. Amazing how our
habits change... I can browse the biggest junk on the internet, tho so I guess it
compensates for the TV thing.
2.2 -->
I HATE telephones. I don't know when or why it happened. Because I like to talk to
people since I tend to spend probably 10x the time of a phone call paying a visit
and probably 4x the monthly amount of a phone bill to get there and back (bear in
mind many friends live abroad) and I still prefer it. Although I don't mind
chatting or even talking over the PC. It is the carrying a device that might
interrupt me what disconforts me. And the fact that people call for the stupidest
reasons. The worst case is if they want to give me directions or try to start a
conversation when I'm calling for a question-answer thing, I am so concentrated in
hanging up I can't process information. A headset would make me feel funny and I'm
probably one of the few persons who runs when the mobile rings in public to hide on
a corner.
My desire to comunicate avoiding phones as much as possible was one of the reasons I thought it would be a good idea to post stuff. To communicate through other means, since I can't write always everyone and a mailing is sometimes not best welcome... I think about lots of persons at different times of the day, or at the same time. It is hard to be everywhere...
I want to apologise as well if anyone finds it hard to reach me. I sometimes leave the mobile home if I know I don't have to be reachable. I don't have a land line, because once I had so much trouble with the telephone company and old bills of flatmates I let them cut the line, and I didn't reactivate it. My father gave me an old mobile (zapatófono) which in fact was better, since you can take it with you in case you need it.
I use the phone if necessary, not to chat. I don't understand why people like publically shout around their bullshit whilst talking on the mobile, as if we cared.
By the way, I don't listen much to the mailbox. If you want to reach me WRITE me on the mobile. Then you will be sure I receive the news, I keep them, and I respond.
I have more, like hating umbrellas and being pulled into one when it rains, but I think that is enough to be processed for a while. I didn't want to turn this into an ode to my quirks. I do admit the device fobia makes me somehow old fashioned, but hey! What about computers? I couldn't live without one. And it still surprises me when I learn that some people have no internet and can get away without it.
By the way, another quirk is that I find it so difficult to ask for help...
Stupid me, I want to think people read my mind. Still fitting in the "einzelgänger" profile, and though, I could never have enough of being sorrounded by people, friends, specially under the same roof. Learn their stories, share moments... (ja m'estic posant hippie un altre cop...)
Enough from now. I will be happy to learn more about your quirks.
Kisses to all and thanks for the e-mails. It really makes me happy and in moments of loneliness, less lonely to hear from you...
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