Through Pink Glasses

I was carrying a really huge and heavy bag and feeling like the provebial Bull in a Chinashop, except for the fact that I was standing in the middle of an eyewear store. When I took the bag off my back without breaking a single pair of those hundreds of pairs of glasses around me, the shop assistant looked very relieved and offered her help immediately. I told her in a simpliest and silliest way that I have a prescription for glasses (whether it is a consequence of my summer "oyster-eye" adventures or of my spending too much time writing and reading) , swallowed the part about my looking as a dumbass in any kind of sunglasses I have ever put on and being afraid that dioptric glasses won't do any better... She smiled understandingly and opened three drawers full of pairs of glasses, each drawer representing one price category. Well, any pair from the first drawer would make me look as Ugly Betty, Terrible Teacher, or, at best, an Insane Geek. Any pair from the third "managerish" drawer was out of my financial reach, so I tried to focus my imperfect eyes on the "middle class" drawer. The first choice is usually the best, as someone behind me was saying in the shop. My first spontaneous glimpse belonged to a pair of glasses which just happened to have a sticker with a Treble Clef on one of the glasses and a word "Music" written on its legs... I wanted to close my eyes, pretend not to see all the other pairs and buy this one, but...it was soooo fragile and impractically designed... and I know myself and after my experience with the watch and mobile phone, I just couldn't risk that the tiny plastic joint would break and make the glasses useless after a few days of wearing. So, with a tear in my eye, the sense winning over the sensibility, I put the "Clefdesol" glasses back and tried several more. Some of them were too narrow, some of them made me look too strict (not that I did not need a bit of that to protect myself from all those who misuse my having a naive expression), some of them had really crazy shapes ... in the end I was left with a pair that was fitting perfectly, covering the whole area my eyes need for looking at distant subjects and not covering half of my face at the same time, they were even in a reasonable price cattegory, BUT. THEY WERE PINK. And they did not offer this shape in any other colour. Ok, I am a blonde, but quite a conservative one. Nothing in common with Paris Hilton, you know (except perhaps the driving skills, I admit). However - the offices and students were awaiting me and I had to decide quickly (which is something I really hate doing to be sincere). So after a short conversation with the shop assistant who was trying to convince me that I should pay more for an antireflection coating as it might be very useful when driving (and my knowing that I can afford neither extra fees nor driving for the next several years), I ordered this pair of glasses. And I am really, really looking forward to having it.

In many ways, including pain both physical and psychical, today was one of the most tiring days in my life. And yet, there was something strangely symbolic about it. No matter how terrible I have been feeling lately, I also feel something I did not certainly feel when I started to write this journal in January. A weak but certain will to live, to manage, to "grin and bear it" and to share however small spark of hope, joy or strength I may collect with the others. To be capable to look at the world around me through the pink glasses once again.

Sad Sunday

You know, I really, really hoped, everything would get better one day.
There must be an end to all suffering, misfortunes, misunderstandings and bad luck.
But maybe Frank Zappa was right: torture never stops.

I was looking forward to this weekend, hoping to see my father succesfully recovering from his surgery, hoping to talk to my mother in a friendly way, now that there are no secrets -at least concerning the family- between us, hoping to finally give the birthday presents to my sister and to celebrate and enjoy the feeling that I had been more or less healthy for two weeks, hoping to finally have time to finish and publish all the blog entries from the last three weeks, not to mention the essays, to please my parents with the few good news and funny stories...BUT.
Instead it was another sunny weekend I spent crying, arguing with my mother about nonsenses, letting the past pain overwhelm us. I had hardly any chance to talk to my father in a normal way and I (unlike the neighbours or relatives who saw him smiling, with his scar covered by bandage) was a witness to his being in pain and trying to hide it and I saw his swollen scar. Again I experienced the terrible uncertainty what to do and what is right and whom to trust and whether to trust myself, again I felt terribly guilty for everything bad that is happening around me. And, what was worse, I was unable to feel happy for those of my friends who told me they were happy. I have no wish to go back to work tomorrow (especially when almost everybody else I know is taking a day off, as Tuesday is a holiday here), but I have no desire to stay in this atmosphere either. I can't imagine myself forget everzthing, go and have fun, but I can't make myself be responsible and finish all the bureaucracy to get my accomodation stipend either. What the hell is wrong with me? And crying aloud and telling all this to you makes me seem even more insane...
So please, please, you little yet very painful mysterious wen on my right wrist, giving me troubled time most of the weekend, would you just stop it? I admit I was giving you hard time, working on computer all the time, moving the heavy furniture, trying to ignore you when you first hurt and to minimize the warnings in the form of a memory of my clasmate, whose similar problem led to a minor hand surgery, but try to understand: I can't afford going to the doctor's instead of to the offices and instead of school anymore. I need a few more days to get prepared to fight the next possible disasters... and I don't think I can manage it without your help, dear right wrist. Perhaps a little piano/flute/guitar therapy and a combination of ointments would conciliate you. Deal?

Faces of Fall II

Yesterday my aunt came to the town to attend a conference for teachers of business English with me. Due to my rather depressive state of mind, almost sleepless night from Friday to Saturday and several more reasons (especially that the conference took almost the whole rarely sunny day of my rare free time) I did not enjoy the lectures as much as in the previous years. What I did really enjoy was the way back home. Of course I should have taken the shortest way imaginable to get back to my essays, but I decided otherwise. Not only that I wanted to remind my aunt of the beauty of the city she used to study in before she had to leave for her bus back, but it was also the fact that the light was so beautiful as it hadn't been for the whole September and that I had a borrowed camera by me, which led me to the idea to take my aunt for a walk along the river and to a small island on it. I took some pictures of the leaves and trees and put them into contrast with the dim greyness of the last weeks just to remind myself why I used to love Autumn as a child.

A Dream

I stood in the mist
and hesitated
between must, could have, might and can

then took a deep breath-

and suffocated
with artificial oxygen.