Try to be good...

Too great to be spoiled with more words:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LUYExVWlAY

All these accidents that happen...

Sorry, Björk, I have to disagree, emergency is NOT where I want to be... but who cares, right?
Let's just say that the nearest pharmacy on Monday was closed "due to ilness" and the second nearest did not have the medicine I needed and that my fever got worse and I had such a terrible cough that I thought I would suffocate, so I finally had to rely on my friends. They brought me something to drink and later brought me to the doctor's where I spent three hours waiting, feverish, for the sentence : bad kind of bronchitis, antibiotics for ten more days, no work, no school, no stairs-climbing, being very careful, coming for further examination next week..
I did not have the power to be brave and optimistic and do this "I don't mind" exercise anymore... My students, my teachers, my family, my friends, they are all loosing patience with me, so where on earth shall I get more patience with myself from? Am I really such a "bad-luck magnet"?
No. I suppose it could be worse. By pure chance (coincidence?) I found this anti-depressive article in the few minutes I was able to sit at the desk and send apologies to all possible directions...and I guess there are still people, whose tragicomic autobiography would be a better selling book than mine. Suppose I should be grateful I don't have any glue around to get it down my throat.

That which does not kill you makes you stronger...n'est ce pas?

I was having surprisingly pleasant dream about my ex-boyfriend and his present day girlfriend having a wonderful time during their holiday. Perhaps there is something nice awaiting me as well, thought I, when the early alarm clock interrupted the dream and I had to get up very quickly to be able to pick up the charger and the present for one Lady with a capital L, whose birthday celebration I was supposed to attend in the evening. Both things were placed at the dormitories, three hours far from my home-bed and one hour far from my workplace where I usually start teaching at noon. (I like to express distances in hours, it is much more accurate than in kilometers or miles and I like the idea of being a time traveller rather than space traveller). However close my morning race with time seemed to be, I ignored my regular morning cough getting painful and remembered the "Yes, we can" motto accompanying Obama's campaign. Not that I would like to become another Hillary or Madeleine, my desires are much humbler, such as "being healthy for at least two weeks in a row".
I packed my backpack and ignored the fact that it was very painful to pick it up. I imputed the hurting muscles to my Saturday excercise and stepped out to the freezing morning. And as I was approaching the bus station, I was feeling more and more as a Little Mermaid, being so in love with "her" prince charming that she would risk her every step being painful just to get to him. I still hoped that the pain in my legs and feet would disappear during the journey in the bus, instead I got really sick on the bus as there was a terrible smell from the toilet. When I got off the bus and almost fainted, I knew that things are turning out not exactly the way I would like them to. I almost dozed off in the underground and when I got to the end station and had to change for another bus, burning tears were coming down my cheeks and I could not stop them. I had a terrible headache and had to wait on the crowded bus stop for more than half an hour (angry as I already knew that I was behind the schedule even though I got up really early to omit this) before the right bus came. I desperately wished for some seat, but as there were many disappointed people waiting for this bus, I had to be grateful for a place for my backpack, myself standing on the stairs. There were young men and their small bags sitting provocatively on the seats next to the stairs and I was tempted to tell them I was pregnant (which I am not, and in my age, or, better said, financial situation,this is something I still should be grateful for)- it would be a white lie as I was feeling as sick as if I were, but there were many old ladies standing one step higher than I was, so I resigned on the idea of getting myself a seat. When I fell off the bus near our dormitories, I thought I wouldn't be able to get there. And I knew there would be no food and no medicine upstairs and was really tempted to ask some of my friends with a car to get me to the doctor's and to help me get some medicine and to bring at least some bread and water to my prison, but then I remembered how many issues those two friends who came up my mind had to solve themselves and gave up on this crisis idea either. My eyelids were burning, and I felt like crying out loud. I managed to get to my room, checked my temperature, realized that -yes, I was feverish; started charging the cell phone as well as writing this post in the meantime, just to check my pc and my fingers can still move).
Then I called my students (not my employer though) that I am -again- out of order and have no chance to talk to them just today, less to get them an alternative, which, naturally, made them slightly angry. What made me angry was that I knew that my evening plans are out of question and tried to call Carrot to tell him and to ask him to tell the Lady that "Terribly sad princess" is not coming today, although she had promised to, and hoping he/she they wouldn't be too angry. But I couldn't reach him.
So. Now I am going to try and climb up two more hills and staircases (without the backpack this time) and get myself some medicine and some bread (not that I felt hungry).Then I will try to call some people waiting very long time to have the chance to see me again and tell them that I am sorry. Then I am hopefully going to get some sleep. And if I am very, very lucky, I will be able to celebrate the evening by working at one of my belated essays.
Great expectations.

Saturday night fever

In a naive try not to get infected I went to sleep in the room with my parents.
Soon after I had finally fallen asleep I heard my father saying "thirty-eight". Which meant Celsius degrees. Which meant he had a fever. Which meant me and my mother got up to bring him paracetamol and water and perhaps new sheet and blankets. Which meant we met in the kitchen and my mother was not expecting me and got scared and then angry.
After half an hour of waiting whether the pills would help or not, we were planning to get back to sleep, when my father said :"Do you think it's possible that the birds catch human flu?" I couldn't help but smile. It has not been so long since the time when the whole world was scared that humans would catch the bird's flu. And now, when when it is very important for my father not to get infected, especially in the lungs area, the first thing this birdwatcher cares about is birds. No, daddy, you'd rather not feed the birds tomorrow. As soon as you are healthy again...there you have a motivation. Get well soon. The birds will need you.

Spin the bottle…

No. I did not spend this weekend playing would-be entertaining adolescent games with a group of drunken friends. Quite the contrary, I went home with the plan to try and behave in as adult way as possible. So why did I choose such a confusing headline for my entry again?

Well, first of all, it is a good eye-catcher, isn’t it (wish I could include it in my essay somehow, I really do); usually nobody is interested in reading about housework, but everyone would read anything that seems to be-even distantly- connected to something erotic:), but the main and serious reason is that "Spin the bottle" or "Truth or Dare" are the closest possible names for our variety of this game, known in our country under the less attractive name of "Do you mind or not?" which is a literal translation of the question you ask the other players throughout the game before making them do/answer something unpleasant. And as my weekend plans went upside down the moment I unlocked the main door on Friday evening, as if someone did actually spin the bottle; as lots of things that have happened since that time made me think about what "truth" and "dare" were; and as I had to do a lot of "I don’t mind" practice, I found the title quite appropriate.

After quite a tiring Friday spent with a huge backpack on my back, traveling through the city in traffic jams and trying to solve as many issues as possible, in spite of all slippery surfaces and angry people I finally got through a terrible half-snow, half-rain curtain to our block of flats.
I was looking forward to unpacking my things, giving some presents to my father for his nameday, having a warm shower (no, I did not have one the day before, the blackout was even longer than I expected), working on my essay on sister’s laptop (as she was not supposed to be at home this weekend) and going to an early sleep to be prepared to help my mother with moving the heavy things from the garage the next day as I had promised. But when I came home, there was a nasty argument between my mother and my sister,who were shouting terrible and painful things at each other, including mentioning leaving home forever, being irresponsible and selfish, becoming a premature parent and so on. It was painful for me twice, as usually it is me who gets cross with my mother and have a big argument due to a mere misunderstanding, and I know how painful that is well enough. But seeing it from the "third person" position was even worse, as I was once again reminded of how easily two people with good intentions, who actually love each other can hurt each other by trying to "help" the other one as they think they know what is best for him/her better than they do themselves.
In this case it was the fact that sister was obviously ill (coughing terribly and having red eyes) and still wanted to go out for the weekend as planned. From mother’s point of view, it was very selfish, as sister only wanted to have her fun at any cost, returning in a few days even more ill, with the consequence of her staying in bed for a longer time and causing more problems that could have fatal impact on both her studies and the rest of the family.
From sister’s point of view, getting out of the flat despite of her feeling feeble was a noble sacrifice, as she did not want to bother mother and infect father or me. And this insolvable "chivalry" from both of them ended in my sister’s crying and coughing most of the night and my not getting a proper sleep and feeling dizzy.
Of course, sister stayed at home eventually, and I am therefore not allowed to enter her room and have to share the other one (the only one there is left) with my parents, which makes even writing this blog entry almost a heroic act). If this was lat year, I would probably spent Saturday crying over my unlucky fate. But I decided to be an adult and not to forget that there are worse things in life than repeated unexpected illnesses and needless arguments and to play this "I don’t mind"game.

In the morning I realized that a few friends were sending me messages (mostly inviting me to some parties) and that my battery was almost empty and that I have left my charger at the dormitories because of the blackout and that my sister gave the spare charger to my cousin whose cell phone was stolen and that the nearest chance to charge my cell phone will therefore be Tuesday evening unless I get up really really early on Monday and change my plans.
But I didn’t mind. At least I will have some peace of mind without the com-technologies.
Then I went to the garage with my mum and realized that the neighbour had thrown all the snow from "in front of his garage" to "in front of our garage", so I did some exercise with a shovel, too, but in a more considerate way.
And I didn’t mind, thinking, "At least I will have some physical exercise"
Then we spent one and a half hour carrying heavy wooden and metal...things... up the slippery stairs to the entrance to the basement.
And I didn’t mind, as it was further strengthening my non-existing muscles.
Then we had to put these things to the basement which is a very dark and narrow cage in a dark and dusty place full of different wires, fungi and conduits, not to mention the dark blue floors and the rolling press which had been making me nervous ever since my sister read Stephen King to me.
But I almost didn’t mind. I have discovered that the years spent at the dormitories weren’t a complete waste of time even if I am expelled now. My claustrophobia has definitely become less intensive at least in some ways.
Then I was told to carry the rest of the (heavy) things to my granny who lives on the tenth floor.
And I did mind a lot and I was a coward and rang the bell and asked granny to come down by their terrible lift as I had shown enough courage in the basement and was getting really exhausted. And then I went up with her (by the lift) and stayed until sunset and then I went home and met a former flute teacher of mine and was ashamed not to go to the lift with him and he was joking about the lift being broken all the way up and then he got off and I had to continue alone and I did mind, but I managed.

So now I am at home, sister is sleeping, my mother and father are in the kitchen and I sneaked to the computer to write this entry to remind myself not to mind anything even tomorrow, when more moving and washing and ironing clothes and packing and not having a rest is on the schedule. My back hurts and I don’t mind. My legs hurt and I don’t mind. But I have spent half an hour writing this instead of writing my essay and I really SHOULD mind.
Ok, spin the bottle, pick the victim...

Blackout, or, The Last Match

I got quite used to minor, more or less regular (with a natural tendency to come at the least appropriate moment like the night before an important essay deadline) blackouts at our dormitories. The aftermath of the last one I most probably still feel in the form of my stomach ache (the blackout took place when I was at work and it took our fridge out of service, which lead to the fact that most of the food inside got rotten without my noticing it before it was too late).

But this academic year a complete and long-term blackout took place twice. First time it appeared during the exam period in September, when my roommate was out and I had to handle it alone. It caused me then a slight form of heart attack and lead to my being interrogated for seven hours by a boy from next door under the transparent pretense of trying to get to the safety-fuse in my room :) The second time when a "big bang" came was yesterday evening. It is unnecessary to add that an exam period is in full swing and my roommate is in Denmark. I got back from work quite late after a very tiring day, answered a phone -promised to arrange many things for my mother the next day (and not to forget anything and not to borther anyone except myself too much)-answered an email from a friend of mine looking for a job, answered another email from another friend looking for another kind of help, finally started to work on my essay and at the same time I was preparing myself to answer a message from my roommate who was asking for some advice concerning her webcam, when -KABOOOM- all went black.

I think I have mentioned here before that if nothing else, there is one good thing Mr. Le Soleil have taught me. To keep calm as much as possible under any circumstances. So I took a deep breath, petted my computer hoping that at least a torso of my essay was still inside and looked out of the window. Both block of flats belonging to our dormitories were drowned in complete darkness, as were the street lamps on the main street. I could also hear angry and frightened screams of the other students starting to creep out of their rooms and running to and fro in a confused manner through the corridors. "Rats" thought I, being tempted to take out my flute and start playing, just to see if they would listen or follow me, but for some reason I have decided not to. Maybe I just got used to the fact that there was no time for playing as my obligations are not finished yet. But what could I do? The borrowed laptop was discharged, an my cell phone was going to shut down every minute. Continuing in writing an essay was therefore out of question. My previous experience was telling me that the blackout would take several hours and my nerves were telling me that trying to go to sleep would have been in vain, either. I remembered my being proud of myself in September, when I had, according to the scout motto, "been prepared" and had a torch by hand. I also remembered my borrowing the torch to that neighbour boy who doesn't happen to live here anymore, but I did not remember his giving the torch back or my giving it back to the drawer. I realized I was really missing the music I had been listening to before the blackout, so I changed the flute idea for a guitar, only to sadden myself by the fact how much of my feeble player skills I have forgotten. I then desired touching the piano, but -oh, the curse of electricity-addicted mankind!-all I had was a keyboard, muted without the supply of electrons. So much for fighting blindness by music.
Then I realized I really needed to use the toilet and the shower and then I remembered my roommate having a romantic shower in the candle light once in the past.

CANDLES!

Perfect, if I found a candle, I would be at least able to read a book-such were my thoughts.
And it so happened that I have had four long candles lying on the table since... well, let's say since advent time and I thanked God for the idea of buying them back in December (not really sure whether He was the iniciator of the idea, but never mind:)) . Half-drunk by my victory over darkness I realized that having the candles is not everything.
Oh, Robinson Crusoe, would you please, please stop intervening in my life? I have no chance to check my late essay about you and refresh the knowledge of getting some fire to my desert island, and no, I am not going to try and catch the lightning from the sky, there's no storm, anyway.

Finally, I found it.
One last match.
I was not prepared.
I was ashamed.
But I still had some scout know how left.
Or I was simply lucky.

I lit all four candles with the single match. But after a few hours of hurting my eyes by reading in unstable light I came to another issue. I was afraid of blowing off the candles as I had no other source of light and I was afraid of falling asleep with the candles burning everything including me to ashes (the memory of the sere flowers and empty candle holders in front of our faculty - a tribute to a young national hero who burnt himself to death for greater good fourty years ago-was still alive). Well, I finally choose the first option (lesser evil better than greater good?) and went to a restless sleep. I was woken up four hours later by the lights (and fridge) going on again. I checked that the computer was still talking to me, wrote this "therapeutic report" and guess what? I think I am going to buy some matches, ink and paper before leaving for work. Maybe I should get myself a goat as well, to have some fresh milk and not a sour one next time.

What says thou, Selkirk ?

Emily Dickinson - Compensation

For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.

For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears.

Poetic Picture Puzzle

The cold is getting unbearable

and all the medicine you have tried...

Throw off your fears as you throw pebbles,
then spread your wings and off you fly!
There IS a bridge from dark to light
from deepest black to green and pink
and if you want you really might
find at the end the door to spring:

Find snowdrops and forget about snowflakes
and breathe the air with ancient trees
Forget the "puddles", call them "lightlakes"
and let Sun charge your batteries...

In some other universe...

In some other universe
You
would smite my needless fears
*
Being burnt by frozen tears
I
keep stuck in the perverse