Grab the Month – Start a 30 Days Challenge

It’s almost the end of the month. I wish I had kept a journal, so I could see how and on what I have spent it. To not be so harsh on me, I did wrote, well not a real journal, but kind of. If I had written though I could have gone back and see what I have done, and how. Though, when people tell you to keep journal they don’t tell you that keeping journal takes time, it can go to hours, and then if you need to go back and see what you have done and how you have done it, it means you should go back and do some math, understand your handwriting, typing, summarize, categorize and so on. it’s time consuming.

A year and a half ago, I could’n keep a journal, or to construct a to-do list, so I invented a kind of a long list with activities that are important to me, and desirable to happen on a daily base,like reading, writing, socializing, drawing, coding, exercising, cleaning, cooking, and many more. The list of  activities was long, and it turned out that one day to practice all of them is short. Very short. Each night I would have put a check next to the activity that I had succeeded in for that day. This routine lasted for two weeks, when my husband was away. When he come back home, I took a look and I saw that almost each activity on the list had a check sign at leas for once. Some had all of them. Cleaning for example. Another thing I noticed was that no matter of the type of activity, the average number of varieties per day was 5. I cannot do more than 5 things a day. Having cleaning as a standard on the list, which we take for granted, that boils own to 4. Minus the activity named socializing, that is 3. I was not working these two weeks, but stayed home with our baby. Now when I think, we don’t really have much time to do more that one to two meaningful things a day. This realization is depressing and disturbing to me. There are so many things that I want to do. Like writing this blog. I set the timer for 50 minutes, and I will simply stop when the time is off, and I will not proofread it, not that there is a lot I can do about it considering the fact that I am not a native speaker, but still I will not proofread it.

Because I remember writing several times during this moth, I will try to find out what is it that I have written, and I will try to remember the highlights of this moth, and according to it, will make a to-do list for April. Oh, the time. There would not be enough time.

With My Family

We spent both quality time together and in quantity we were doing our things separately but around each other.

I Saw Two Seasons of Mad Men

I know that doesn’t sound like a real thing to be proud of, but I actually am. The first season I watched it over a period of two years, and I didn’t lose an interest in it. Watching an episode per day without feeling guilt is a great personal achievement for me. I watch many shows that I don’t like as much as I like Mad Men, but I don’t feel guilty about it, because I have compromised for it. This is something I shouldn’t do. I should not compromise that much, and if I do, then I should enjoy the things I like without feeling guilty. Which leads me to the next thing of the kind that I did.

I am reading a book that I don’t need for school

The tittle says it all, though I am l lying about that. I do need the book for my school, yet if I am not going to use it, I still wanted it to read it some time in the future.

Went on a Weekend with the Family and Didn’t Work.

Though, I sneaked study material. My  husband caught me, and I promised that I will take the books away. And I did, and I think I succeeded in enjoying the time with my family without thinking a lot about my work. Speaking of which.

At Work

I finished one novel, marked everything in it, that I might use. Read all of the articles about it, marked possible citations, Wrote three pages out of 30. I discovered I need to read one more book, and several other articles to understand something. All in all, the job is not done yet. I wish it was going faster. I wish I can tell myself, it’s okey, you have a life outside the University you know that.

Writing Application for A Business

Dear Lord, it took me a whole minute to spell business. I hate not knowing the language, I hate it. Anyway. The 50 minutes are gone. I am putting 10 more, and hope to finish the highlights at least. The application, I have only one or two questions to answer, but it still needs time, and I need to proofread it, or give it to somebody else to do it. I hope I will be able to send it in on time. three days to go.

Saw Pajamas

For my husband’s Birthday I saw him a Pajamas. A nice one, I did it in two hours or so, so they aren’t perfect, but they are cute.

Worked on a Painting

That is also,as the application, half way done.

Exercised

I missed few sessions, but it’s fine, it was Easter. I stayed in with my family.

 

Socialized

A little bit, but enough, I think.

The time is off, I can write what was it there that I didn’t do, and then make the list for what to do. I hope to do that tomorrow. I’ll leave the photo as a hint for Brett McKay’s work that will have to do a bit with some of the next posts. Cheers.Capture

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A W Song

I went down on the earth to look for you,
don’t get me wrong,
I wasn’t, and I am certainly not an angel.
I went down because also there,
I didn’t know what  am I
how am I
and who  am I?
I come only with a hope
that finding you will define me,
but I can’t be you, because you is already taken, from you.
I will have to be somebody else.

I don’t even like poetry.

When you have no one to impress.

Some people are not religious and they have no place where to seek comfort. They watch TV shows that in some way would make sense out of the life for them. They perceive some book as a bible and let it teach them about life. The favorite movie of Stan is the scenario that he hopes to get for his life.

As older as I get as more sure I become that people have absolutely no idea what is going on around them, especially if they have no one to impress.

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Dear Thursday, Be a Dear and Lend Me some Peace

I need it to survive life – It’s a fucking amateur, a row draft. And what else it can be? We the humans are not allowed to go back and revisit it. We can’t fix what is damaged, we will never be able to polish our own existence. We will die as a total imperfection.
Only redundant things can be revisited and polished to perfection: a toothbrush, a machine-made sculpture, a text in the New Yorker – insignificant grains barely touching the surface of what is important to us in this life.

Dear Thursday, give me a brake, give me some peace.

I met a lady today at the bus station that lived in Cyprus for 18 years.

“Oh are you a Cypriot?” I asked her.

“No, I am from here,” she said.

.

I don’t know what is with me and how come I always end up in a situation where people confide in me even when I try deliberately to stay away from it.

At the central bus station, today,  I didn’t know where would my bus stop because a construction work was happening at my stand. I wandered around, in between bus stands and I kept on high alert in order to not miss the bus when it comes. I activated most of my sensors to find if there were any signs and instructions regarding this inconvenience , and for that reason, my mental capacity was busy when a lady, I assumed in her sixties, approached me. She wanted to know if number 5 goes to the valley. I gave her a general instruction for how to find that out by herself.

There is this thing about me: when someone seeks instructions or directions from me, I go and finish the whole task for them, even though, they had not asked for it.

Lately for the sake of my son`s introduction to life and the responsibility that comes with it, I force myself to lose this habit of jumping in and saving the minute, the hour, or the day. He needs to learn, and I have no right to make shortcuts in his right to fully experience life.

When the lady at the bus station asked me about the line 5, I told her that I don’t know as well, and that for her destination she should consult the schedule on the tables on each bus stand, then, of course I told her which are the numbers that I know of that are going in her desired direction.

She said that she is aware of the option to look at the schedule, unfortunately she has forgotten her glasses at home and couldn’t read the tables without them. Then, I offered to help. Good, at least I didn’t do it straight away by a self initiative.

Note to self: good job!

When I was checking the time table and the routes for her, I told her that it is good that she can walk around without glasses, because for me, I was telling her,  it would be impossible. “I cannot go out without them.”

“Oh no, is it that bad?” she asked me.
“No, no, I can survive without them, it just that if I would go out without them, then the world becomes blurred, and I get reminded that I am not wearing them, so, I almost never have a chance to forget them. I always go back to get them.”

She said that she has no problem seeing on a distance. “I only use reading glasses. You know, glasses for old people,” she said and she  pointed to her chest to signify her own establishment as being one of the old people on the Earth. Though, quite not believing in it, because while she was pointing to her chest  she giggled as when a child giggles when her lie has been exposed while telling it, but nonetheless, keeps going with it for the sake of finishing a story. Then the lady said that the worst part, or the best part, (we both giggled- her for knowing why, I because she did) the part of not wearing her reading glasses is when she goes to the market and she cannot see the prices.

“Why don’t you wear…”And she pointed with her index finger to one of her eyes, failing to remember the name for lenses.
“Lenses,” I came in help. After all, it is me that lives in her country and yet doesn’t speak her language, why she should be fluent in English. Even I am not.
“Yes, yes, those one.””They are expensive,” I said and then I elaborated to her why they are not a rational option.
She agreed, but I got the feeling that she was more agreeing to the fact that living in general  is expensive nowadays, than the lenses exclusively.

As almost as in the same way as she brought up the conversation about the lenses, a minute later after it, she was telling me that she lived in Cyprus for 18 years.

It was the weather chit chat that linked to this statement – now I remember.

When she said that, I told her that she must speak Greek then.
“Yes,” she said, “like a native,” and then added “with my hands as well.”

I waited for explanation, and I am sure she have had explained this remark many times before because it didn’t take her long before she realize that I don’t quite understood what talking with hands meant.

“You know, not just the language, but everything else that it comes with it.” She was talking about gesticulation, intonation, and body posture. Moreover, she was talking about culture.

She had went native south there.

I can imagine, I am Mediterranean myself. I lived in or had visited most of the Mediterranean countries. I know that what the gesture for “rega” in Hebrew means – it has a completely different meaning in Italian. And you should not use it in Italy, otherwise you will be insulting someone while telling him or her “to wait just for a bit.”

“Too bad that Greek stands alone as a language in the Indo-European language family, so, knowing Greek would not be of much use, if, say, you want to learn another language easily.” I said, but her eyes were waiting for explanation.

What’s wrong with me? Why do I have to share this information over and over again. If I was fascinated by the fact that only three living languages in the Indo-European family group stand alone in a branch, that does not mean that other people would find it as interesting as I did when I first discovered it.

Nevertheless, I was already driving at full speed and stopping what I already started was impossible. I tried to explain:

“You know, like, when you know Spanish and knowing it it will help you to hack Portuguese, or Italian quickly, because they belong to a same branch of language, they share a lot of features in common, whereas, Greek, is useless in that sense. It would not help you to learn easily any other language.”
Now she knew what I meant, so I decided to make a joke, “Unless you are a philosopher, then knowing Greek is useful, indeed.”
We smiled, and then it become silent. Non of the buses that we were waiting for was to be seen. Also, the weather conversation was already used so I had to ask something else, so I did:
-“What did you do in Cyprus?”

I expected her to name some profession, an English teacher maybe. As an 60-ish years old woman her English was satisfying.

“I was married there, I met a guy here, from there, and I went to live there, but then I caught him with another woman, so I came back.”

Her bus arrived, I had to tell her that the bus came, though, I felt like I needed to say something meaningful. My heart was silent and aroused at the same time. There was no time for meaningful words to be told. I was angry, I think.

I had time only to say “Life,” and to shrug my shoulders. I meant to say  C`est la vie initially, it sounded more glamorous, more optimistic, than the pessimistic “life” sentence, but the bus was here, what if she didn’t know what C`est la vie means. What if my console get lost in translation? I couldn’t  risk that.

She shrugged her shoulders in return.

We exchanged a quick good bye, and nice to meet you; waved hands to each other, and she was gone.

I couldn’t stop thinking:  18 years, 18 years, 18 years.

She said it like they meant nothing to her.

My bus came shortly after. I sat in the seat, looked for my emotion to see how they are doing.

Terrified, they said. Terrified.

Eighteen years from now I will be fifty-one . The age my father died.

Her looking 60-sh now; she might have been somewhere around my age when she left this island for another one. And now she is back. What does one do with eighteen years of re-rooting somewhere else, only to come back where the roots once had been.

Does she have children, are they around? Are her parents alive? Does she have siblings? How do they get on track after so many years if she does? Do they recall just few things over and over again, just the things that had happened before these eighteen years? What if she doesn’t want to hear anymore about this husband of hers, or Cyprus, where does the eighteen years go? To me, it is as though someone has stolen eighteen years from her life. This is how would I feel, at least how I feel that I might feel.

Writing this, I came to realize that depressing thoughts are going on in my head.

But, it is not a written rule that if I am going through an existential crisis at the moment, that that happens to other people as well. After all, I don’t know anything about her, except, that she, unintentionally, poured oil on the burning existentialist fire in my soul, questioning the very foundations of my life, my life’s values, purposes, meaning.

I am terrified to die. If I die, my child would not remember me. He is at this age where he cannot form permanent memories.

If something happen to a man until his or her children are not talking and understanding yet, that man is doomed, I think. You want to be able, to be around, to teach your children. To presence values, ideas, you want them to meet you. You want to meet them. You want them to teach you. You want to live at least as a memory if you can live next to them.

I am terrified to die.  In 18 years from now, I will be the same age as my father when he died.

From Friday for Tuesday

Monday broke my lap-top, so I wrote the blog post for Tuesday in the old paper style.

:

Yesterday was packed, so no time for my blog. Today is as same, but I will take the effort and see how it progresses.
Too bad I do not remember what was it that made yesterday so busy. I remember at one point in the late afternoon I was laying down on the couch and my body wanted me to stand up, and do some work, the dishes, a lunch. Anything, something.

But I have had the flat cleaned, and I had had beans soup ready from yesterday. The heater went on, and bippity boppity boo: warm lunch for three, in a sec. I get to realize that having lunch prepared on weekends is a great tip, especially when you make soup – they do not dry in the fridge.

I might have been tired from the gym, anyway, I spent the afternoon laying on the couch and staring at my son`a cow`s eyes while he stared at Cars. He had chickenpox for the last two weeks, and got addicted to this cartoon. He watched it five times in a row per a day when he was ill, and got sad each time the cartoon world had finished, and euphoric with every new beginning of it, always insisting for more. The addiction should stop anytime soon, we are gradually taking him off of it, and it is already working.

In general Monday was a fine day. At one point I doubted my idea of quitting school when I went to the computer lab and saw that it is a final day to enroll for the next semester. I took courage and I did what I had to do, I hope. I stared at the monitor terrified, telling myself that I cannot stay in school only because I feel comfortable there. The self addressed remarks were echoing in my mind:

GO OUTSIDE THE COMFORT ZONE. EXPLORE THE WORLD. DO EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANT TO DO. DON`T BE AFRAID. Staying in school forever is, IS NOT THE REAL WORLD.

I am not born to become a teacher one day, I heard myself thinking, I am born to become all the other things I want in life. Look at the old guy that sets next to me, I talked to myself.  He is in school, he is a medical doctor that is obtaining a degree in history.

Funny, in the same chair, there was another old man a month ago. He was a poet, and when I met him, I asked him about his name. Instead of telling it, he googled himself for me. Pictures from him featured on the monitor, he had written, he said 34 books of poetry. On many of the pictures from him on google, as same as in person, he wore a scarf made out of an textile that does not keep one warm. Luckily, he had a fertile beard to keep him warm in the winters of this cold country. He was writing a thesis in philosophy on spirituality. “What is this thing called spirit?” He asked me when he presented his research topic to me.

His mentor died on the day he submitted the thesis, I have not seen him ever since, but I do hope so that he got a grade for it, a good grade, from somebody else; and that this event will become even more fertile from his beard, spring of inspiration for the poems that are waiting to be told. He was a good guy, his desk was overloaded with books. I like people that love books.

I wonder now, why the new old guy does history after practicing medicine for all of his career. Why did he graduated in medicine at all, did somebody make him? Maybe his father was a doctor with a private practice, and he as an only son in the family, maybe, had to inherit the clinic. Or maybe, he is like me, a man with a full bucket of ideas, and final goal – to realize all of them.