Egyptian Joe

Last night I dreamt that I adopted a kid from Egypt called Joe. He was an adorable little baby, and I ended up with him through some kind of mishap at the adoption agency. I was supposed to adopt a white kid - Joe was black - the following day, but I grew so fond of Joe that I didn't want another kid aswell. Strange thing was though, that as I signed the adoption papers I asked the guy who was handing Joe over to me if he thought it would be a problem for me to raise a black child. Normally I'm very pro interracial adoptions, so why I would have these doubts in my dream is a bit of a mystery. I was very happy about Egyptian Joe anyhow, and he was an extremely well-behaved baby, not crying once, just smiling and looking happy as I was carrying him around on my hip.

What's time?

I'm not a student of philosophy, yet I've been debating this question a lot lately. Augustinus, I think, said something along the lines of "I know exactly what time is unless someone asks me". I think that's true for most people, and you can really judge the level of someone's stupidity on the basis of their answer to that question.

Thank God for jazz!

Oh my gosh, life wouldn't be worth living if it wasn't for jazz. Jazz is like a giant plaster on ones emotional wounds. Soothing ones soul, elevating one from deepest darkest hell to a heaven made of white fluffy clouds. Sleep... Zzzzzz....

I was waiting for the train early this morning and I really wish I would've brought my camera. It was absolutely beautiful. I'm always singing "She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes" in my head as I'm waiting for the train at that station. The view of the tracks disappearing round the well... it's not a mountain, but it's sort of cliffy, I guess, just makes me think of that song. This morning the view was perfected by rays of sunlight, glistering snow and that early morning air of hopes and promises. I wanted to take a photo of it, but obviously I'd left my camera at home, because I'm not the kind of person who brings a camera around with me all the time. So instead I ate an apple, biting off the bits I didn't like and spitting them out on the tracks. Why that seemed appropriate compared to spitting them out in the trashcan, I'm not sure. For a while I was standing there at the station, alone but for the company of the distant churchbells and a crow that flew up on a lamppost and sat down, looking at me, probably wondering when I'd step away from the apple long enough for him to start eating it. As other people walked on to the platform I finished my apple, all of it, and just stood there, waiting, gazing at the sun.

When I got home I got a message to phone my mother. Worried that something might have happened, I phoned her right away, even though I had planned to make dinner. She answered the phone with a high-pitched "hallo", making me more worried than before as she's normally introducing herself, even though she knows it's me phoning. Feeling increasingly sick, I asked what the fuck was up. She gave me the old "oh, do I need a reason to want to talk to you"-routine, and then spent the next half hour talking about Friends of the Family who are selling their house. I was listening impatiently, occasionally uttering mutterings from the "uhu"-category. She was talking twice her normal speed, obviously trying to squeeze in as much conversation as possible in the least possible amount of time. In the end I finished the conversation, feeling quite guilty that I didn't sound more interested. It's just that what with my recent gloomy outlook on life I've not been quite able to fall into my normal chat-mode when people want to talk. I exhausted all my resources of politeness during a 20-minute trainjourney with an old class-mate I've not seen for four years.

So anyway. Thank God for jazz.

Toy soldiers.

As I was travelling home by train yesterday evening, I noticed that the train - that normally at that time tends to be pretty deserted - was full of a suspiciously uniform kind of people. Namely 18-ish-year old boys on their way home for the weekend on what I'm sure is a much anticipated and well-deserved break from their military service. And judging by the conversation amongst the group of five boys next to me military exercises are no walk in the park. But it was pretty amusing hearing these young men talk about how important it is not to get your socks wet. I often think that myself. Not.

His dark materials...

About a year ago I spent my early mornings reading Philip Pullman's "His dark materials"-triology. It's a brilliant story about a girl called Lyra and her adventures in different worlds or dimensions or whatever. I've actually got a book called "The science of Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials", but I've obviously not read it. If you give this world enough time though it'll transform itself into something new. No need for magic. Society's change is constant (don't you just love the amazing paradox of constant change?). I went for a walk with a friend last night, and she told me about how she'd promised to help her brother and his missus at their daughter's 4th birthday party, to which 11 other little girls were invited. And we got talking about birthday parties in general and our own in particular. My friend told me about her 8th birthday party (which I attended, btw) and one of the girls she'd invited turned up an hour early with her accordion as means of entertainment. This obviously raised the question, as we were trying to walk through the masses of snow, how much exactly have the world changed since we were kids. I nurture the belief that people, or rather the human mind, actually never change. But the conditions in which people operate obviously changes as time goes by. And the conditions of childhood have changed, especially with the introduction of the internet. Before the internet the culture of childhood developed on a much more local level. You didn't know what the kids in Canada were up to, and if you wanted to know, you had to go through the process of getting a pen-pal there. Other things that were commonplace when we were kids have disappeared. My favourite of these was the practice of sending all children with even the slightest hint of accent or dialect to a special teacher who would teach them to speak articulate and without any distinguishing features to the structure/melody/pronounciation of their language. I have a feeling this doesn't happen anymore.

Soothing the pain...

There are always ways to sooth the pain. I woke up today at 8.45am with a horrible headache. Whether that's because I slept for an hour and 45 minutes longer than I normally do, or because I spent the better part of last night watching telly in a pitch black room I don't know. Bit of both maybe. I've avoided making any plans for today, although I'm thinking about doing a bit of cleaning and tidying. Maybe writing a list of all the gadgets in the house and what brand they are in case they get stolen. There was a policeman on the news last night who said that it's getting increasingly common that the police have to return stolen goods to the theif because people just don't know what brand their stuff are and what it looks like. They're more likely to know what CD was in the car stereo when it was stolen than they are knowing what brand it is. I find that quite amusing actually. It could be a step towards a less materialistic society. We no longer care who made our things. Then again, I guess that might mean that we also no longer care who actually produced our things, be it well-paid unionised French people or poor Chinese children. It's a funny society we live in. But I think a lot of people have actually stopped caring about brands and labels. It's not important anymore. It's suddenly quality over label. Who cares what the tag on your jeans say if they're only going to last a month anyway. When I was 11-ish, the brand on your jeans was the most defining feature of your entire person. The label to have at the time was Levis, which was considered somewhat the original. At least in the universe of the tiny school I went to at that age. Well, I don't actually own a pair of Levis jeans anymore. Neither does anyone I know. Most people I know tend to buy their jeans (and other trousers) in the same shops where they buy their other clothes. Like I did. The oversized knitted jumper (although terribly fashionable and functional)I'm wearing at the moment is from the same shop as my jeans.
How delightfully uninteresting!

Stupid stories...

I read a book yesterday which made me cry. At least it made tears escape my eyes accompanied by a feeling of utter sadness. I think that counts as crying. And ever since I've not been able to shake off this melancholy. I had loads of things scheduled for today, but I've not really managed to get anything done. I've been listning to music, drinking bucketloads of coffee and reading the news on various newspaper websites. I had plans on taking a walk in the forrest, but realised that it's too much snow up there for walks. So I guess my current plans are to go and buy a packet of cigarettes and start writing on my novel.

Tiny little heartattacks...

Here I am, sitting in the dark, listening to Bach. I should probably change music, but I can't be arsed. I had a dream last night in which I was crawling around the secret little pathways in an old mansion. Every now and then I'd reach a room, and it would sometimes be like a baroque ballroom, other times it'd be a haven of modern art, installations and statues. And then in the end I ended up in the church where I was baptized six years ago. It was a funeral, and all I could see was the open coffin. I didn't know the dead person. I did actually walk into that church once when I was 12-ish, and the first thing I noticed was the black coffin in the middle of the room. It wasn't actually open, but it felt like I was somehow thrown at it, involuntarily exposed to the reality of death, so to speak.

On a more annoying note, I'm currently trying to download some instrumental jazz, but I'm having no luck whatsoever. God damn the internet.

How long is a piece of string?

I guess I'm somewhat high-strung. I try really hard to get people to think that I don't care about things and stuff, but I'm not doing a very good job at it. Some things don't bother me much; the incident with the fire on my living room floor for example. But generally it doesn't take much to make me a complete nervous wreck. I often get this feeling of extreme discomfort without actually really knowing why. Like yesterday. My entire evening was spent worrying about... well, I don't actually know what I was worrying about. I tried to analyse the situation to find out what was bothering me and then do something about it, but I couldn't think of a good reason to feel like that. If I lived a hundred years ago I would've been one of those crazy aunts who's irrational behaviour would be explained with the simple words; "it's the nerves".

I finally got round to reading the da Vinci-code the other day. I didn't like it much. It's not particularly well written and if you've heard about the sangreal-theory before it's just not worth it having to wait for the big moment when Langdon ("Harrison Ford in tweed"?!? Bite me!) reveals to Sophie that graal isn't actually the san greal but the sang real. Jeez. And the writing under the rose on the box? It would've taken a child two seconds to realise that if you hold it up in front of a mirror it's perfectly legible. Any old how, I decided to read "Bloodline of the Christ", which I conveniently had in my bookshelf. Just to compare. Because obviously I haven't got anything else to do at the moment, now have I? Aaaargh...

You know that dream...

...that ends up with you being naked in front of the entire school? Well, I had that dream last night. Twice. Well, it was actually only just the one dream but I was naked twice. The whole school was travelling to church, well, this massive huge cathedral actually, and obviously I was coming along. I say "school", but I'm not sure exactly what school it was. All I know is that my good friend mindthelacuna was there, terribly annoyed with me for some reason or other. Any old how, I discovered I'd lost my clothes on my way to the cathedral, so I had to go back to the school which was conveniently being renovated, and naked I had to ask the workers there if they could please get me my dressing gown. Which they did. So I got to wear the dressing gown in the cathedral. Weird thing here is that no one seemed to pay any attention to the fact that I was wearing a red dressing gown on a very formal occasion. And I only suffered the mild annoyance one sometimes feels when one has chosen an outfit that is just not right but you only notice after a while and then it's too late to change.

Dreams, eh? Can't live with them, can't get rid of them.

Belgian harvest...

I got chocolates from my ex-boss for Xmas. I went to work today to pick them up. They were called "Belgian harvest", which means it's nougaty chocolates shaped as seahorses, prawn, and various other marine life-forms. It kind of grossed me out a bit. Not the gift in itself, that was very kind and I'm duly grateful and so on. But like... Chocolates shaped as prawn? Almost as gross as prawn cocktail-flavoured crisps. I mean, come on, prawns are food. You eat them as food. For dinner, for starters, for a little snack, on your sandwhiches for tea or whatever. Don't get them confused with sweets or crisps. They're not sweety or crispy things. They're pink ugly things with eyes. I want my sweets to be uhm... sweetshaped. Plus I dislike the word "harvest". Belgium I have no opinion on.

Last night I had the following dream; My mother and I went to someone's house, although it was like a cross between a house and a public coffeeplace. We were sitting there with a married couple talking about the weather, sending the hostess/waitress out to the balcony to check the status of the barometer. Then the man started talking about his fishtank and how he kept shark in it, because "shark are terrific fish". I absolutely adore that statement; "shark are terrific fish". I would never ever refer to anything being "terrific", which makes the dream so much more interesting.

Fashion in Sodom...

I skimmed through "120 days in Sodom" yesterday. Mainly because it's one of those books that are frequently refered to by people who have not actually read it. Plus, I've seen "Quills" so it seemed to make sense. On the other extreme of my media consumtion yesterday, I stumbled upon someones fashion blog. It was most fascinating. A young woman who everyday took a photo of her outfit and posted it in her blogg. I mean, I'd never have the energy or motivation to do that. Very impressive.

And now back to work.

The pain of discipline vs. the pain of regret

I got up early today. I've been doing actually useful things all day. The more organised I get, the easier it is to see what is missing. It's very much like a jigsaw puzzle. The more pieces you fit together, the easier it gets to see which one to put down next. I'm on a quest to finally sort everything out. It's my biggest project to date. It's like it's finally clear what's been missing all along, what I should've done ages ago. I'm beginning to sound like a bit of a suicide candidate, but it's nothing like that.

I'm going to the theatre with my mother tonight. We're going to see a production of Moliéres "Tartuffe". I'm feeling vaguely excited about it.

The effect of some people...

Really, the effect some people have on me. I could write sonettes about the butterflies they create, about how they make my hands shake and my heart beat like a drum, my cheeks flush bright red like the shepherd's sky, how my mouth goes dry and my eyes avoid contact lest anyone should catch even the slightest glimpse of this chaos within me. It's not love, it's definetly not love. Love is a positive, creative force. This on the other hand is the very core of darkness and destruction. In the words of Eric Idle; oh what a silly bunt.

Only new years resolutions, darling...

I'm actually feeling extremely pleased with myself. This wonderful feeling originates in my pre-New Year's Eve resolution not to make any New Years resolutions and my immediate breaking of that very resolution. I've made a zillion resolutions. One of these was to get insurance. I'm the Memsahib of not getting things done, but I've actually contacted my old insurance company to renew my promises of monthly payments. Other things are shaping up as well. I might even have a plan for my future, although that sounds so unlikely that I dare only hint at it at present time.

On a more musical note, I'm listening to very pop-ish German hardcore at the mo, which makes me think of when I was travelling on a bus through Berlin in the middle of the night in June last year. The cutest and most German-looking boy in the universe got on, wearing utterly adorable earrings. Bless.

Just listening to the radio

I've started listening to the radio. It makes me feel old-fashioned. Although, I have found that it's actually a good way of learning about things that I normally either am not affected by or just don't bloody care about. Like congestion charges. I don't drive and don't live in a capital city so I don't care. But thanks to the radio I now know that there is something called a congestion charge and whereas some people like it, other people do not, and if you put these people together in a room they might have a boring debate about it. It's matter of time before I go back to my normal policy of reading four different news websites on the internet. At least on the internet you get the opportunity to layer the news with advice from Dr Miriam or speculations on the v. important subject of Robin Williams' sexuality.

One should write a book.

Revolution...

I've never really spent much energy on trying to understand the Russian revolution, but lately when I've been - in a relative sense of course - forced to, I've found that it's actually really quite interesting. And my growing non-politicalness (vs. my growing making-up-wordsness) was further fuelled by this increased knowledge of one of Europe's defining historical events. Also, it's a very potent fuel on the fire for any future political discussions, when I'll be passionately defending my passionately unpassionate opinions.

On another note (not necessarily less pleasant) I had a nightmare last night. Some guy's girlfriend died, but he wouldn't bury her or even tell anyone, and her corpse could still to some extent talk and move. Little insects, such as cockroaches and silverfish, started invading his flat due to this decomposing girlfriend. She was getting a bit grey and one of her eyes was looking so unpleasant that even her boyfriend got scared when he looked at it. At long last, when he'd brought her round for Sunday dinner at her posh parents place, he finally told her mother and sister that "look, sorry I've not told you before, but she's actually dead". The dead girl showed her mother and sister how she had poured bleach on her right eye once she'd died to make it go red and disformed, and then she showed her boyfriend a rotting middle finger as means of saying goodbye and thanks for making me go through this circus. And then I woke up. Feeling very uncomfortable and scared.