Life On The Far Side

What's a nice kiddo like you doing in a place like...

2009-06-23T13:34:00.001+02:00

...eh...?

So, it's been a while. I have good reasons for not going online too often lately, and yes, I might have been too preoccupied with other sites to be a regular blogger, but maybe life throws you in the directions you're supposed to go whether you want it or not?

Changes (strange, how that differs from 'chances' by only one letter) come regardless what you do to stop them. Some are good, some are bad, all are building your character. Damn, I must be a freaking skyscraper right now, as much building as been done on me lately! :)

Jokes aside.

Feeling a bit under the weather - if I could, I'd take a plane ride, because above the clouds, the sun is always shining.Check in once in a while - don't be a stranger - and I'll try to do the same.

xoxox

This Bitch Writes

2008-11-12T09:41:00.002+01:00

...yeah, one more plunge into the unknown for me. I have signed up on the HarperCollins site Authonomy and the Swedish offspring Kapitel1 where I'm publishing my books.

Be kind, get in there, read, comment, rank me. The more comments and better ranks the better - what's at stake, you ask? Well, the most popular books can get a real book deal out of it. So, up me and I'll get my biggest dream coming true:

I get to press my hand against my chest, just like Carrie in SatC, and say

"I'm a writer!"

:)

Here's the Authonomy/HarperCollins site
And here's the Kapitel1 site

Same content, only that HarperCollins is 100% English, while Kapitel1 has some Swedish framing and buttons. The books are in English (two of them, so far).

Enjoy!

I call you, when I need you, 'cause my heart's on fire...

2008-11-01T19:47:00.003+01:00

Guys and dolls...

So, I've been away. Nope, not another mental vacation - I wish! Instead, I had to try and regroup and come to terms with life not always go as we've plan it.
Plus, there has been some bad news health-wise, but I'm not going to go into that.

I'm in one piece (as far as I know) and consider myself well. My doc might have a different oppinion, but what does he know, huh? :D

Okay - just a short briefing, now go and live your own lives. I'm around. Not as often as I used to, but I'm still here...

GlobeTrotter July 2008

2008-07-10T07:37:00.002+02:00

Another day, another dollar...

...another month, another picture!

Guess the location of that theatre!

If nobody even comes close by Monday, I'll start dropping clues. but till then, my lovelies, you're kinda on your own... ;)

Good luck & have a safe journey!

What's love got to do with it?

2008-07-08T08:33:00.001+02:00

Someone asked me how you can be in a two year relationship without ever falling in love.

It’s simple, really. Very simple.

There are tons of reasons why people are in relationships that transcend love. Or never reach to the ankles of love, should I say. I’m not going to list them all, because that would be redundant and a complete waste of internet space (yes, that too can run out at some point).

When you care for someone, like them, see them as your best friend – it is easy to confuse that for long enough to get used to being together. I believe a lot of people stay together for the simple reason of being used to having someone to come home to.

For a lot, being with someone beats being alone. Never mind that someone might not be someone for them, someone they love. Or maybe then do.

But being comfortable and being used to being together is the main issue.

“Marriage of convenience”, one could say. I scratch your back, you’ll scratch mine. No man is an island and all that crap. Because when it boils down to it, everybody needs someone else at some point in time. May it be for emotional, physical or purely financial reasons. Tax cuts. Not sleeping alone. A hand to hold in public.

It’s easy to be together without being in love.

It’s easy to have a relationship without having love. Not all of us have to choose, but some do. And some choose just because they want to.

And trust me – where there’s no heart, there’s no complications. Or at least a hell lot less. Clean slates. No heart – no heart ache.

So yes, my longest relationship has been for two years. I really, really cared for him. My second longest relationship was almost a year. I was almost in love. Almost.

But no, I’ve never been in love.

It’s simpler that way. Less messy. Clean slates. Clean cuts.

…and I do like my life tidy.

They are only words - unless they are true

2008-06-28T12:57:00.001+02:00

Blessed be those that, when having nothing to say, say nothing at all

Hide U

2008-06-23T16:15:00.001+02:00

Me and Crushed debated that icky, sticky thing called love the other day, and agreed upon disagreement. Considering I have never actually been in love, I don't carry as much weight in the conversation as Crushed does - besides, I'm a teeny tiny little woman, I don't carry much weight at all. But I know how to stand my ground.

Here's the thing - is love defined by the urge to protect someone away from the surrounding world?

We argued about this for a while last night, because we don't see eye to eye. Crushed consists in his beliefs that when you love someone you just want to wrap that person (in his case, unexplainably, Sara Sidle) into your arms and take care of them.

In my beliefs, that's what you do to a stray dog, not someone you love.

Maybe I'm the ultimate relationship altruist, but I think that when you merge two lives, you should try and wrap as little as possible. I mean, just because you are a couple doesn't mean you have to switch the "me" to an "us".

That's by the way extremely enervating, when a person describes him or herself (for some reason, this happens mostly around women) as 'us'.

Wrapping someone up in the proverbial blanket of comfort, taking care of them, hiding them away from the world - okay, in theory it might sound comfortable for a while, but let's face it, we all have lives of our own to go on with.

Merging two lives does not mean you give up on individuality. You owe it to yourself and everybody around you to keep nurturing an individualistic trait, where you have your own friends, your own hobbies, your own duties. Because being together 24/7 is tiring in the long run.

Heck, try being together for 24 consecutive hours and see if bloodshed wont be the inevitable result!

(she said, realizing she might be the only person in this world that is that difficult to live with)

Actually, I've never had complaints about being too clingy - it's the other way around, while in a relationship, I seemingly spend far too little time with my significant other. Or so I've been told.

Could it be that I've just been taught to take care of myself as a grownup and manage my own wishes and needs and wants and not constantly lean upon others to fix my life, wrap me into that already mentioned proverbial blanket and hide me away from the world that sometimes rejects me, and rejects me harsh?

Or maybe love is just that - individual - and nobody is a hand to glove to someone else. We adapt, but should never give ourselves up.

A man marries a woman, hoping she'll never change, but she does.
A woman married a man, hoping he will change, but he never does.

How about this - the person you fell in love with, with all the quirks, the neuroses, the borderline psychosis, the looks, the temper, the works. You fell in love with that person. If s/he changes, is it the same person? Or are you just meant to be with someone else?

Another issue - the One and Only? Crap!
If I have to look for one single person that I'm suited for in every aspect (and the prospect of that relationship bores the hell out of me right off the bat), I might as well curl up and die. Many people in this world, about half of them men - so many men, so little time!

Besides, how should I deduct the One and Only - by trial and error? Eh... drag me naked through the rosebushes and slap a sticker on me right now - slut, anyone?

Love is unexplainable. Love is unpredictable. Love is hugging someone one minute just to shout and throw stuff in the next. Love is respect and friendship, but not only - love is when you feel your heart thumping like a horny rabbit in your chest for no apparent reason more then a smile, a smell, the sound of that familiar voice you can't get enough of...

Love is giving each other space. At least it is for me. I'm not a hugable person.

...but today I really, really need a hug...

*sigh*

My hump, my hump...

2008-06-19T11:29:00.001+02:00

The relativity theory migth be wasted on my coworkers, but conspiracy theory is not. Today, I realized why it's always me that is emptying the dishwasher. Not because there is a lack of women, and therefor domestic abilities - I'm a firm believer that a man with two hands is perfectly capable of emptying the dishwasher himself.

It's as simple as due to dresscode. Strickt dresscode. Suit & tie for guys and suits for women. Most often skirts, off course, because it's the summer and it gets hot. And how does a skirt that belongs to a suit look?

I bend over. (Stupid enough, not realizing that might be the thrill) Giving them a perfect view of my derrier. They sit and lean back and look and smile. One did things with a banana I didn't think possible.

"I'm half a braincell away from dryhumping you right now" he said.

I walked up to him and kicked him. In the shin, true, but that's due to the dress code as well - had I had a skirt with more mobility on, the kick would have been in a much more hurtful place...

Taking time off for the Midsummer. Will NOT dance around the huge penis. Hoping for rain, just because I'm that vicious!

...plus, rain would damper the festivities - it makes it quieter, and maybe, just maybe, I'd get to sleep the night trough.

Chasing Cars

2008-06-17T21:11:00.004+02:00

I've noticed that the longer posts, the fewer readers - most of you are probably just like me, drowning at the shallow end of the kiddie pool... so I'm gonna help you out here and keep it short.

You want to know my definition of romance? I've been asked time and time again, considering that I don't believe in marriage and monogamy and lifelong commitment, nor do I give much of a rat's ass about romance - do I believe in romance? )No, I believe in God - everybody else has to have signed documents of validity) What is my definition?

Let me enlighten you. It's quite simple really.

There is a CD on the desk of one of my coworkers. It's a simple, home made mixed CD of romantic songs, that her husband of 13 years made for her just a couple of days ago. It says "To the best thing in my life - I love you".

No reason. He just thought she should have it and think of him, remembering how much he loves her, when she's at work.

here's there the collective sigh comes in when all the cynics of the world either switch side or knock their fingertips against their foreheads

To me, that's endearing. Because it's so simple, it doesn't take much time, but proves he thought about the songs she'd enjoy, and to brighten her day up at the office, and to tell her he loves her!

(...I wonder if he has a brother....?)

I've never got a mixed CD. One of my ex's handed over the compressed version of his entire CD collection, which to me spelled out "Here, all the music I have - make your own damn mixed CD". Another told me, very mature, "Aren't we too old for that shit?".

Hey, it's not like I asked them to write me a song!

So there, there it is. My definition of romance. Little, thoughtful things. Cause the devil's in the details...

Now share: ...what is the most romantic thing you've ever done for another person? What's the most romantic thing anyone ever did for you? And what grand (ehum) gesture are you still hoping for...?

Hey guys, remind me to kick mr Jason Mraz in the unmentionables, will you?

2008-06-17T07:27:00.003+02:00

Out of one of the very few gene pools I wouldn't mind dipping my toes into to the urge to cause serious harm - ow do you switch so quickly?
s
Well, it is Monday, and as all Monday's, God is pissed and He lets us know it. The morning begun with an unexpected blackout in the middle of the night, which caused the alarm clock not to ring. See, the batteries that are inserted in the back of it and are supposed to minimize the possibility for a complete oversleeping decided to run out sometime during the night, too.

And no, I don't have spare batteries in the night stand.

So, the alarm didn't go off, but thankfully I've got loud neighbors that woke me up at 6.40am, which is about 40 minutes past my get-out-of-bed-curfew. If I don't get up at 6am, I wont shower, and if I wont shower I'll walk around like a huge, black cloud all day long at the office and stink. I don't know what's worse - the smell or the temper tantrums I keep throwing.

I sprung out of bed and slipped into the bathroom, where the faucet more or less exploded on me. Which means they had cut the water during the night and air had gotten into the pipes. Now, air came out, pushed by dirty water, and the only silver lining to this was I was still in my PJ's and therefor could change.

I showered quickly when the faucet stopped hissing and spitting at me, dressed and turned off the coffee maker, so it wouldn't burn itself out and explode. I did not want to come home in the evening and pick shattered glass out of the walls and cabinets in the kitchen. Again.

Instead of the morning walk of twenty minutes that's designed to wake me up I had to take the car. And, off course, on the road where there's no traffic nor workers, today I encountered both. I was late. Very late. And fuming.

Hot air did in deed come out of my ears, like in cartoons, just a few minutes later, when it became clear that the coworker that had been off work last week had called in sick today.

Okay, I get it, you get sick, but I believe in sick-sicker-dead, and he should have passed that line a long time ago. Nobody catches a cold two days a week, every week!

Shipping trouble. New contracts. Decisions made way above my head that I had no influence what so ever over, but somehow have to explain and get scold over by our customers. That's why I love sales - the client is always right, even if they are so far off centre they aren't even in the suburbs of right.

At three pm, I was completely stressed out, not having been to the bathroom, not having had coffee nor lunch and not lifted my ass since I parked it on the chair behind my desk in the corner office where I see people from other offices actually enjoy their workday through the huge glass wall overlooking the parking lot of the business district.

My ulcers were growing ulcers of their own.

Then it just happens. In the middle of a forty minute long tirade over the phone over an agreement the client had made with the HQ and that I had nothing to do with, and that she's apparently not happy about at all - now, in the retrospect, off course. My head hurts, my jaws are tensed and my tongue is hurting from all the "yes, ma'am" I have to heave out of myself where I in fact would nothing more then love to tell her to go fug herself somewhere she wont bother anybody else...

...and I'm Yours by Jason Mraz came by. That summery, breezy, lovely song I can't help but to enjoy, all the time, constantly, turning the radio up at the max whenever it's on. So what do I do? It's the Man with the Voice and the Hat and the Smile. I just wanna take my pantyhose off, change out of the suit and into a summer dress, put a hat on and go to the beach! I just want to close my eyes and feel the sun kissing my cheeks and the wind ruffling my hair. I just want to...

I hang up the phone. In the middle of a sentence. Then I turn it off, close the door, kick my shoes off, close my eyes, lean back in the chair, hands clasped behind my messy, curly head - and just sit and listen to the song.

He got to the end, Jason that is, completely, before my boss knocked on the door and told me off. And I replied.

No, I haven't been sacked, but I'm not very liked right now. Plus, being yelled at by the boss is never fun.

So remind me to kick Jason in the unmentionables for putting out - the song, that is, the rest I could definitively handle - DEFINITIVELY - and make me feel good and exhale every time it comes on.

I exhaled. To that song. I shouldn't have done it, apparently.

You might argue with me on this, asking "How is it Jason's fault that you're so easy to please?", and I gotta tell you - it's not the issue! It's not about me. It's not even about that song. I just need to sink my teeth into someone today, and it's easier to be angry and threaten the well being if not life of someone you will never meet and therefor actually hurt.

The anger will go away - eventually - and you're left with your own life. But it feels better to know that you have semi-gotten rid off the frustration, you know?

So, remind me to kick Jason Mraz in the unmentionables.

Oh, and yeah, I'm wearing pointy-toe metal spike stilettos. It will hurt.

Beautiful Mess

2008-06-15T12:38:00.002+02:00

A Beautiful Mess - Mraz, Jason

I'm a mess! I'm complicated and neurotic and messy and psychotic and needy and soft spoken and I shout at the top of my lungs for you to leave me alone - it's take it or leave it, can't choose the best parts for your scrapbook as you perceive it. You either love me or you don't - most chose the latter - you want me to change, but you know I wont...

I've been called a bitch when it's been called for, but it's when it's uncalled for that it gets to me

I've been called J.Lo and Shakira because of my butt, but I don't mind - it's possibly the second thing man sees from space, but I like it that way - cushions my falls

I've never been in love - I've felt the stomach turn and the knees get weak and the heart thumping like a bunny on drugs, but it's never last - I don't have it in my genetic makeup to make it last

Yet I'm a firm believer in monogamy and whether I see really old couples, with more wrinkles then hair on their heads, my heart melts - holding hands, not for freshly in-love anymore!

I think I'm beautiful, but a bad hair day can make me falter and creep in under the covers, hiding from the surrounding world, like it stands and falls with the strands of my hair - and even though I've got an armada of gorgeous hats, it just never occurs to me to make the best of the situation - I'm shallow and walking a thin line between good self esteem and complete devastation

I love dancing in the rain and to hear it drum on the window sills while sitting under a warm blanket with some whiskey - but I hate getting wet and will run and hide and shriek and curse until it hits me that instead of letting it bother me, I can let it become me - and dance

I can run a marathon in high heels and not trip nor get shaken in my very foundations, even when I'm on cobbled streets in a brand new place and it's dark so I can't see - but I walk into door jambs around my old apartment, like I have no idea where they are

I've got tons of scars, from being a Tomboy and climbing countless trees and fighting countless boys and outrunning and outsmarting them all while growing up - and from those two times I nearly lost my life together with those skid-marks on my panties - but if you'd trace my body with your fingers, you wouldn't find a single mark - I heal remarkably well - externally

Wishing I could support myself by my writing, and host another gallery opening with my art and be able to do graphic design and just be, the artist and writer that I am, deep inside, underneath it all - but still at the end of the day, I need to have my life sorted into nice labeled boxes, pie charts, alphabetized, put away for storage - at the reach of my hand, just at the tip of my fingers

I dress rather eclectic, with designer labels mixed with old, worn out jeans and a pair of stiletto heels and a baseball cap and a shopping bag thrown over my shoulder, yet I'm always professional, and the pantyhose almost grow out of my legs themselves - but would you come by unannounced, I wouldn't open the door, cause you might catch me in my PJ's, or my ex boyfriends old sweat pants, held up by pure will, and a Playboy t-shirt and no undies...

All I wish for is some stability in my roller-coaster life, with a good job and a white picket fence and someone to come home to - and I'm fully aware that at the end of the day, I still want to be able to skip town on a minutes notice, not even packing, just go, wherever the next flight is going, and see where life takes me

I'm a planner, I write lists, I research, find out the background information, see everything from every possible side before making my mind up - I'm reckless and I just decide, and when I've made my decision, nothing will make me falter in my beliefs - I can change my mind at the drop of a hat

Things that hurt me, I never forget, and even though I might not think about them ever again, all it takes is a hint of a memory, and I'll know exactly whom done me wrong and how - I've got the memory of an elephant, sadly I focus on the bad things instead of remembering compliments and praise I've gathered over the years

Very little becomes me, because I was hurt once, badly, in my life and decided never to let anyone have that much power over how I feel, and make me feel so low and shitty like then, ever again

I'm not happy - but I'm heading in that direction - life is a marathon, it starts when you are born, and death is the goal - it all comes down to what you do during the run

I know I can hurt someone worse with a single word then any action, yet there is no connection between brain and mouth some times, and the oral diarrhea hits me unexpected, getting the best of me, and there is not enough TP in the world to clean up the shit I heave out of myself - occasionally, I bite my own tongue so hard it starts to bleed - pacifist, diplomat, eloquently shutting up

I don't know how to give advice, because I don't want to impose my ideas on others, even though I will run you over if you disagree with me, because I come prepared to the arguments I engage in, and if I back down, you know I'm regrouping and I will hit you with my best shot the moment my cannons is re-calibrated, and you wont even see it coming, and you'll pick up the pieces of your shattered arguments, sweeping the dust off yourself, under the rug, and move on - and I'm adorable and with a crooked, cute smile I'll tell you you're completely right, stroking you gently over the back

I'm snappy and bity and witty and insecure so my intestines tremble but you will never see my cry nor falter unless you come real near, deep inside, where I hide all my secrets from the world, afraid they would go up in flames if I'd let the sun shine on them - I nurture my neuroses and psychoses and fears and enjoy the occasional panic attack for the heck of it - and feel I'm alive, because fear is what keeps my heart pounding like a drum

I'm the most poised, calm and controlled person you'll ever meet and you'll admire me for being that until I slide up in the convertible you're driving at an interstate and throw my hands out to the sides, feeling the wind nearly knocking me out of the car, screaming at the tops of my lungs and laughing so hard I nearly wet myself and not beg you to slow down because you are going too fast - life is to be lived - nobody regrets on their deathbed the things they did, just the things they didn't do

I'll give you a good tongue lashing or the silent treatment and you wont ever want to go through another, but you'll always, always see them coming, and not once will you guess correctly which one it will be - those come up randomly, just like the temper tantrums I keep throwing without prior notice

I'm a mess. You either love me or you can't stand me. Leave. Get out.

Most chose the latter.

I'm hard to stomach. I get that. I like that. I don't see myself as a bundle of contradictions, because I'm too organized to be a bundle of anything but labels and lists and pie charts. And I'll fix your life into a rout too, then hate you for letting me mess you up.

Caught by the river

2008-06-13T17:09:00.004+02:00

The rain caught me off guard. It was eleven am and I was finishing up at the office, getting ready for a weekend off, getting off work early, as I always try to manage on Fridays. The sky was gray, revolting, angry. My boss laughed at me for wearing a sunhat to work, asking me if it moonlighted as a rain cap. I laughed with him, even though the joke wasn't funny, wondering quietly if the hat would tolerate being rained on. Some don't...

The huge windows, that take up one entire wall of the office building, offers a splendid view over the boring, dirty parking lot outside. Behind the parking lot is a low rocky slope, on top of which a nice, white picket fenced residential area is located. Suburbia - where they tear out the trees and name the streets after them.

Five to noon I was running down the stairs, minding my steps in the three inch wedges I had on for the sake of it being casual Friday. I stopped by the door, the glassed entrance, watching the summer day that had woken me up bright and early with birds chirping and sun shining turn into a water world. The streams of water ran down the front entrance like tiny little rivers...

I hoisted the door open and ran across the parking lot, holding onto my hat, car keys in hand, jumping in behind the steering wheel as quickly as I could. I slammed the door shut, sitting there, watching the water wash the windshield clean of yesterday's pollen. I finally turned the engine on, put the wipers on high speed and steered out from the office area, going home.

Somewhere down the road, the rain stopped. I was driving by the bakery, getting stuck in a long traffic line. It's graduation day, and there is no parking in the entire city. Even my prepaid parking lot was busy when I was pulling up, down my street, but when I turned and steered back, it was thankfully vacant again. People rush in and out of the florist, the bakery, the small gift-shops, getting last minutes errands in order before rushing to the next graduation...

I killed the engine, turning the wipers off and sat in the car, contemplating the weather forecasts. It's been hot like in a furnace not many days ago, and now, today, the entire world seems to be under water. Sitting in a glass and steel container that is the car, I felt out of place, like I was in an empty aquarium, with all the water outside of it.

I rushed home, realizing I could run very well in heels, even the geisha typed wedges, without breaking anything. It was amazing that I didn't break anything.

The rain stopped after maybe an hour or so, and I bravely went grocery shopping. I got there and home without getting wet. The usually gray, tarnished asphalt that covers the parking lot outside of my house shun in black and sparkling with water drops like diamonds as the sudden, unexpected and very brief rays of sun pushed through the dark clouds and hit the ground, spreading a cascade of sparkles.

When my mum called, asking if I'd go pick up a parcel with her, I didn't hesitate. The weather was improving and it looked like it would clear up any moment. The day was moving on, slowly, and I didn't want for it to continue without me.

Walking home from the post office, carrying the huge parcel for her, we were caught in the middle of a sudden and very real downpour. Out of nowhere, with the sun shining and not a single indication it would ever rain again, suddenly there it was. Catching us off guard, catching us in the middle of nowhere, on the street in a residential area with about ten more minutes walk home.

I was soaked. Top to toe, not a single piece of clothing had remained untouched by the rain. It came in short, brief, never-ending thrusts, like the sky had opened and someone was rapidly turning the tap off and on. Like I had been walking through a waterfall, reaching my hands out, stepping barefoot, gently over the polished rocks, trying not to slip. Like a river from the skies.

I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my entire life. Had I not been carrying a parcel, I might have started to dance.

That's the best time to dance - in the rain...

Are you prepared to take a dive into the deep end of my head

2008-06-12T19:36:00.002+02:00

Today I saw something that kinda scared me - if nothing else, then made me think. Long and hard. About reality, the presence, future, outlook on life, expectancy, abilities etc, etc, etc. Let's just say my head hurts now more then ever.

Two boys, maybe five years old, with rifles. Plastic toys, off course, but still. I'm not oppose guns - not that I am the next spokesperson for the NRA, but I do believe in every man's right to bare arms... I wear tank tops myself, so... :)

Jokes aside. We're talking about kids here!

They were putting up a war strategy, 'shooting' on one another, killing one another - then they rose, again and kept on running, yelling things like "You can't kill me, I've got my invisibility shield on!" or "I'm not dead, I'm immortal!". I don't blame TV nor the computer games, but maybe they have a little something to do with the fact that kids of today think they are truly invincible...

I blame the parents. Because it's easier to put a kid in front of the TV or the computer and get a couple of hours to yourself rather then having to put up with the why's and where's and whatfor's. I get it, I completely do, but then again, cause and effect.

That's another reason to why I don't want kids - I'm fairly sure I'd be a shitty mother. I would never be a good role-model. I'd be the kind of mother that worked too soon after giving birth, leaving the kid with grandparents and nannies and private daycare, and then travel around the world, dragging him or her along, take long latte pauses with friends, forcing him or her to read tons of books and not bother me with the constant questions...

Kids are like sponges, they suck up every single word, action, event they hear, see, live through and store in their huge, empty brains, filling them up for later. Then they repeat things, in a wrong way, at the wrong time, giving you bad reputation over things you never got to enjoy doing. And what's worst is, they know way more then you expect them to.

And you can hurt them by one bad stare, one wrong word, one single minute when you falter in your being.

You shape them, creating the people that will grow up and rule this world, and hopefully choose your retirement home. You have to be firm yet kind, educative yet adaptive, holding them up so they don't fall yet let them learn from falling... I don't think I could do that.

I'd be a bad role-model. How can you shape someone else's life, when you barely can handle your own?

Too much pressure. Too much resting on my shoulders. I argumentative and rarely back down from a challenge, but this one might be way over my head.

So yeah, I'm giving in, giving up, throwing in the towel.

I'd be a bad role model...

F*ck it

2008-06-11T19:52:00.004+02:00

Remember Eamon? Boy, that was a good song... :)

You know what they say about karma - do good to others and good will be done to you. Apparently, there's inflation in the karma department, 'cause the more good I do, the more things come back and bite me in the ass.

Today, walking home from work, I met a 20-something girl with a dog at a narrow passage. It was either squeeze in and demand to pass before her, to be nice and let her pass first. I gave her a smile and let her pass. She gave me a nasty stare and mumbled "You could've walked first, fucking bitch..."

Kindness never pays off. Or maybe I live in a rude place. Like that other time, when I stood up to let an older woman sit. She looked offended at me and yelled straight out, like I had done her a huge, personal injustice "I'm not a fucking invalid!".

Is the society getting less and less well-behaved? Is pushing ahead and trotting over people rewarded, while trying to do something nice for your fellow man, how small and insignificant it may be, is frowned upon to the point where the do-gooder should get used to comments like "fucking bitch"?

So, how did I respond to the little woman with a big mouth on her? I was on the verge of telling her "If you speak to me like that ever again, you'll be shitting your own teeth out!", but I didn't. I've learned a long time ago never to argue with the mentally challenged - they'll drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience. Besides, who knows, that kind of arrogance and stupidity might be contagious.

Besides, in an age where a twelve year old can severely beat up a fifty year old for not giving him a cigarette, you better not argue at all. Unless you've got a black belt in whop-ass.

I don't. All my belts are at the cleaners.

Oh, and PS - loved FURB too...

Welcome to hump-ville

2008-06-07T19:33:00.002+02:00

We're experiencing a God given heat wave. The Swedish summer is often brief - you blink and it's gone - but this year seems to be an exception. The temperature has risen above +30C for a few days in a row, and apparently yesterday, Lund was the hottest town in Europe.

The grass is slowly turning brown and the asphalt is melting, so you have to watch where you put your feet, or a black slick might relieve you of your shoe. A few too many times, I've stepped onto the ground, just to realize my shoe hadn't followed me through the step. Tar is difficult to get off shoes, tar that most asphalt seems to be based on.

The heat jiggles over the ground, like a slightly overweight stripper, and I watch it form mystical shapes on my leg as I stick my feet out from the passenger seat of the car, trying to breathe through the pores, because the air isn't moving, and it's too difficult to inhale it. My lungs feels like they are filled with fire. It's hard to breathe.

I'm not complaining. Too hot is better then too cold. I'm always cold anyway...

We wait in line, three cars ahead, at the automatic car-wash. The sounds of the automatic brushes fills the air. Two cars ahead, the radio is playing silently, Jason Mraz, I'm Yours. I smile, shift the hat on my head, kick my stilettos off, stretch my legs out, waving my toes in the hot air surrounding the car.

"I need washing" is written on the back shield of the Ford right before us. It does need washing, I wonder what color it really is, underneath all that beige dirt. Sweden sheds beige dirt. The roads, the mud, the trees - they all color the world in a sandy beige color, polluting the air with tiny particles that land everywhere and refuse to move. It has rained several times during the blossoming season, not one had the car looked clean...

The open car wash doors are letting a light mist of water drops out, coloring the air ahead in all the beautiful shades in a rainbow, for a moment creating some space to breathe in the otherwise saturated city air. I close my eyes and remember kids playing in the sprinklers back where I grew up - and it always makes me smile.

The line moves, and I climb over to the driver seat, not wanting to get out of the car because I don't want to put my shoes back on. Turn the engine on. Roll a few meters, stop, kill the engine, climb back into passenger seat. Wait...

Afterwards, we go shopping, and I know my legs will hurt like crazy, because I run back and forth with the bags, groceries, and clothes and shoes - did I really need more shoes? - and round and round in the shops, for hours, even though I hate to shop.

Money come and money go and if you're lucky, you get something to show for it. The car is nice and shiny and blue and reflecting the sun so I have to push my sunglasses down to shield my eyes. I adjust the hat, realizing I'm saving myself from a sunstroke, and thank God for long weekends, unloading another bag of stuff into the trunk of the 206CC.

Driving home, over the bridge that the local newspaper as recently as yesterday declared a traffic hazard due to poor construction, and over the 44 that leads into the city, I watch the houses and trees and gas stations flicker before my very eyes, as they pass by outside the car window. It's slightly open and the hot wind ruffles my hair, a few stray strands try to get in my eyes.

I stick my hand out there, feeling the hot air caress is just as the sun minutes ago kissed my face, my shoulders in the lime green tank top that is so loud it might not go unnoticed even at a metal concert. I move my fingers in the wind, feeling it slip over my hand ever so gently. Then I put my hand up, towards the sun, watching my fingers become luminescent, almost see through. The bones in them, the joints - I let them play over the top of the car, closing my eyes, relaxing.

The speed bumps - humps, as I refer to them - come one every 50 meters. They are designed to keep the speed down in residential areas and the city is literary littered with them. Their purpose is drowned out in the sound of roaring engines of 20-something guys that push the gas pedal down to the floor to max out their speed between the humps.

The traffic suddenly stops - at the roundabout, because everybody is taking the outer lane, even if they are going all the way around. I smile. The rhododendrons are in full bloom and even though they clog my sinus, I love the smell of them. Them, and the lilacs that too are in full bloom by the road.

We stop on the parking lot, in the shade, get our bags and go home. Life is good.

Coffee, tea... me?

2008-06-05T20:16:00.004+02:00

I hate dating. The dating world is a meat market scenario with an exquisite touch of the Spanish inquisition that in best case scenario ends up with you breaking up with another countless person, pushing his name from the right side to the wrong side of the love/hate line...

Don't get me wrong, most of the time I enjoy being single. Sole control of the remote control, not to mention the covers and no one to disappoint with my lack of culinary expertise. I burn water, get used to it!

But there are moment when I truly miss being in a committed relationship that lasts for more then overnight. Times like when the tires needs to be rotated... :)

Jokes aside. It seems in modern day, being single is still considered slightly behind being a leper. Like when they ask you at the office why exactly aren't you married yet, or when friends tell you they've got the perfect man for you, even though he's not really handsome, he's missing a few teeth, can't count to ten and only walks in circles, but honey, you're not getting any younger!

Or when your married-and-obnoxiously-happy friend announces she's gotten you an online dating site, just because she wants you to be just as happy as she is.

I tell her, I'm single, not desperate.

No offense, online dating is probably the bomb, but not really my thing. I'm more of a "what you see is what you are getting"-kind of gal, and online, you never know if what you see is what you'll be getting. Besides, a hands-on approach is slightly hindered by the presence of a set of keyboards, not to mention computer screens and a few hundred miles between you... no use.

You date in the hopes of finding someone to spend a few cozy evenings with, maybe take home to the family, maybe one day start a family of your own together. You date for the future prospect of having someone to come home to after a hard day at work and bitch the hell out of him for leaving dirty socks all over the apartment. House. Depending on how much you earn.

So, every time you go on another date, you gear into the mood. You put your warpaint on, lets call it makeup for the sake of the argument. You put the combat boots on, might they be stilettos. You plan your battle strategy, just in case you win the battle. You win the battle, you aim for winning the war.

Dating is war. There's always someone better equipped along the trenches. The guy across the table from you isn't your only enemy. The blond chick with double-D that's passing by conveniently might be. Besides, the guy you wanna make allies with. Right?

But anyway. I like to think I've got plenty to offer the opposite sex. The same sex as well, I'm just not pulled in that direction. I've got some looks, I've got a brain, I know when to tell a joke and when to politely laugh at someone else's joke. I know how to date.

Or do I? The other day, I went on a date with the cute supplier. We had fun. Dinner, talked, went for a walk. He called me the morning after, we set up another date. Ended up at my place. It was a 'coffee, tea... me?'-situation.

He took the coffee.

I'm officially taking myself off the market. Single for life.

I'm fine with it! The question is - are you?

EDIT: I feel I need to explain this. This wasn't our 2nd date, and I didn't try to drag him off to the bedroom to ravage him. We were sitting on the sofa and when I moved in a little closer, he went for the coffee cup. I got the message.

I got four more messages from him, asking when I could meet him again.
I'm bothered. Not in a good way...

Crossroads

2008-06-02T17:30:00.002+02:00

You know, when things pile up on you and you feel there is only so much you can take, and that the next thing that breaks, fails, lands on your shoulders will break you, shake you, move you around, like a rag doll, arms and legs helplessly flapping about, head too, so your neck almost breaks, and the last thing you can imagine is that there is a way out of this, that there is a silver lining, the sun is alive behind those dark clouds, that you will be able to catch your breath once again without feeling the cold hand closing in around your heart, your brain, your lungs, making it painful to even be....

...then, just before you break... fate gives you an ounce of hope. Good news. Miracle.

My shit has been on hold. Now I am finally able to catch my breath normally, for a long, long time. It's not good. But it will be. The fear has left me.

You and I both

2008-06-01T15:44:00.004+02:00

Want to participate in a small social experiment? Kinda a personality test? That will dig deep and uncover the big, hidden truths about you? :)

Here are the rules - I'll post a series of questions, that you'll answer through the comment-link on the page. Copy and paste the questions, and post your replies below. These comments wont be made public unless you state in the comment you want them to.

Ergo, if you want to participate AND comment, do it separately...

Here it goes...

1. Imagine you're in a forest, walking through it. Describe the forest, what it looks like, how you feel, the colors, the light, what you are thinking etc...

2. Walking through the forest, you find a path. What does the path look like, is it straight or crooked, paved, etc. Do you walk the path, or continue walking on your own through the forest?

3. After a few minutes, you find a key on the ground. It's old and rusted. What do you do with it?

4. Continue walking... now you see a beautiful, tiny flower growing under a mighty oak tree. It's very rare and stunning, like the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. What do you do with it?

5. Now you've reached a body of water. What kind of water is it - lake, stream, marshlands, ocean? How do you act? What do you feel?

6. Walking on, you discover a cup on the ground. Look at it. What does it look like, and what do you do with it?

7. Suddenly you're facing a big, dangerous bear. It's standing up on its back paws, roaring your way. How do you act, what do you feel, what do you do?

8. The ordeal is over, the bear is gone, you're safe. Keep walking... now you've reached a wall that seems to be stretching forever in both directions. Tell me about that wall, what does it look like, what are your thoughts and feelings regarding it? How do you get to the other side?

9. Over the wall, and now... what do you see?

Okay, those were the Q's. Now you supply the A's, and one day in the future, I'll post the meaning of it all... and you'll all wonder "What the heck did I tell her????"... :)

Knock yourselves out! ;)

...so I went to the erotic bakery...

2008-05-30T14:55:00.002+02:00

...yeah, I kinda figured that would draw your attention! :)

I didn't go to the bakery, I made a blueberry/raspberry pie all by myself. Those that know me know this smells disaster. The only thing I can do well in a kitchen is to make a mess.

But it actually smells nice. Let's hope it'll taste as good as it looks (and smells). Just in case, I've got 911 on speed dial! :)

Oh, and while making a mess in the kitchen, I made chocolate and cashew treats. Damn, I'm good! And this time, I didn't even burn anything!

I'm the UnDomestic Goddess!

...bow before me...

...but if I'm not back after the weekend, I'm at the ER. Never been at the ER before. Not something I aspire to, though. Who'll live will see, I suppose!

Have a great weekend!

What’s called for if not a job revolution?

2008-05-29T11:26:00.006+02:00

I’ve been thinking (which I do more often now then ever - you get like that when an outside source is influencing your life), and what I don’t understand is the work situation. Every job ad in the world contains the phrase “think outside the box”, and stale, organized (by that I mean set or rigid) and unwilling to change people aren’t desired at the job market. A job market that in itself is just those things – stale, organized and unwilling to change. Let’s add the words “square, rigid and inflexible”.

Because the job market is organized according to a certain standard – you work 40 hours a week, which means 8 hours a day, you start at a certain hour and quit at a certain hour. Some have flexible hours, which means that instead of having to be at work at 8am sharp, they can choose to come in between 6am and 9am. If they are lucky.

Lunch – whether you take it or not, is counted off of your working hours, which means that some spend 9 hours a day at the office, while getting paid for 8.

You work five days a week – 8 hours a day – unless you work shifts or put in way too much overtime at the office.

Now to the core of the problem – not every single person works the same! We all have different abilities and capabilities, which means that person A takes two hours to complete a task while person B gets it done over thirty minutes. And no, that doesn’t automatically mean person B was sloppy and did a half ass job – in many cases, it’s the quite opposite, that person B did a better job then person A, while saving 1.5h to other things.

Person A and person B both sit off 8 hours at the office – during that time, simplified, person B gets 16 things done, while person B gets four things done. And, considering most of us are measured by statistics - how many phone-calls we reply to, how many contracts we sign, how many job tasks we complete, whatever it is we do at our jobs - it’s all tallied up to nice, even numbers, percentages, and compare worker to worker.

Person B sets the standard – s/he shows that it’s quite possible to get 16 things done through a normal day. S/he hikes up the statistics, which means the slower workers get higher demands, and as they can’t perform more then they are during those 8 hours, it’s ordered overtime. When the office starts falling behind, everybody gets punished, as everybody gets overtime – the faster colleagues have to help the slower ones. 8 hours a day have suddenly exceeded to 9 or 10 or 12 – or like in some cases, 16 hours a day at the office.

Let’s play Utopia. Let’s say that the amount of hours you put in at the office isn’t squarely decided by a norm, but by how much you actually produce during that time. Say, that instead of being counted on 9-to-5 mentality, you get counted on whether you complete your job or not – and then, if you get it done in three hours, great! If you need to put in 10 hours, then, well, tough.

There’s a lot of talking about right man at the right job – which to me is fine. And I’m fully aware this rises problems for certain people, because there will always be faster rats, and it would be very irritating to see my colleague go home at noon every day while I had to stay till midnight – but if we both have point A to point D to get through, through the day, and he just is faster then me, then why not?

Today’s collective mentality is set on helping out, those that can’t or wont – the “weaker” parts of the society. That mentality is present at the job market today as well. If you complete your job for the day, you’re often stuck helping out those that haven’t, because you all should get along and think of what’s best for the company.

This is nice, some need extra help – but if person B has to do 50% of person A’s job, because person B is faster while person A never finishes, then person B should earn 50% more then person A!

Collective protest is on, huh? Because “equal job should give equal pay”. Does it? If person B completes his/her job (100%) and then has to take over half of person A’s job, because person A can’t quite hurry up (50%), we’ve got this situation:

................WORK...PAY.....SUM
Person A....50%......100%....+50%
Person B...150%......100%....-50%

Today, doing a good, fast job at most workplaces is like wetting yourself in a dark suit – you get a warm feeling, but nobody notices anything. And a job well done, a deadline that haven’t made a swooshing sound as it passed right over your head at warp speed when you’re half way through the project is rewarded by – more work!

How about truly flexible working hours? Measured by the amount of actual work we put in then the time we spend by our desks? I mean, most of us would prefer to have a little less conversation and coffee breaks at the office and get home earlier, then the other way around…

Imagine this – you get to work at nine am, work for four hours, have your coffee by your desk, and then, at 1pm, when you’re done with all the tasks you had set for that day, you go home. Enjoy your life.

Now, off course, this wouldn’t be mandatory. If you want to spend hours and hours at the office, work and coffee, and work and lunch and work and coffee and work and go home at 6pm, then fine. So be it. Just don’t force me to do the same.

Then there’s the morning mentality. We’ve come a long way from farming, where we need to get up at the crack of dawn to milk the cows, yet every single business starts in the morning (well, the legal ones do).

Some people are morning people – others are evening people. They feel better in the afternoon, in the evening, get more job done the later they start… why do they have to adjust to the morning routine?

I know many will protest – some with valid arguments, others for the heck of it – but in today’s individual society, with so many things that sets us apart, internal as well as external, the sheep mentality is taking over. We put our uniform on, go sit in a booth (like veal), spend our 8 hours a day at the office and then go home. No matter whom we are, how we work, what we produce. 8 hours a day, every day. Period.

So, if we had flexible work hours, and started the world on a two-shift mentality – one for morning people and one for evening people – we would soon see the benefits. Not only does a better working environment (which would be supplied by the simple fact that not everybody gets their best job done in the mornings, with a cracking whip at them) mean more actual job would get done, but this is actually a way of getting more people into work! And anything that minimizes the unemployment is a good thing, right?

Certainly, we’d have to start taking others (then ourselves) under consideration, and not crank the stereo up to the max when we get home from work or school, because we might have a neighbour that’s sleeping in the middle of the day, just because s/he starts the job in the evening. But those are small fees for a big reward. We can’t think “I’m off work now, so I’m gonna do exactly what I want”, because then we don’t have the right to complain when the evening people get home from work at, say 3am, and turn their stereos on.

Fluent hours. Fluent days. If everything would work on morning shift and evening shift – banks, shops, daycare, hospitals etc – we could actually make this work, and start enjoying our lives. Get the job done, instead of sit on our ass at the office and listen to it grow. Work, not time.

In many cases, a job means imprisonment for many – no matter what you do during the time you spend between the four walls, you have to sit your time off. How’s that efficient? How’s three coffee breaks, all longer then the standard 10minutes, because when people get together and start talking, they are not going to sit and watch the minutes tick off – and no, nobody will end mid-sentence just because his 10 minutes ran out – more efficient then one coffee break, or no coffee breaks, and shorter time at the office?

Now you might argue that this would be fine and dandy if everybody had the same capability, which I’ve already argued they don’t. I’m far ahead of you on this.

If person A has lower capability to perform then person B, then lower the expectations. Just as long as you lower the pay. You should get a dollar a task and not a dollar a minute. And, if you can manage to get 10 things done during the reasonable timeframe, then you go home with 10 bucks – if you can’t manage more then 3, then hey, 3 dollars are okay too.

Pay me for the job I do, not the time I sit off at the office. And pay my co-workers according to the same standard. Here’s another useful hint – everybody will always feel underpaid, claim they are worth more and go on strike. We are – we are all worth more. But if the nurses get more paid, then the teachers will follow, and then the factory workers and then the cashiers and then the lawyers and then the… yeah, this never stops.

Chart it. Pay according to education level, work experience, ability and capability. And task. Not time. I promise you, in Utopia, we’ll be happier.

…now… Utopia… well, we can always dream!

A beautiful mess

2008-05-24T13:30:00.001+02:00

[...]

Too many loose ends. Piper felt there were no explanations offered, just heaps over heaps with loose ends. Her mother’s sudden death – uncommunicated – Will coming over, Derek offering her this job, the hotel, the suitcase, the divorce, this case, the toilet situation… she was sitting in the stall, on the tank, feet up on the ring, elbows on knees, forehead in hands, breathing slowly, trying to fend off a panic attack. Why were there so many loose ends in her life?

The pressure in her head was building up, like the weather before a storm gets heavy and pressing, so was the migraine threatening to erupt inside of her brain. As the pounding of a very small, yet very real, jackhammer, she felt the side of her head, right above her right ear, throbbing. Her hair was twitching gently. She pressed her fingers against the vein, feeling the blood being pumped through in short, spastic pumps. The gall was building up in her stomach, slowly rising towards her throat. She swallowed, several times, quickly, to stop from throwing up. If the gall reached her tonsils, she would have to heave… a burp, swallowed and resurfacing again. She suppressed the urge to release it, loudly, and swallowed, time and time again. The side of her head was throbbing faster now.

A sharp pain, like a sudden flash of lightning, nearly knocked her off the toilet. She grabbed the walls of the stall to remain balanced and sat up, straightening out, leaning her back against the wall. She leaned her head backwards, as much as she could, and closed her eyes. It was harder to breathe, harder to swallow, sitting like this, but it released some of the pressure inside her skull. She inhaled through her nose, held the air in her lungs for as long as she could, until it started to hurt inside of her, that sharp, tingling pain, like thousand needles had been pushed in through her chest, into her lungs. Then she opened her mouth slightly and released the air again, slowly, emptying her lungs so completely, she could feel her diaphragm contract.

She tried to roll her head, slowly, side to side, listening to the bones creaking and feeling all the nerves twitching. Another pulsating jerk on the side of her head. She bit her teeth together, smashing her head hard against the wall behind her. Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it!!!! The welcome, familiar pain spread from the back of her head and over her skull. For a moment, she could focus on the pain she had inflicted on herself rather then the pain that she had no control over what so ever.

She exhaled, again, slowly, sat up, opened her eyes up. Her eyes were simmering, vision’s blurred. It took her a good couple minutes to regain 20/20 vision, to feel confident enough to leave the bathroom. She had suppressed the panic attack by exchanging it for the migraine. It had been years since she had learned that if she calmed enough to stop the panic attack, she could make her body develop a migraine instead. She hated migraines, but at least she could handle them. She could never, and would never be able to, handle her own panic attacks.

She stood up, slowly, trying her legs out. Her knees felt still a little like rubber. Debris from the panic attack that wouldn’t happen. She straightened out her shirt, exhaled and opened the stall door, leaving the bathroom. Entering the conference room again, she was her old, controlled self. She felt the sudden, sharp pains of migraine dull out and move onto a throbbing, inner pain, like somebody had inserted a disc of pain over her eyes, into her brain. This was good. This meant she had averted another episode. She was getting good at this now…

[...]

You're so vain

2008-05-24T12:57:00.004+02:00

...bet you think this post is about you!

***

"I'm not a genius. I'm just a tremendous bundle of experience."

R. Buckminster Fuller

***

Don't drink and blog. That is not responsible!

*headache*

***

You guy's are so simple - mention 'boobs' in a post, and your eyes and ears stand attention (no, not sure how eyes can stand attention, but I bet they can - take a look in the mirror next time somebody writes 'boobs')...

***

Okay, and now to the winner of the May edition of the GlobeTrotter!

This was the picture:

And the winner is... *drum roll*

SMARTbuddy!

He guessed Egirdir, Turkey, which is the closest guess - the correct answer is Gökova, Turkey...

Come, get your picture-of-a-trophy... :)

And a honorable mentioning of Dan, beause he remembered the button-popping post...

***

Now, if you excuse me, I'm crawling back under the covers...

Friday Funday

2008-05-23T15:14:00.003+02:00

Thoughtful day... not because I'm thoughtful, but because I think too much (so I've been told).

These are the stuff that's currently on the wall...

Why do my boobs keep falling out of this dress?

Whom do I know who plays the ukulele?

Why do women always buy heart-shaped stuff?

How come I never win stuff in competitions?

What the hell should I cook for dinner tonight?

If everything's relative, and relativity is personal, does that mean I should take everything personal?

Why am I always running down the street, chasing my own hat?

Between Penn and Teller, why is it TELLer that never speaks?

Who shot JR Ewing, and why is that question popping up on the commercials?

If life is a waste of time, and time is waste of life - why not get wasted together and have the time of our lives?

Why do I always make my bed, even at the hotel?

If I give my old stuff to goodwill, and then see my own dress walking down the street on somebody else's body, can I count that as recycling? Or at least, good karma?

Does karma beats dogma? Or is it just that a car beats a dog?

Why do older ladies have blue or purple hair?

What's the issue with potpourri? It's dead flowers! Anything dead should be left alone - you don't sprinkle your dead, cremated uncle into small bowls everywhere... do you?

Why does everybody keep asking me "How do you walk in those?" whenever I have anything with a heel higher then four inches on?

Why didn't mum teach me how to cook?

Why is one boob always bigger then the other - unless they are plastic?

If you pour your heart out, do you have to mop it back up yourself?

If the office has a dress-code, why don't all the men wear dresses?

What does happen if someone scares you "half to death" twice?

I wonder if W remembers that time he tried to slit my throat...

Why does cheese smell like feet? Or feet like cheese...?

Who came up with the idea of kitten heels?

Wonder how many will know what '36-24-36' refers to...?

Does dog-whistles really work?

Should I cut my nails...?

*sigh*

Too much on my mind, and not even 20%'s interesting...

Don't tell mum the babysitter's been hit on...

2008-05-23T12:31:00.003+02:00

You want to know what happened?

I was walking down the street, minding my own business, iPod on, hands in pockets, no hat for the time being... and I hear this honking. It made me jump, because in my book, a car honking is a driver warning for approaching danger.

I should have known better...

Three guys in a convertible.

"Hey, Barbie! Looking for a Ken?"

I haven't been called 'Barbie' since I stopped being blond, but apparently, the stripes never wear out. I'm a Barbie. Dark, short, sporty hair and all. Suits me right for wearing a pink jacket - I'm the geek in the pink, dammit!

I take a closer look, because there's something strangely familiar with the guy in the back seat. Like I know him from somewhere, yet I can't quite place his face. You have no idea how many thoughts rush through my head at that moment - places I could know him from, and how well...

"Oh, my God! Drew!" I finally snap out of it. He's four years younger then me, and back in the days, I used to babysit him. Well, maybe not exactly babysit, because he wouldn't have survived it - me and kids don't match!

He looked stunned at me, mouth open, soon about to catch a fly. I put on my widest, brightest smile. hand on hip.

"How's your mum? Did she and your dad eventually get together?" I ask. I see how he turns deep red. He hadn't anticipated this, after all, last time I saw him he was ten and I was fourteen. We've both grown.

"Uh... yeah..." he mumbles, sinking down into the seat. His friends are trying real hard not to giggle, but apparently not succeeding.

"Well, send them my best! Oh, and didn't your baby brother just had a kid?" I continue ranting on. I'm the one that saw his baby brother more or less get potty trained. Boy, where do the years go?

He nods, looking like he's about to throw up. I smile, waving.

"Send them my love!" I declare, walking over to the other side of the street, continuing my walk towards the destination. This was fun!

...I might have scared him off picking up random chicks on the street, though!

***

Later that night, Drew's mum called me up.

"Did my son hit on you????" she asked, amazed. I laughed.

"I don't think what he did can be categorized as 'hitting on' anyone..." I replied, but it stunned me, though. "Did he tell you that?"

Now it was her time to laugh.

"God, no! His friends thought it was so funny, they tell everybody about it. That he had such a crush on his babysitter, he had to hit on her thirteen years later..." she replies.

"He had a crush on me?" I asked, stunned.

"The biggest!" she replied.

"Oh... to me he was just your annoying son..." I tell her, realizing I probably should have sugarcoated it.

She laughed and laughed and laughed.

"He still is! Annoying, that is." she said.

We hung up after catching up. It's been a while. Man, where do the years go...?

Only Human

2008-05-22T11:49:00.002+02:00

You know what?

We all have our stuff to carry. We've all been through things we wouldn't wish upon another human being, friend or foe.

We don't get to choose what happens to us, or how it happens. All we choose is how we recuperate from it all.

How we pick our stuff together after being shot down, for another, countless time, and move on.

How we brush the dust off our clothes, sweep the hair off our dirty faces, check for new bruises and sore limbs and continue walking.

Time heals all wounds - they say. I don't believe that. I believe time heals nothing, but it gives us a distance to our own problems and lets us deal with them. We can either try and pick the lessons out of the heap of rubble that fell over us and try to do something productive with it, not letting it consume us and keep us from living - or we can dwell over every little detail of the last defeat time and time again, until there's nothing else we can see but what had happened in the past.

We are all just humans. We bruise easily.

It's okay to go a little crazy every now and then.

I chose to wear my scars like badges, proud of the defeats as well as the wins. Bruising means you had tough competition. And you survived.

Put all the unresolved issues and worries in the mental waste bin, because tomorrow is going to happen, no matter how much you try to stop it. The moon will spin around us and we will spin around the sun and that is all there is to it.

And whatever is going to happen will happen. So why worry?

We'll cross that bridge when we get to it...