Long time no see - and bad news

(Our last photo together)

Maybe this will be my last post.
It's been a while since I last posted something, and it's the end of a year, almost, and the end of a cycle, and the end of a chapter of my life.
For the past two weeks and more I have not been sleeping or eating (properly, that is), and tears have been the constant theme of my days. Not one day has gone by without crying, even just a few minutes.
I'm so tired.

Ian has decided for another break up, and this time there is no going back. So much so that he doesn't want to see again, lest we start again, and he has removed me from Facebook, and all that.

I am so hurt and desperate, I cannot sleep.

So I'm going back home, where I hope to heal my wounds in a more comfortable atmosphere than the 5-bedroom house I am living in at the moment, and which I hate to bits. I hate everything in Brighton, right now, much more than I used to. Every stupid thing is a pain; even the beach, which used to be my only likeable place, now is a part of the city I cannot bear to see, just thinking of it makes me think of painful things.
I cannot sleep. I can only cry and pray that the day I leave comes soon.

God, I love him so much. I miss talking to him, and I miss that last hug that he wouldn't allow us to exchange, for he told me of his decision on the phone, not coming to my place the day after, even though we had agreed to meet quickly, so that he could take a box back, and his jumper ("throw away the jumper, I don't need it").

I miss him so much. And it hurts like crazy, I cannot think. I go to class, and concentrate hard on what I am teaching, on a proper board work, on good comprehension questions and all that. And then I give an exercise, and I think I will check my mobile to see if I have any text. But no, he was the only one who texted me in the afternoon, during the week, before our evening call, so sweet and nice.

God, I'm hurting so much I'm afraid it will never end.

So this is probably the last time I will write here. I thought...I don't know. I clearly imagined a happy ending to this story, but I was wrong. Maybe I should focus my imagination on fictional stories, rather than on my life. My life is not worth it.

Pensieri negativi e un tenue raggio luminoso

Che dire.
Intanto scrivo in italiano, perchè mi accorgo che ne sono sempre meno capace. Mi sfugge, mi scivola dalle dita, le parole si nascondono in angoli bui, non le riesco a trovare. E allora, una nervosa ricerca tra lo scaffale di libri in italiano, in biblioteca, e la lettura quotidiana del Corriere, e poi aggiornare il mio diario, quasi quotidianamente. E' tempo di ricominciare a tenere un diario cartaceo, vecchio stile, sempre con me. Lo facevo a Hull, e a Swansea, perchè non qui, dunque?

Poi, fatica. Tanta fatica, tante lacrime, tanti pensieri. Non è facile.
Sarebbe facile lasciare tutto, tornare a casa, tra il conforto di paesaggi familiari, tranquilli, le mie montagne, il lago, i prati; la mia casa, il mio letto comodo, il pavimento e i tappeti su cui camminare a piedi nudi, la cucina grande e pulita, la doccia comoda, le passeggiate in paese. Parlare senza doversi concentrare troppo, ascoltare e capire senza sforzo, senza dover chiedere di ripetere. Cantare a voce alta, suonare il mio sax, uscire per locali senza sentirsi circondata da stranieri minacciosi, girare per le strade senza paura, senza quest'ansia alla vista di adolescenti, o addirittura bambini, che ti possano chiedere o dire qualcosa a cui non sapra rispondere, confusa da accenti o parole mai sentite. Vivere nella comodità di casa, dove è tutto gratis, e non ci si deve preoccupare di affitti, e bollette, e tutto il resto. Dove la sera è un lento scandire di ore silenziose e tranquille prima di andare a dormire, senza paura che qualcuno arrivi a casa e sbatta le porte, facendo tremare la casa con un passo pesante tra le stanze, chiamandosi l'un l'altro come da un continente all'altro. Arrivare a casa dopo una lunga giornata di lavoro senza dover pregare di non vedere la macchina di qualcuno, o sentire voci in giardino che annunciano battaglie d'acqua in giardino, e casino, e tutto il resto. Vivere tranquillamente, in sostanza, senza tutte queste preoccupazioni. Avere un conto in banca che non scende così vertiginosamente, che permette di uscire a cena, o anche solo di prendere il bus in una giornata piovosa, invece di combattere con gli elementi, camminare controvento, passare mezz'ora in bagno ad asciugarsi e spendere il resto della giornata con i piedi fradici, un grande sorriso con gli studenti, come se nulla fosse.

Sarebbe facile, e a volte mi dico che potrei farlo, davvero. Tornare a casa, dalla mamma, renderla felice, invece che sentirla depressa, lamentarsi al telefono ogni volta che mi chiama, accusarmi di tante cose, di essere finita qui senza un perchè, per un colpo di testa, di aver abbandonato tante cose, tanti progetti, tante idee in cui pensavo di credere e che ho lasciato così, senza pensarci, senza nemmeno pentirmene.
Guardandomi indietro, non rinnego nè mi pento di ciò che ho fatto, pur riconoscendo che è stato frettoloso, e ha fatto tanto male, a tutti. Programmato superficialmente, ed esposto all'imprevedibilità. Ci ripenso spesso, mi tormenta, i ricordi di tutti quei mesi disperati, freddi, bui, senza futuro. Il dramma, restare o tornare, sapendo che in qualunque caso non avrei riavuto il mio cuore, non avrei sentito altro che dolore sordo. A volte lo sento ancora, ripensandoci, rivivendo momenti che vorrei dimenticare.
Vivo nell'angoscia che tutto questo non durerà, che sarò di nuovo abbandonata, e tornare, restare, niente avrà più senso. Già ora la paura mi fa dimenticare la gioia che sto vivendo.
Ironicamente, dovrei farmi lo stesso discorso che faccio al mio piccolino: siamo in due ora, non si può programmare nulla, prevedere nulla, vivere il presente e come va, va. Inutile pensare al futuro, a quando sopraggiungeranno difficoltà e litigi, tanto le difficoltà le stiamo già vivendo, come mancanza di soldi, poco tempo, nervosismo da lavoro e seminari, paura del futuro e dell'ignoto, nuove sensazioni che non riusciamo a catalogare, e che per questo finiscono sullo scaffale dell' "essere in una relazione". Impariamo a gestirle lentamente, abbracciandoci forte, parlando tanto, a volte semplicemente restando sdraiati sull'erba di fronte al Pavilion e tenendoci per mano.
A volte penso che non ne vale la pena: ho troppa paura, e sto vivendo male, preoccupata per il mio magro stipendio e gli affitti troppo alti, per la forzata convivenza con persone nuove quando la mia timidezza, e la mia misantropia mi vorrebbero solitaria e silenziosa, specie alla fine di una giornata caotica in centro, e circondata da studenti, colleghi, macchine, persone.
Poi arriva il suo messaggio di buonanotte, dolce e tenero; un messaggio di prima mattina, pieno di affetto; una telefonata premurosa, per parlare un pò, per sapere come sto, nonostante il reciproco imbarazzo di fronte a conversazioni telefoniche. Poi arriva un incontro non programmato, una serata insieme per non cadere nella routine, un pomeriggio tranquillo di coccole e musica, un pacchetto di biscotti inaspettato, un peluche dopo una settimana di lontananza forzata. Piccole cose che non ho mai avuto in vita mia, e che arrivano da una persona stupenda, complicata, difficile come me, uguale a me, stessi valori, stesse idee, solo ancora più difficile da gestire, che si preoccupa che io sia preoccupata, che si domanda se non sarei più felice con una persona della mia stessa nazionalità, che vorrebbe farmi sentire più sicura, che teme di avermi portato via ai miei amici, alla mia famiglia.
Nulla è facile, in questa vita. Avrei dovuto saperlo, no, considerato tutto quello che ho vissuto finora, in quasi trent'anni. Eppure sono ottimista di natura, anche se ultimamente faccio veramente fatica: non posso fare a meno che insieme siamo felici, stiamo bene, e che stiamo costruendo qualcosa, lentamente, faticosamente dati i nostri caratteri così complicati e seri, ma non posso che essere grata per ogni giorno passato insieme. Per aver trovato questo miracolo, che mi permette finalmente di amare liberamente, e ancora più miracolosamente, di essere amata.
Me lo devo ripetere, che ne vale la pena, che questo dolore e nostalgia sono il prezzo da pagare per il nostro stare insieme, per qualcosa di meraviglioso che stiamo costruendo, e che devo solo aver pazienza.
Mi faranno santa della pazienza, mi sa. Ogni giorno che passa mi rendo conto che ne ho una nuova scorta, pronta e fresca da usare, per sopportare il vento, le lezioni pianificate che vanno a rotoli per mancanza di studenti, i colleghi che cambiano i piani a caso, i dieci chilometri a piedi, i piatti da lavare nel lavandino, le porte che sbattono, la ricerca di un nuovo alloggio, le settimane che mi separano dalla prossima busta paga, la voglia di tornare a casa, la stanchezza, la stanchezza, la stanchezza.
Sono proprio stanca.
Ma si continua.

Sunday, thinking

An appropriate description of the day that is now slowly ending.
Being January, the SDS is hitting, and I am wondering if I should fight it (therefore trying to be sociable and cheerful rather than locking myself in my room and avoiding contact with other human beings) or just live it, like I do every year.

Spent most of the day also fighting with a bad back for no reason, and reading/studying the Bible: I am still uncomfortable, at times, but I will have a go next Sunday. Picked a church I will go and see (read: find) this week, and in the meantime I will continue to "prepare". Of course, my current anti-social attitude doesn't help...so maybe I should really fight it.

Watched a horrible movie, "Happy feet": all those beautiful animated dancing penguins wasted in a corny moral tale which all of a sudden, like a bad joke, turned political, oh how awful!

Back at the gym, feeling pretty good; on the other side, not eating much, because of the usual: cramps, depressive thoughts, lack of hunger, and when hunger strikes, there is nothing in the fridge. How to lose weight after Christmas.

Thinking a lot about possibilities, and decisions to take. Tough. To stay or to go? "Think hard before making any decision to go bk to Italy, ok?". I will, piccolino. But I am afraid, and I cannot talk to you about it. Sometimes, when I am in my room, and I hear the noise downstairs (cupboards shut, clattering plates, the radio or the tv) and I think of the mess, or as I am walking back after a day of work, gym, and noise everywhere, and cars and people and NOISE, and all I want is silence and a sofa for me and my book, boy, that is when I seriously think that I should go. I feel old and boring when I write these things, but then I excuse myself by thinking that I have been sharing a house for more than 10 years and I am sick and tired of it, and it is not only independence from your family, but also the possibility (read: need) to be alone, whenever you want, and you are never alone, even if you spend a day in your room.
In Swansea I used to walk back home at the end of the day and hide in my room, so often that Welsh housemate and English housemate had to come and knock to see if I was still alive. Bringing tea and a smile. I miss Swansea, the beach, the sun on the sea, the streets in the centre, the walk to the station, even the shops. I miss the talk, that lovely Welsh sound; as always, I look back and miss so many things.

And also, since I am ranting, let's talk of the awful wind that makes my walk to school the most unpleasant experience; and I get so irritable...So people, stop asking me how I am, because if outside it's windy, you can be sure that no, Peggy is NOT fine. She's irrited and irritable, and the more irritable she becomes...uh, sounds familiar...I must fight these bad feelings back. I don't know. Clearly I am very unhappy, but I don't think that moving, going back, staying, will make me feel better.

"I just want you to be able to see light and hope for the future".
I want it too. Maybe this is the reason I have turned to the great complication of opening my spiritual me, hoping that it will help me see some light in this dark lonely bubble, where I can't breathe.

Funnily enough, I was thinking that of all I have done in my life, or at least in the past ten years, I cannot regret anything, because everything has led to a new friend, even a short-term friend, or a new experience, a new book, a new language, whatever. I don't even regret coming to Brighton, although for the wrong reasons. I suppose I am just tired, and confused, and messed up inside, with no clear goal to achieve except to arrive at the end of the month, leaving the big questions aside.

And finally, it's time to go back to my books: drown in words, as usual, and trust that God will show the way.

Facts of the day (including evening update)

1. I am too good at crochet! Albeit quite slow, and prone to read the signs too quickly, so I end up having to unmake something I have worked on for an hour. But still, not too bad, and 7 rounds out of 36 are done.

2. How old can you feel when you are working at a new crochet project on the sofa in your cosy little living room, with dim light on (not good for your eyes!) and Classic Fm on? ....Very old....but for some reason it feels comfortable, if you see what I mean.

3. I am one who does not spend much. I used to like shopping, even by myself if I was in the right mood, and now I don't feel like going shopping anymore, although my love for boots drives me towards any shoe-shop window regardless of the season, the country, the economical situation of my bank account...This is just to say that in spite of all this, I had to start a little in-out book to check how my money can slip away so fast, when all I do is go to work, go to the gym, buy some food, and occasionally treat myself to a gingerbread latte (no more now...the first of many "treats" I have decided to cut off).

4. I am too shy and scared when it comes to do things in a language that is not my own; plus, I feel so ignorant when it comes to a certain subject, that I am instantly put off, whatever good project and will I have. Crumbs.

5. How good is this song?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SziKyAuK7-o
Definetely voted song of the month for Peggy and her melancholic attitude.

(Later in the evening)
Just watched "Finding Nemo" with Spanish housemate while working on my crochet project (a masterpiece so far); good chances that next week I will be working for morning classes and my afternoon 1-to-1, which means decent money coming in.

Feel very guilty for not going to the Meeting last night, and feeling even worse for not going because of the wrong reasons. Even more guilty because I had to tell Ian about it, and I know he would have been happy if I had gone. It feels as if whatever I do, somebody is going to be disappointed.

I am so sad.

New Year's Resolutions? Not really...

Back in Brighton, people.
Of course, after an emotional time such as three whole weeks of Italian life, and counting Christmas, New Year's Eve, and whatever comes with it, I can only say that I feel on the verge of another nervous breakdown.
I have decided not to write about what I did during the Italian weeks, mostly because I am sure that the memories of how I felt then will be with me forever, no matter how much I will try to forget. Then again, there is no point in trying to forget, but only in trying to accept and take everything in. Move on, as usual, live and work and all that jazz.

Some news, though: Teacher friend proved to be once more the one. I mean, the one who can keep calm and provide advice, and practical solutions, in spite of her claiming to be living in another dimension, and not being practical at all. So, I may be changing my plans again, and maybe sooner than expected or planned.
Which brings me to the question I have been asking myself for months now: do I want to stay? And why?
On the way to Brighton, on Friday, because I cannot read on the bus and because my earphones went on strike, I could only alternate sleep and thoughts. Painful, confused thoughts.

It was nice to be back in Bevendean, because of the cosy little house with the friendly housemates, because of my room and because I was frankly really tired of being at home, and I could notice that I was going to my snappy behaviour, and the more I noticed it the more irritable and snappy I would become, and the snappier I was the guiltier I felt, and the guiltier I felt, the more irritable I would become, and so on.
So, decision number one with Teacher friend is that whatever happens, I am going to live by myself from now on. Meaning that I love my family, but it's about time I got on with my life, and please let's try to feel less guilty, although it obviously breaks me to think and see mum getting older and weaker, her strong self getting tired more easily, hearing her talk of getting somebody to help her with the chores and all that, but that's life I guess? I can be there as often as possible, but there are some things you can only accept.

Which brings me to yet another painful train of thoughts, which I am not going to discuss here, because I have been writing somewhere else, almost all morning, shedding tears for hours, the familiar need to scream getting stronger and stronger in me, and frankly I am also sick of that. Yes, I am fighting to accept it. And I am trying not to break too often, this year. Meaning that all these tears must end soon or late, right? All this thinking back, all this regretting, which is so extremely wrong and unhealthy, all this waste of time hoping for impossible things to happen, and even my daydreaming is not convincing.

A big, tired (tired, still at the same time it is the part of me that makes me run for hours, and get lost in books, and obsessively think of moving, moving, moving, as if all this moving and running could make me vanish into some other dimension), a screaming part of me is simply pushing and fighting to pack, go back home, and lock in my room, and cry and cry and cry, scream until my lungs ache, until my throat burns, until I have no voice.
Shrink and disappear.
And what kills me is that whatever I do, it will not matter. Nothing will change.

I simply cannot think of a future, now. I am, again, living day by day, thinking of easy things like what to make for dinner, like how much I want to run, or what book to read next, and of yet another website with Bible readings to help me through, but I don't find any pleasure in anything. It's awful, because these are things I have been writing for months, maybe for years, and in spite of some little progress, an occasional feeling of well-being, nothing (NOTHING!) has changed. And I find myself older, more tired, and a lot sadder than I was. I have really lost that light, people, and the more I try to find it the farther from it I am.

I write even though it makes me cry, because somehow I feel better, after that. Even though the evening is so dark and cold, and I have no idea of what to do, and my life is shattered, and I don't know who I am and what I want.

Who am I?

Life ain't easy

...I am so scared again. I am so scared again. I am so scared.
Ian not in good mood. This is "one of those days. If you stop the routine and look at where you are, sometimes you feel...you know. Strange".
Damn, no, I don't know.
I mean, yes, I have been in this condition for the past 3 months, struggling to survive, struggling to understand where I belong, what is the point of being here and of all this pain.
I am too battling to adjust, being nearly 30 and still sharing a house with 3 20-year old girls, who don't have any sense of respect, being nearly 30 and still renting a room in a house where nothing is mine, being nearly 30 in a foreign country with no future ahead.
But here is where we are different, and I let things flow over me, and I work and work, knowing that things will be all right, eventually, even when the pain is so strong that it looks like it will never go away.
I am so scared and upset. I will have another troubled night, and fortunately I have tomorrow's lesson ready, and Wednesday's too. Which means that I don't have to worry about it, at least that. But oh, it is so difficult.
Ten days ago we kissed again. Since then, I've been living in a nightmare, scared to death of another break-up. I have tried not to think about it, to live it day by day again, and it's been hard. Every day I wake up and pray, pray and pray.
And still, I've just called him. And he told me to email him to let him know what I want to do on Wednesday. Email him??? EMAIL HIM???
Damn.

Oh, God. Help. I am not sure I am strong enough for this. Help. Help.

Italian Blues

The weekend has come and gone.
Mum was here to visit, and it all started on Thursday night, with Ian coming to see me at 9, and staying here for a long chat until 10.30. Then I read, prepared, tidied…I obviously was nervous, and managed to sleep just enough before waking up and going to catch that impossible bus at 3 am, which dropped me in Stansted at 6.30. I had my breakfast, an endless walk around, and finally mum arrived, early on th schedule, so we could get a coffee and go get the bus for Brighton. We checked in at the B&B, and started off our visit to Brighton, first with a trip to Hove to see where I work, then to the university, where we bought a shirt for brother genius, then to my house to see how lovely and clean it is (spent almost 3 hours cleaning and tidying, on Thursday…now, today, 4 days later, a note on the board in the kitchen tells me that noisy housemate on drugs has done the chores…yeah, easy). We go back to town, and walk around in the lanes, in the shops, we stop at the Japanese restaurant after buying a dessert at M&S, so we have our dinner, a walk to the pier, and then we are back at the B&B for tea, dessert, tv, cuddles…my, I missed my mum. There is this incredible sadness and nostalgia flowing among us, and I leave the B&B tired and sad.
The morning after I get up and run to the shower, then run to have breakfast with mum: the guys of the B&B, wonderful people, have offered to let me have breakfast with her, since she doesn’t speak the language and it would be nicer for her to be with me during the meal. How lovely of them. We have a lot of coffee, and toasts with jam, and then we head for the library, and the North lane, before catching the bus to Rottingdean, where we walk around, to the gardens, we take pictures; before starting to go to the windmill Ian calls to say hello, to ask how things are going. It’s a quick, sweet phone call. He can surprise me, indeed he can.
After Rottingdean we catch another bus, and ideally we want to go to the Marina, but I change my mind, and decide that first we will have lunch and go shopping, then we will have dinner and conclude the day at the Marina, which must be nicer at night (how do I know, I’ve never been there). So we go to lanes again, and to several shops, because mum wants to buy me a present for my birthday, which will be in less than a month but she won’t be here. I can feel this incredible sadness, again, breaking my heart in small, piercing pieces. It’s unbearable.
We go to Sainsbury’s for a quick shopping, chocolate and tea for her, and some stuff for me like fruit and cheese and bread; then it’s B&Q, where she buys me a plant, and tomato seeds for herself. We leave the stuff at home, I get changed, and we go back to town. At M&S we buy more chocolate and our dessert for later, and that is when I find a beautiful long jumper, pink, which can be a fantastic dress with leggings, and so we buy it, and although I pay with my card she wants me to tell her how much she will have to give me, because this is her present for my birthday.
After that we go for dinner to a pub in the lanes, where I have a delicious soup, and she has a delicious roast beef with Yorshire pudding, and we share a pint of ale, and we chat and laugh and conclude with a walk in the lanes again, before going to the B&B and watch more tv, drink tea, eat our dessert (n.b.: M&S’s desserts are not as good as they look. A real disappointment). It’s lovely to watch CSI, I missed it, and it’s also very sad.
On the way back home for the night I cry and cry and cry. I don’t sleep well at all.
In the morning, at breakfast, I look at her and start crying, igniting her tears too. We try to talk while waiting for the bus, and I cannot believe how angry I get when I try to explain that I don’t know what to do, because again, she would be the only reason I would go back home, and it seems to me a very good reason, but I don’t know what else I could do, where I could find a job, how, what, and all I want, all I really want, is to be home with her, and take care of her, with her bad shoulder, and her two jobs where she needs a hand, and the chores where she is paying to have the house clean but I could do it better and for free, and all that. I just want to help and be with her, because then she would be happy. And at the same time I start asking myself, why am I here? So I try and make a list of the reasons to stay here and the reasons to leave. And I cannot think. I get so sad and depressed. We cry a bit more on the bus to Stansted, and when it’s time for her to leave we hug and we cry so much, and I think, and say, joking, that I must be really growing old, to get so emotional, as if we were leaving to never meet again. And it scares me to think that her health is not too good, and that she needs me. I manage to stay calm and watch her go through the x-rays, waving goodbye to the last minute, when I lose her sight, and then I wait a minute more and turn to go and catch the bus, bent, crying. I cry for hours on the bus. I get to Brighton and look at the sky, clear at last, and I think of the city, dirty and full of mad people, full of noisy, dangerous people, with no brass band, with nothing to hold on to. I go to bed and am crying, out of tiredness and more.
This morning I wake up confused and tired in the bones. I manage to do a pretty good lesson, all in all, although I feel I am not really here, my head is in a thick fog, and I am not well. I prepare tomorrow’s lesson, and something for Wednesday’s too, then I walk to the library, and I am so tired I almost fall asleep. Then a quick round at the gym, only 45 minutes, where I shock the personal trainer who sees that last week I did run 55 minutes…I know, I am full of surprises.
I catch my bus to come back home, and tidy the kitchen, eat some cheese and carrots, finally tidy my room. I am now in my bed, waiting for mum to call, and thinking.
I’ve just been on the chat with some guys from the band, who are supporting me in my decision to stay: career, and whatever.
My fogged mind can only think that I miss my mum and want to go home to be with her, and snuggle on the sofa while watching CSI, and Cold Case, and then go the cinema on Sunday, and go back to the quiet routine of Saturday chores and shopping, and walks and all that. It is so difficult.
Then I think, my master will start in 11 months. I could as well go back home, work for 6 months somewhere, then come back here for the summer (or somewhere else in England) as a TESOL teacher again, and move back here for the beginning of the master, which would be part-time, so I would still need my job at Sprach, which is why I would come here for the summer, so to keep my job from, say, April/May onwards. On the other hand, I have applied for two jobs, at the university library, part- and full-time. I hope to get either, really, because the part-time would be perfect to let me keep my teaching job, and the full time…well, full time, permanent, in a library? A dream coming true, nothing less. So both things would make me happy. Not that I have any hope, let’s face it. That is why I was thinking about going back home, but deciding it after the (possible) interview for these jobs, which would prove what a useless scam I am, and would seal my decision that home is the best place to be, because at least I would be useful for mum, comfort and help in the house and with her second job. That seems to be my only aim in life.
Of course, things would have been a lot more different if what happened in September hadn’t happened. Then I would have been my selfish me, I suppose, although it is not a side of my personality, which is why sometime I believe I have been punished for becoming so selfish all of a sudden, for thinking only of how happy I was, for the first time in my life. This makes me think, also, of how painful it is to be here, sometimes, especially when I am not in a good mood, and of how painful it is to just go around the university, or even around the lanes, sometimes, if I am not concentrating on daydreaming or (unsuccessfully) planning some lesson.
This morning, one of the teachers, the funny one, gave me a joking hug after he pretended to hit me with a book, since I was standing in front of the shelves again, daydreaming of something else. Told like this it sounds bad, but he is an incredibly funny guy, he really makes me laugh, and he’s affectionate, and I miss human contact. As always. I miss a good, real hug. England sucks, on this sort of things.
To cheer up before mum calls me, I am now watching some videos from a comedy programme I used to watch back home.
I need some time to think. Ian texted me this morning, and then called me tonight, sweet child. I would like to talk to him, and have to wait until he’s ready to meet me and have our usual talk, cup of tea, whatever. He brings me chocolate when he comes to visit. He’s nice and sweet. Sometimes, though, I get the idea that he behaves like this out of some guilty feeling towards me, for dragging me in Brighton and then dumping me like this, for hurting me like he did. Sometimes I feel I am this useless emotional burden he’s rather do without. Of course, I cannot tell him that. This is another taboo subject. My word, we are so alike, it takes my breath away.
So, one more time, I need time to concentrate, and try and work things out about my future. I guess my next post will be something like “pros and cons of Brighton life”…prepare.

Sleepless in Brighton

This is the title of the original post which is on my desktop at the moment. I wrote it last night, at 3 o'clock, after waking up in tears. I am not happy.
I am scared and confused, and for the past 5 hours I have cried, almost everywhere: on the beach, where two guys stopped to ask me if I was ok, in the street, at the bus stop, on the bus (while three punks wearing their low-waist trousers and nothing else played loud music and swore on the phone and to each other), on the way to the IT centre, in the IT centre as I was emailing a friend from the TESOL course.
I am so scared, people. And confused.
How can somebody go from the sweetest of messages, the most recent being on Monday night at 23.28, which said "thanks for being so wonderful***LOVELOVELOVE***" to talking nonsense about being in love, trying to rationalise feelings, trying to reconcile expectations (yes, we all wish we were married to George Clooney, but can we?) and stuff. In the end, I asked him if we are together. He said yes. Two months on Saturday. People, two months! Two months is nothing! And he is already worried about the future, about being able to provide for a family, about so many unreal things, he is only 25 for God's sake! And yes, the age thing came out one more time...then again, he could see the point of...no point about it!
I am trying to be positive about it, I really am. But my only thought is that this is the end, and I am here, in Brighton, alone. My friends at home are not my friends anymore, it's been like this for a while now, they all have their boyfriends, their lives, I am nothing. I cannot go back. I am not regretting moving here, and the fact that I could find a job two days after arriving proves that I was right. But Ian. My wonderful, sweet, caring boy.
He needs time to adjust to this new Brighton life, and he misses his family, and South Africa, and he is thinking about his phd, and he is looking for a room, and he would like to dedicate more time to his teaching job...I am trying to give him more time, because I see that he needs to be by himself a while.
But I don't understand. I am so confused.
I am so scared.
This is a hard time again, I am tired. I am also trying to find a room to move, but not being a student is a bad thing in this city apparently, nobody wants to give you a room. And I spend my days wandering around the town, thinking that in my current room I don't even have a light bulb, and I cannot cook, the kitchen is untidy and dirty, and I have to walk miles on a top hill, in the dark. I don't mind walking on the top of a hill, but...you see what I mean.
Anyway. I am checking for hotels now, because after all some are just as expensive, and at least you get clean sheets every day. I'll give myself time until the end of the week, and then if I haven't found a room, I will book one in a hotel...at least I will feel like some bohemian writer...

Monday, Monday...little to say

It’s funny how I feel so well when I’m around, and then as soon as I hit home I am in deep darkness and spend the evening crying or feeling generally bad, full of regrets, or remorse, or just simple pain.
Last night I sent a couple of cv’s for translating jobs, and I so want to keep my hopes high…Then I found this beautiful offer for a library in a lovely region (where my brother also works), and saw that to apply I need to have a degree (check) and a since mine is the “old” degree, I also need a certificate of course as a librarian of at least 200 hours (crap).
And so I thought about September 2006, when I got all those info on courses, and a second degree in library science, and since that was too long and expensive I found the possibility to follow single courses at university, then thought better of it, because I had three more instalments to pay for the car and the insurance too, and and and. So I didn’t register and didn’t do the course and didn’t get the certificate that I would need so badly now to have a single, small, tiny chance for that beautiful job. What can I say apart from a gigantic DAMN? I’m a failure all over.
I am hyperactive, on the other side: I wake up early, I clean, prepare my lessons, jump around the house with extreme energy, and when I go to the gym after a lesson I work out with such enthusiasm and strength I didn’t think it possible. Like last night, when I worked out so much I couldn’t lift my arms to wash my hair, later in the shower; and after dinner I nearly fell asleep on the couch..and it was only 8 o’clock.

Ok, never mind

No, things are not going too well after all..
It all started with Friday night, when I went to the band in a slightly bad mood, because it was raining and I had had a long week made of lessons and errands, so without any time to think or act for my future, as in no time to think about it seriously and researching, and at the same time with mum’s look of “I’d like to ask you but am afraid of it”, because I am still trying to make sense of it all, and the sense is simply not there. Also, no time for writing: I am running from place to place, with the house to clean and the lessons to prepare, and I am still a fit-a-holic, so thanks, I would like to have my daily run or work-out session, if you don’t mind. Just because I am back to having a kind of dinner it doesn’t mean that I am giving up on training. Anyway.
Now, it’s been two weeks since I left my job, and still no time to investigate or think about any way to improve this situation: and this week I have got a full afternoon busy with that stupid game at the shink’s, and I am not happy about wasting a whole afternoon when I have lessons and I need time to think. Peace.
It annoys me that mum said that this would be my time off to find myself, but still she presses me over what I would like to do, over what I have thought or am thinking, over all this. I don’t seem to be getting any real time off my oppressing thoughts.
So Friday nights saw me at the band, where I arrived and first of all was told off by the conductor for not being there during a gig on Sunday afternoon; for god’s sake, I replied, I told you I was going to Trieste on Saturday, and it takes 5 hours to get there, did you want me to arrive at the station, say hello to my friend and jump on the first train to be back on the very same day? Just for playing a lousy hour?
So then I am told about the bassoon, because a teacher has been found and the cost of his lessons will be divided in two between the other band and us. Our conductor starts saying that maybe the day after (Saturday) I could…And that’s when I say that now, I would not be there on Saturday either, because I had forgotten about the small gig we are to do in the morning and therefore had set an appointment.
You will not be there tomorrow?
No, I am busy.
What is it that you have to do?, asks me sax partner, also member of the board. And this annoys me sooo much. Mind your own, hu?
I have to go away, I reply.
Conductor’s mad at me, and says that then what’s the point, let’s not even begin.
I go and put down my case which so far had weighted on me and my tense shoulder.
I go sit down and I am not happy at all. I think about going home, about telling conductor that ok, let’s not even begin, because by the way, I’ve quit my job and am seriously considering to move somewhere else, which could be an hour away if I am lucky, or 5 if I am even more lucky and get that job in Trieste. At the moment I am not happy at all. No.
Baby sax partner arrives and I ask for a hug, because she’s my hugging friend, and that is when the tears are back and I break again. I spend the next ten minutes in the bathroom, crying and saying that nothing is going to be fixed, nothing. I really feel that. I still do.
I go back, take my sax and play for a whole hour.
Drummer friend, my sweet, comes over after playing and we chat for a while, sexy shoulders joins in and I feel strange but slightly well.
Then conductor comes and gives me the bassoon, shows me the five pieces that make it a whole, makes me play a couple of notes and gives the book so I can start practising this week, because the first lesson will be on the 19th.
Then another guy of the board comes to me while I am chatting with shop-a-holic friend, and asks me if I am set with the bassoon, and if this is going to be the right time, the time when our band will have a bassoon at last. I think this is done purely out of courtesy, then I realize that it’s some sort of moral threat, as in “we are going to invest money and time on you, don’t you dare…”.
When I leave the band I feel heavy and trapped again.
I’ve been feeling this bad since, going over the possibility to tell them that we should just give up, before it’s too late. I think maybe I will.
This week I am going to look for..things. Just to see if I find some option for the months to come, some job, SOMETHING. One thing is sure, I am going to move. That. Is. For. Sure.
Because I feel even more trapped here at home, with parents asking me things every minute, commenting, suggesting. I cannot breath. I feel guilty if I sleep too much even when it’s a non-teaching morning, if I spend some time at home even if I spend it cleaning and tidying and ironing, I feel so bad when mum says goodbye before going to work and adds how tired she feels, I feel bad because I am taking this time to find a way that makes me happy, serene, calm, somehow, and even if I have no debts to pay, and I am half working after all (these lessons give me about 100 euros a week, which is like a part-time job), I feel as if I had thousands of euros to pay back, and I found myself opening a job magazine looking for jobs, the same kind of jobs I swore I would never do again for the sake of my mind. You understand that this is not good.
At the same time I don’t want to run and make the wrong decision, like I was thinking last night, when I thought about moving to a city where there is the most important university of psychology, and enrol, and work and study. I don’t know. Jesus, I am so confused.
I am not writing, except for these confused, depressed, schizophrenic posts. The thought of spending a couple of hours writing for fun, for the stories that are clogging my brain, the thought of taking some time off for myself without working makes me feel guilty too; the same thing happens when I go to the gym, or I take my run. Ok, my mind switches off and concentrates on the training, then, but as soon as I am in the shower, or getting changed, it’s crazy, and I think about mum saying “well, if you really have to run then run”, as if my only duty in life were to help her in the house and think about finding a job, after being so crazy to leave a “job for life” that was giving me money and confidence for the future, etc. etc.
On Friday night I was reading a letter from a friend of the band who now lives in Peru and works to build schools and improve life there. The guy says that there is the need for more hands to help, and more enthusiasm to put together the new children of the town, and as I was reading I thought “maybe this is what I should do”. It’s the first time I think such a thing, and I was almost shocked when I realised it. But again, I don’t want to take decisions in a hurry.
Now I will post all this, and work a bit more. Lessons are prepared, because I am quick, and maybe I could write a bit more for my own fun. It’s Sunday, after all, I am allowed. I think.

A weekend in the white city and more

I am back. And I feel good. I have projects and light shoulders, a clearer view on what I can do and on what I want to do, I have even got hopes. Things seem to be less bleak and more sunny, like the sun that has embraced me for the past four days in beautiful Trieste, the White City on the sea, Joyce’s second home town after Dublin.
I arrived on a sunny Saturday afternoon, and walked for hours, admiring its old and fascinating buildings, up to the main square, golden and breathless, an open door to the port and the sea, where ships were arriving and leaving, and the sea was shiny and wonderful, and the smell of salty water filled my mind entirely and it was like I was back in Swansea. I walked and walked for three entire days, taking pictures, chatting, looking around; we stopped for fantastic ice-creams, and for drinks before having dinner in fancy restaurants (the first night in an Indian restaurant and the second in a Japanese one, for my very favourite food – after Italian, that is). We went to a walk by the sea where people simply laid down large towels and lied in the sun, the sea being too cold to dive in, although we did immerse our feet, just to feel the water. More pictures were taken, more walks in the city followed, and a final homey dinner was eaten before watching two very interesting movies, “Equilibrium” first, with Christian Bale (wonderful movie indeed, folks. Highly recommended by yours truly), and then “Harold and Maude”, straight from 1971, sweet in a bizarre kind of way, however very enjoyable. A movie night with friends, on the couch sharing a blanket at the end of a relaxing weekend, after being away from this suffocating valley and this bleak clouds hanging over it…that’s exactly what I needed.
So as I said, things have sort of cleared in my mind, although I am taking this week off serious acting in order to think a bit more: I am giving my lessons to my boys (of the six trainers at the gym I am teaching 4…not bad!), and tomorrow I am going to send a cv to a bookshop of Trieste where they are looking for personnel…and my fingers are going to be crossed for the next weeks until I get a reply…It would be too wonderful and perfect if I could get that job, exactly one of the things I’ve most loved doing, and leave my hometown for a while, change air, literally.
Anyway…this is only one of the dreams I am cultivating at the moment, and it feels great to have dreams again. To be able to dream again, and think with a peaceful mind about the actions to take, about the calls to make, the letters to write. I seriously did not think I would ever get back to this feeling.
I am a lot calmer and more lucid, so much that I also think that I can quit with the shrink, after next session, which I am doing because we are going to play this “transformation game”, for a whole afternoon, and I am curious about it, but then I think that I will quit. The fact is, I have acted in a hurry after resigning from my job, and called her on the spur of the moment with no real intention, only to make mum happy; I guess we were both looking for a miracle and she seemed the quickest way to get there. I don’t much like going there anyway, to be honest: she only makes me talk, and brings in ideas for more reflections that put me into more depression than I can –or want to – bear. And thank you, I don’t need to pay 35 Euros per hour to be told that I must free my mind from the obsession of being accepted by other people by first accepting myself. As if nobody told me before, as if I didn’t already know. It is something I have always worked on by myself, so I guess there is no need to be helped through this process by somebody who so far has only told me that the beauty is in the eyes if the beholder, and that I should invest more on my femininity (or something of the kind), only to contradict herself by remarking that she didn’t even know if she had brushed her hair that day. I mean, are you saying that I should work more on what I have and feel better by using the simple feminine tricks of “hair-make up –clothes”, or are you telling me that beauty is in me no matter how I dress and make up? Oh, bother..
But what I understand now, is that there is no way I can have a miracle, as long as I brood over the past and my mistakes; ok, the past 10 years have been an embarrassing sequence of mistakes and bad actions, taken in a hurry, almost desperately. But not all of it was negative: I chose to go to that university for the wrong reasons, ok, but if I had not gone there I would have never:
- studied the subjects that fascinate me so much now, meaning gender and the likes;
- won the scholarship for Hull, which resulted in my meeting the most fabulous people of my life (yes, David, Lisette, Charlotte, Rigmor..I am talking of you); not to mention the fact hat the Hull year allowed me to get a good view on the English student way of life; and then I studied one of the most interesting subjects of my life, film adaptation, which is still one of the things I love reading of and studying.
- Lived in the beautiful Bergamo and discovered its streets, its cinemas, the lights at Christmas and the sky in summer.
- Worked in the university bookshop, which has always been on of my dreams (working with books, in general), where I made friends with some more great people and learnt and read and talked so much of every single thing one can think of.

What I mean is: it hasn’t been all that bad. Of course I could have done things better, like getting a better mark with my thesis, and studying more for that exam of linguistics and the one of philosophy of language; sure, I could have chosen another university too, and lived an entirely different life, and maybe now I would be a media scholar with a Phd running in cinema studies, who can tell? Maybe I would have found a boyfriend and be married by now, how do you know?
But I cannot turn back time; I can only try and accept what was, nothing else. Remember the good things, and try and learn from the bad things, even if thinking of them makes me sad and regretful.
Now it’s time to work on a better future, and I am going to take my time: keep your fingers crossed too, please. Good will is ok, but a little luck is always useful.

So...let's sum things up

Update. Although I don’t feel much like writing. But I keep on thinking that it can only be good for me.
I am very, very, very depressed. I’ve forced myself to go to the gym, and I have seen a couple of friends too, plus I am giving lessons of English now, and all this is helping.
No, I’m not down for the job: actually, I am very calm about it, because I feel and I am convinced that it is the best choice.
I am seeing this shrink now, and what happens now is that instead of having flying thoughts that bring me down every now and then, I have constant thoughts that bring me to tears and push me down to the bottom, where the only thing I seem able to do is dig and dig. Mother is very worried and I am only trying to climb up.
The following things don’t really help:
- seeing library friend who’s still sad about me not going to her wedding; plus, while we were there, mother came to pick me up and go home together, and she looked at the pictures of friend’s wedding, and so found out that I had not gone to the wedding; all this led to me saying that I have been depressed for quite a while, making her even more worried and sad at the thought that I have been feeling this bad without her knowing so that she could never help me;- seeing the shrink and having this constant bad feeling that I should be a grown-up person whereas I probably look like a mummy’s daughter because of my attachment to her; it’s true, I should leave and set free. But still, it hurts to think that I am staying here out of some selfish unconscious reason like the need to be needed, as shrink said yesterday. Anyway, I know I should leave. That is why I have left my job, right? Because I need to be free and find my way, wherever and whatever that is.
- Apparently the way towards happiness is marked with depressing thoughts and anguishing thoughts too. So I think and think and think, and nothing makes me feel better. It is also a vicious circle, because I don’t feel like going out or see people, but this makes me spend a lot of time with mum, and things get even harder.

One of the things that made me think after seeing the shrink was her question of my femininity (which obviously – and banally, I must say – led to a question on my sexuality): so ok, I am not a constant girlie girl. I don’t wear make-up, I don’t wear skirts often, I don’t do anything with my hair, and now when I think of the reasons I can simply picture the expression that the shrink would have on her face: you know, the face of “yeah, right, as if I can buy that”. But honestly, let’s consider it:
I don’t make up because: I touch my face, especially my eyes, continuously. I rub my eyes, and rub my cheeks, and lick my lips on a constant basis; I scratch my forehead and when I am nervous I rub it so much that it becomes red in a minute. Plus, I am a sport person, you know! After the office I jump on the treadmill for hours, or spend hours at the gym and it’s no yoga, folks! I couldn’t be bothered to waste ten minutes on cleansing and rubbing off the make-up from my face, come on! I am too practical! But ok, I could care a little more when I go out with friends, like on Saturday night or at the band. Only, if I am at the band I am very laid-back, and so am I when I go out for a drink or something; I mean, I’m in no hunt. And I always think that beauty does not lie in a painted face.
I don’t wear sexy clothes because it is not my normal attitude. For one, I am not one who would go to the office in a mini skirt or transparent shirt..come on! Two, being so uncomfortable with my body I’d rather wear things that make me feel comfortable, you know? And the same thing applies to when I go shopping, say, and to the band: I’m going there to play, not to pull! However, when I go out on Saturday nights I do wear “nicer” stuff, but only if I feel well with myself.
I don’t do anything with my hair because I am useless. That’s it. I have tried thousand of times, but it’s just not my field, and my hair refuses to be tamed. The pony tail, fair; some sort of chignon, ok; straighten it when I am really up for wasting more than five minutes on it, fine. But there is no way I can do anything more than that. Don’t bother me now!

So all in all, the matter doesn’t lie in my possible lack of femininity, but in my being uncomfortable with my body: when I feel fine, and less fat than usual, I like to dress properly, and I even make up my face (only to spend the following two or three hours with the constant reminder that I cannot touch my face…).
The shrink annoyed me a few times during the session, and since it is not the first time she did it, I started to think that maybe it is her way to prompt thoughts over one self. She did really annoy me when she asked me if I’ve ever thought about being gay. I was waiting for that question, knowing that if we were investigating over my bad relationship with people we would talk about my family and my sexuality, so after the question on femininity I am surprised she did not ask me straight away about my tendency. However when I said that no, I have never considered the idea of being gay, she replied that I should think about it, and then went on a banal speech on how it is easier for men to realise their homosexuality because of the physical reactions, and bla bla bla. I was not fast enough to reply: “Listen, lady: I have spent a total of three years and a half being in love with the same person: male. I have chosen university not to be too far from him (and from my friends, but that’s another story); I have moved to England to get over him, when I realised that there was no hope and never had been. While in England, I half fell in love with another man and had a quick crush on two more. And after that, I’ve had crushes on three more people – men, one of which was no longer than 6 months ago. I know, it doesn’t mean anything. But still, there’s some sort of electricity I feel…and it happens only with men. Case closed”.
It annoys me to being forced to talk about sex, because I don’t really think you can bring everything down to that. And since I know my personal history, I believe that the equation goes like this:
Fatty child being made fun of since 5 = bad feeling with body = uncomfortable feeling with myself and as a consequence with the other people.
I see no sex around in this, do you?

Anyway. Case closed, as I said. The next session at the shrink involves some sort of Monopolis game, called “the game of transformation”, and I am curious about it. I would also like to do that Reiki session we have out off because she preferred to continue with our chat. But then, I think, I will end. I mean, I am not going to give up. I only think that most of my problems of depression come from having made the wrong choices; but the tiny giant step of leaving my job and start thinking about myself, with a free mind and no worries about car instalments or money for the house, well, that’s all I had to do. And so, I give myself another two or three sessions with the shrink, and then I will say goodbye.
In the meantime, I already have three people for my lessons, and plans to get to teaching, if I can and am lucky enough. But there is no hurry. I have also plans of getting down to serious writing, now that I have the time, and think about my future with a calmer mind, and no hurry to find whatever job I can only because I have stuff to pay. And this, folks, is an incredibly good feeling.

So, see? Things are not to bad all in all. I mean, I swift from depression to optimism as usual, but I have the time to recover, and above all, I have a peace of mind I have lacked for so long I had almost forgotten what it felt like. This can’t be bad.

I am leaving for Trieste tomorrow morning, for a long weekend with a couple of friends. And I am going to the band tonight. And I am running today, after the 8.30 lesson.
And when I am back from Trieste it will be May, and the beginning of a calm, careful, peaceful planning of my future.

Things look bright today, and I plan to keep them this way.

Going really bad

Well, well…Oh, boy, can we be let alone for more than a minute? … Nothing’s worse than a nervous boss who is leaving for another business trip in two days and wants to have everything settled before that time. And by “everything” I mean “every single email we have received from January 2000 to today, more or less”.
To make things worse, the Epg is still making me feel like a student who has been caught on a test without studying. Actually, worse than that: she makes me feel as if she had told me to study chapter 3 and then she asks me about chapter 12. And there is nothing I can do about it! I can only feel weak, and small, and helpless, and hopeless, and the more I try, the more mistakes I make. I’ve said this before.
It doesn’t help that we have no defined tasks, so I begin to do something and then I find out that she is working on it too, and with more information than me. And more confidence. Because she’s been doing it for 12 years, as she never forgets to remind us (two or three times a day too, in case we were not paying attention the first time).
When these things happen (like she finds a mistake I had not seen, although most of the times it is a small detail, like a date or a missing letter) my only reaction is to shut whatever I was working on, double-click on the Internet icon and wander about any page I can think of. Or write here. Or lock myself in the bathroom and cry when I am really feeling bad. Occasionally my second impulse (after dropping whatever activity I was onto) is to go get a hot chocolate from the machine; then I think better of it. Most of the times I look out of the window and think I could just quit, find another occupation, but what? So I am back to thinking that I should leave. And what for, I ask myself? It would be just my luck to find a job with another set of colleagues like these. And I am getting old. And my cv is not very good after all, so nobody would pick me.

I wanted to start writing the new chapter of the Bookclub (because I am finally back to serious reading with a wonderful book, which I plan to finish over the weekend because I’m busy tonight and tomorrow), but things are going so bad that I think I’ll go cry to the bathroom for then next half hour. Productive person, am I not?

In a mood again

Just a quick update..

I have decided that it's about time I left. Find something better which is not likely to be found here, in our small valley that never grows and never changes, and when it does, it is always for the worst. There is nothing for me here. Ive just got to leave.
Telling my mum was a very emotional moment because I realised how terrible this choice is. I feel I have more chances if I leave, and yet leaving her here makes me feel so bad.
It didn't help that she came home all happy with an offer she was going to accept for Sky. You know: movies and the like, and evenings together and me all happy to watch my favourite movies and studying.

I have called in sick at work today and have just sent about 10 cv's between yesterday and today. I feel terrible and I would like to have an option, say a decent job that doesn't make me cry and fill me with anxiety all day, but lets me here where my mum is. Who is the only person worth living for,and she is giving and has given so much to us and I don't want to leave her here like this.
I must think about things now. It is so bloody difficult.

I'll go do some chores now, take my mind off clogging desperation and onto serious plans that could make things better for all.
Sounds kinda impossible, I'm afraid.
Damn, what have I done to deserve this.

News on the writing side (and little more)

Well…the first thing I thought of while brushing my teeth this morning was..”Damn! The meeting for the website!”. Ok, so, my memory is a colander. Or, more simply, I didn’t care about that meeting so my mind just didn’t record it and set the alarm to remind me. Never mind.
Because I was writing last night! Writing while listening to beautiful music (the cd I would like to make for David…ladies and gents, one more cd wasted…rhmph!). Writing for a whole hour and a half, which may mean nothing to you, but to me it was a productive hour and a half of trance and words. Preceded by one, and followed by two episodes of my beloved. Never felt any better.
Not that this writing is going anywhere, for the moment. I like to think that it’s some warm-up session before the great work begins. And in any case, it feels so so so good.
You know what? I just want to write. And I am so jealous of all those people who take time off work, leave their jobs, whatever, to do researches and write books. Sometimes bad books too. Depressing, that’s what it is. That I should be confined here with too much time wasted over unimportant papers and tasks, and that the fear for my eyes and the pain in my back and shoulders is so bad that spending more time writing for pleasure is too painful and I have to give up. Depressing indeed.
Once again, and again, and again: patience.

And all of a sudden, I am low. Really low. Low to the point that I spent almost a quarter of an hour crying in the bathroom. Low to the point that I feel weak and only want to go home and lie in my bed staring at the ceiling. Low to the point that I feel the need to run and run, and that will maybe make me feel better. I’ve got to wait till tonight.

(Later on...)
End of another day. I am so tired this week, and it’s only Tuesday. I have another hour before I can be at the gym, and I couldn’t resist, I have just placed a massive order for books and dvd’s…All useful stuff for my researches, though, and it’s pay-day in two weeks after all! Besides, I am not going to buy the camera, so the hundreds of euros I’ve just saved can be used (some of them) for other things. I deserve a little satisfaction, don’t I?

Update by instalments - one

(Monday, 19th)

It is the beginning of another week and these are the main issues I’d like to point out:

- taking anti-allergies pills sucks: I am so drowsy I can barely stand up. I look like I’m on drugs and I don’t even get the high side of it.

- I washed my car on Friday and guess what: it’s raining today! After some 6 months without rain! I just knew it would…

- …and the rain means also that taking anti-allergies pills is not worth because I don’t really need them now, since pollen is not around now.

- First thing I am told today at work from the secretary is “next time you take a day off tell me too, ok? Because we were here alone and we didn’t know where you were”. Now, I know I didn’t tell you PERSONALLY, but surely you’ve heard me talking for an entire week of how on Friday I would go for blood analysis and such, right? And didn’t that make you think that MAYBE I would not be in?

- An hour later I hear the same by Epg. As if she minded telling me about her not being in last week for a whole afternoon, or being in two hours later the day before. No comment.

- I ate a lot of chocolate yesterday! I was possessed, I swear! Ok, ok, on Saturday I spent the whole afternoon cycling and then went home on foot (2 km on a hill), and on Sunday I also walked 6 km. Not to mention the super work-out on Thursday night (B&S guy shocked..the guy underestimates me!) But still. What is going on with me? (got a couple of answers, will spare you from that, be thankful now).

- Now, first the drowsiness for those useless pills; next will be the low pressure wave, like every summer, when I walk around like a ghost and I wake up only after 5 pm…good for a run but work is murder. Nothing else, I wonder?

- Oh, yes, something else, on the side of good news: I am back to writing. Seriously. I did write a lot yesterday, as I was trying to wake up after being unconscious on the sofa for a couple of hours in spite of Hitchcock on tv. My brain was over-flooding with ideas and things to write, so I got lost after a short while but kept writing none the less. This cauldron I have now created is the ground for a couple of interesting things…got to keep awake and work on those babes…(and I still had time for three episodes of my beloved…).

- Last but not least, I think I will be working in August: boss wants to keep the office open and the secretary’s already said that she won’t be there, whereas I’m quite sure that Epg will want to be home too because kindergarten’s closed. So I guess it will have to be me. And this is fine for me, mind! I’ll have the office by myself, with air conditioning vs. the unbearable heat outside; the telephone will never ring because every firm and factory is closed at that time of the year; there will be very little to do, just the archive and maybe some deliveries; I will have time to write and do all my research on Internet and everything should be all right. I think.

********************************************************************************
(Tuesday, 20th)

Here’s another day…boss not around this morning, will be here in the afternoon to superwork over the German files and the Mexican files, and can I point out that it is not likely to get ANYTHING accomplished? Not to be pessimistic but…
At lunch time I am actually going to another job agency (the same of two weeks ago, only in my town), for an offer I applied to some days ago. The girl knows me and she called me yesterday, describing the job in details (which they do only when they have in mind that YOU are the right person). I’m going there so she can tell me more(like what, I wonder? She told me everything yesterday!) and I can decide if it’s worth a try. Which seems likely. I guess it depends on how much I would be paid, now. This is definitely going to be a future update, and hopefully a good one. I can already picture myself giving notice here, and taking some 12 days off (vacation I have earned so far) to run, write, read, unwind and get ready for a new start. Somehow it feels good to know that maybe I can leave this gloomy place with the confidence of someone who’s already got a new place to go. Not an opportunity everybody has.

In other news, I have stopped taking those pills, and am now thinking about homeopathy or such. More on this interesting subject to follow (bet you can’t wait).

And finally, I oh so want to leave the country and move to England or…nearly everywhere, really. I have this incredible feeling of “the good ol’ times” taking hold of me and wrapping me and not letting me go, and I tell you, it’s awful. I think about the dinners at the Green House, about cycling at night to go to Tesco, about the breakfast table and bowls of crunchy cereals eaten in silence while the whole house is asleep after yet another wild night. I think about the campus and the gym, about the tables of the libraries and the benches outside, I think about the Students’ Union and the laundry room, about the pub and the coffee stand, about the classes and the streets.
Boy, it was an awful time, to be true: I put on weight because of all that bad food and beer, I had no friends for what seemed a lifetime, I had terrible housemates and no money.
Eventually I met the best friends of all times (all thanks to Shakespeare..long story), and spent the best three months of my life. Never a problem. Never an argument or anything like that. Only hugs and laughters and dinners together, and music and words.
And this incredible feeling of warmth.
It’s what I remember best: the warmth of the Green House, the warmth of the sun, the warmth of my friends’ hugs, the warmth of the colours in the pictures.
I miss that time. Indeed I do. I miss those friends. Their voices. Their smiles.

*******************************************************************************
(Wednesday, 21st)

On Wednesday morning…after a terrible Tuesday afternoon half spent crying in the bathroom.
I am scared.
Boss came in and said “come to my office, without the papers”. Uhm, prep talk coming up.
I’m scared.
What can I say?
That the Epg doesn’t like the way I work because I don’t do things like she’d want me to? That she wants to be the one who gives the orders and doesn’t accept that I have learnt something and can manage to do things by myself? That there are things that I know and that she doesn’t because she’s been away for a whole year and a hell of a lot of things have happened and still she wants to know more than me – like the packing of that stuff for Russia? How can I say all this without sounding like it’s all my fault and I am the only one who doesn’t go along with the other girls? How can I say this without feeling bad and without starting to cry, since I feel so low that yesterday I cried all the way to the gym (in the car and from the parking lot to the gym itself, until I met mum’s colleague and thought I’d better stop, in case she told my mum and she got worried). I find no reason to work because whatever I do is wrong and in any case nobody pays attention, they only notice the mistakes (which are rare, mind you: it’s not like I get everything wrong every day. It’s just a vicious circle, the more I am nervous the more I make mistakes, the more mistakes I make the more nervous I become…); I am also scared of doing things because I don’t like it when she points out every stupid tiny detail, and questions me over things I cannot have done just by myself (example: “why did you tell them this price for this product?”…. WHAT DO YOU THINK, SMART ASS? BECAUSE THE BOSS TOLD ME!!! What does she want to prove when she asks me these things?). I am scared of doing things because I never know if I have been given all the information and what if I haven’t? More shouts in my direction, and I can’t bear that.
I am low today too. I went to bed very early last night ( I was watching my favourite movie, The Usual Suspects, because it is so capturing that I cannot think about anything else) and I woke up earlier than usual this morning (some time after six…still sleepy but not apt to fall asleep again). My friend at the gym yesterday suggested that I take some days off on sick leave. I can just go to the doctor and explain the situation: he will call for a beginning nervous breakdown, I’m sure, because that’s what I’m going through, and he will give me a couple of weeks. Gym friend considers it to be a revenge, because I would leave Epg alone with the amount of papers to follow up with no help; me, I see it as a chance to get some time off and not worry, safe feeling extra bad when it’s time to go back. Anyway, I don’t know. Maybe I will really call sick one of these days.
In the meantime, I went to the job agency yesterday, and there is a chance I may be able to change; what worries me is that for the first months I wouldn’t be under the firm but under the job agency, with no certainty that at the end of that time I will be confirmed. Also, who knows about the wage? But then I say, if they pay me 100 euros less it doesn’t matter, as long as I am in a better place: mental health is priceless.

Not exactly better, but...

Ok, ok…I resisted the temptation of deleting the super-depressive post…because this is the place where I (also and more often) talk about my feeling, and these mood swings happen very, very often. And honestly, life here is often hell, and seeing the days going by makes me feel desperate. Even when there are no apparent problem and it looks like the day is passing smoothly, something unexpected, and unpleasant, happens. Even my boss has noticed my reaction to this, and when it occurs he tends to be consoling, rather than angry, or at least he’s angry but says “this is not your fault”, because by now he’s understood that no, I cannot let things flow on me like water on a swam. It’s a romantic thought, but not possible.
But.
There is always something to look forward to, and act consequently, to make it a better life.
So, last Thursday I decided that from next January I’ll work part-time, and dedicate my afternoons to the following activities:

- give private lessons thanks to the cooperation of teaching friend (who I’m sure will pass some of her students to me)
- read more, write more, run more
- take long walks in the fresh air of winter, in the crispy air of autumn, in the light air of spring, even in the hot air of summer
- work more for mother’s second job, because I still cannot find the time and the mental peace to do it after eight hours in the office
- go back to play my saxophone more, and get to learn the bassoon well (we haven’t found a teacher yet…but my hopes are still high)
- live better

So now the countdown has virtually started, and the plan is that I let nine months pass (I “celebrate” my first two years here in November) and two days after that date I go to the boss and say “Hi! From January I’d like to work-part-time, thank you!”. There are also many reasons why they should not have problems to accept this, especially when we are two working on the same things, and often finding ourselves with nothing to do, at all, like last Friday, when I had so little to do that I could plan the weekend in Prague, and my summer holidays (we’re going to Budapest and Paris), plus I could find a beauty farm in northern Italy to go with work-a-holic friend (although I don’t think I’ll go, after all. See later for this), I e-mailed three friends, I started writing a post for my blog on the website of the band…you see the point: nothing to do whatsoever.
Mother is glad to hear my decision, which leaves me feeling light because I thought she wouldn’t like it at all, and ok, I have to pursue my happiness, but it would be good if I did it without worrying my mum. Who is fine with it, and actually likes my plan as it is (office + private lessons = enough money to survive and pay the “rent”), so everything’s fine. And we could walk and look at the stalls in the fair, on Thursday, with this good feeling of “everything is going to be alright”, and I bought a bag and a bracelet. So.

In other news, my new laptop is ace, and I have already watched a thousand movies on it, curled up in my bed, all happy. And more will follow. I have uploaded most of my music files (been “robbing” cd at the band and asking to have more so I can complete my selection, all tidy and classified), created a few writing files, and played Mahjong, which is interesting, I’ve always wanted to play it (ever since I read “The murder of Roger Ackroyd”).

During the weekend I have discussed about the costs for the works in the house, and I became slightly anxious about the issue: I should be able to give at least 5.000 Euro every year, which with mum’s share will make 10 grand a year, so in 5 years we’re done (because this is half the sum we need, and the other half is just ready to be used). I have to check on my income for this year and also, although approximately, on the income of next year with the part-time. Because the thing is, for a moment I thought that maybe it would be better not to go part-time before we finish to pay everything. But this morning, the first e-mail I opened was from my boss, virtually screaming for an order confirmation I had prepared together with one of the salesmen, who’s in charge of that area and usually does things without asking anybody about it. So all was right, I thought, and then I receive this angry e-mail on why I put the packing like that, and why didn’t I show him before, and all that crap, and all I could think was “FUCK!!!!!!”, because I’ve always prepared offers and confirmations with this guy and the boss has always said that he didn’t want to see them, that I had to show them to the salesman only, being for his area; then, about the packing, when I began working here I never wrote the packing by using the number of bags, to avoid more mistakes, and he’s always complained about it, now that I write the number of bags he gets cross and asks me why I did it??? Do I really deserve this? Eight hours a day? Five days a week? Even when he’s abroad? To the point that when he’s in Mexico or Korea he wakes up at 5 o’clock to call me and discuss the things to do, and possibly scream at me?

No, I don’t think I deserve this.

So, today being the “slow life” day (I cannot find articles in English about this thing...maybe tomorrow), and having heard and thought of how we should all live with less stress, and literally take it easy, I have decided the following: I don’t care about going part-time and earning less than I do now. I don’t care about having a 20-year long mortgage. Also since I am not going to retire ever, what with the new reforms and all, so why bother and feel suicidal all this time, and spend my Sundays slowly descending into depression at the thought of another 40 hours of work, and suffer from lack of sleep, and see my days go by and nothing accomplished? Why exactly?
So, I don’t care about earning less and paying for longer to pay off my debts, as long as I can live my day properly, dedicating time to myself the way it should be, and enjoying the sun, and the silence, and the snow when it snows, and having enough time for my house (when it’s ready), and more time for my mum so she has less to do (because I would have time for her second job and I could also keep her house clean so she wouldn’t have to worry about it and could rest more). This is what we were saying some years ago with a friend, that one cannot live for working, but work for living.
And a part-time job, and lessons, should give me just what I need. I am one of little ambitions, after all, because I only read, and watch movies, and run. I like travelling, and that can always be done without spending ludicrous amount of money. But most important, I would feel better, and there is nothing more valuable. What’s the point of earning money if you have to use it on anti-depressants and stuff?
This is the right choice to make.

And now, let me prepare the last details for my low-cost summer trip to Budapest and Paris…

No title, no smile, no light

There would be things to talk about.
But honestly, I have decided that my next post must be something sunny and good. No ranting, or should I say no depression.
Not easy when I cannot sleep properly, I cry on a daily basis and I have this awful feeling that makes me feel sick.
Not easy when I look out of the window and wish I were somewhere else, not easy when I feel so unbelievably bad when I wake up in the morning, and when I am driving to work, and...
I am sending application after application, but nothing is going to change: I am never going to find a way out of this darkness. I have no qualification, I am too old, I have no experience whatsoever.
I am so tired, so, so tired.
What's the point of this useless life?

Positive thinking and deep breath

What can I say…it’s Thursday and can’t wait to go…and begin my anticipated weekend…yes, because I’ve taken Friday off, and I don’t care!
Tonight I’m out for dinner with my friends from university and the bookshop, the happy part of my life, where my only worry was that I was paid next to nothing, and all my money would go into the rent. But I was happy, really, I liked working surrounded by books, chatting to people, giving information, finding information. It must have been because we were friends, there, and there was no jealousy or envy; after all, who would fight over 5 euro per hour?
Anyway, since I’ll be there all evening, and plan to be home pretty late (by the time we have finished there and I have driven Kitty home and am home myself it will be almost four a.m., I think…), I have decided that tomorrow I’m off duty. After all, ex pregnant girl is back, and will be more than happy to have everything in her hands.
I am not in a good mood at all, and it’s easy to understand. Ex pregnant girl (from now on: EPG) is always here and she makes me feel stupid. For example: I have prepared a draft of price list to send; I have included a detail, because I have seen my boss including it, and my mind has followed this path: if I don’t include it he will ask me about it, I will blabber something for excuse and will be shouted at; if I include it he will not say anything or will ask me why I have included it, and I will get shouted at, so in any case I lose. But she won’t understand, and will just remark that no, this is wrong.
This is so difficult.
I have already sent about seven applications for jobs, and I am seriously praying for a bit of luck. The way things are going now, I can only see day after day after day of tormented hours in the office and my little me locked in the bathroom to cry, which is something I would like to avoid, thank you very much.
My mind is running towards different options:
- Option number one sees me being strong and waiting until next January, when I hope that Epg will get pregnant again as per her personal plan, so I will be happily spared from a life in hell, and will continue working and saving money. If she doesn’t, I will ask for a change in my contract and continue working part-time, dedicating my afternoon to studying and possibly giving lessons like I used to do. In the meantime, works at home should begin in April, which means…uh…first floor ready within November, my floor ready within…oh, next February. Which also means more money saved by then. Then, when she is back, maybe she will be part-time, or maybe I will have found something better to do, or…time will see what happens!
- Option number two, and a couple of hours ago I was ready to act, would have seen me ask for part-time starting from April, so I would be kind enough to let the Epg finish her special working time of the moment (6 hours a day) and I would then take my time and use my afternoons with something more productive.

However, after talking to my boss (and holding back the tears, because whenever somebody asks how I am I cannot refrain), I have decided that option number one will do. As I said, I (will) need money for tuition fees, books, and..furniture! A few things will help improve the situation, like my new laptop (tomorrow! It! Will! Be! Mine!), the possibility to write whenever I want, the weekend in London and Stratford I have planned, the thought of all the nice books I will study and read in the next months, and..well, you see what I mean: positive thinking, positive thinking and deep breaths!