Actually, I hope we don’t, but who knew an apple would ship half the world, all the way from Shanghai, through Anchorage, Indianapolis, and Memphis? When we were little my brother would start digging in the sand at the beach and the goal was to get to China. Remember?
I don’t trust a cleaning lady to put order in my life. Because this is how any major cleaning of the house seems to me. There is one event like this every now and then when the seasons change. The latest spring cleaning revealed to me how I owe you the use of stripe socks. Before you my socks were being unicolour, mostly black. I was again tempted to put your things in a box. This time for practical reasons, they are taking up space. But there was no time. Space per time equals momentum, so I guess I am gathering practical momentum. It was also a good time to review my acquisition policy when it comes to music. And books. At least I listen to the music I buy. But that’s a side note. When I am older I’ll probably be better abled to read, although medical statistics contradict me. What else? I made plans to artistically use all these paper scraps I have been piling up. I have also decided to raid my clothes and give away everything I have not worn at least once in the past two years. Problem with this one is my memory is tricky when it comes to parting with once endeared items. I lag and linger. I have also observed I have gathered an impressive amount of dry-cleaners hangers and silver items. I want to buy new roller-blades, these ones are ten year old. Maybe they can go to the roller-blading museum?
When you don’t have money you cannot buy anything can buy shit.
Inspired by my neighbor’s piano practice, beginner level, roll eyes here, and my other neighbor’s loud party, I was tempted to pass altogether Stingo’s request. But here I am, ten years after. Can I say I know who I am? What I want? Where I am going? Cause sure as hell I had no clue ten years ago.
I am more carefree than ten years ago, but not much more mature. I am one of those people whose exterior change goes unnoticed. My baby fat is burned, my long hair gone. My black leather motorcycle jacket is long gone to shreds saving the life and skin of a friend. Not me, the jacket! there is little I could have done. After all, he was riding his bike approximately one thousand miles an hour, do you wonder he’s skidded?
So, yeah! lets take this imaginary train to back in time, to ten years ago!
1997 is the year of my graduation. When I said “I am graduating a ballerina school, only without the pirouettes” much to my teacher’s distress at these words. He was angry with me, but I had been angry with him before that. He had recommended my diploma paper for a nine, and later made the mistake of coming to me in these terms: “Reading the other papers… now I regret I have not recommended you for a ten”. Of course I wanted to bite back.
Ten years ago I applied for a leader’s position. With the Soros foundation. My first application, my first interview, my first job. I had the nerve to tell the commission, which consisted of an executive manager, three branch managers and a psychologist slash HR specialist: “You called me to interview for the wrong position, I have applied for the Chief of department. I decided to come to let you know”. After a months trial I was Chief of department.
In 1997 I was dealing with my first real life invoice, dully noting at the time that all the schools I have been attending to that point had served me shit. Ten years ago I was a freshly graduated student who had no clue about basic financial procedures. It was on the occasion of supervising my first international conference. I was becoming an event organizer.
Towards the end of the same year, the Foundation was rendering obsolete part of their machinery. I have thus bought my first ever PC, a famous 486, which I was mostly using as a typewriter with a screen. I also remember a recurrent dream I used to have. The dream went like this: I see an excel file in front of me, I am filling in the numbers, I am checking them one by one, then I apply the sum formula and add them up. Then I sellect all, erase and start all over. Such a dream used to last an entire night, while I was preparing the Foundation’s Annual report. 400 A4 pages of names, figures and unintelligible text.
That year I don’t remember if I was seeing a girlfriend or not. But I remember seducing, in my small but no so small hometown, Timisoara, a gay British professor by the name of… Parrot. He kissed me on a bench next to the rugby field, hold my hand in the taxi, took me to his hotel room, where he came on me telling me “It’s good clean sperm, don’t you worry”. That night I made my first and last shameful exit from a hotel, at two o’clock in the night. I continued to send him poetic email, until he cut me loose. Very direct, almost made me bleed. I was not under the impression I could ever have a relation with him at any time, I just nedeed a vessel for my literary creations. I don’t know what came of these. They are still stuck on little floppy disks, in Timisoara.
Finally, ten years ago I had a passport featuring me with long hair. And I had no driving license.
In brief, I had no idea of where to go, but I was determined to get there fast.
I could’ve fallen for his eyes, but it was his incredible ability to perform the blow job that closed the deal for me. Men are suckers for a nice smile, a decent conversation and a blowing out of your mind blow job, in that reverse order of intensity. And I am one of them.
The intenser the act, the plainer the devastation after. Especially when his chubbishly rude but English spoken “gurlfriend!” suggested a threesome. I did not even make an excuse. I had enough: olive skin, deep dark eyes, his strange piercings, and a clean cut job to remember. Next morning I was still musing over my starbucks coffee.
Someone very close has schizophrenia. I could joke and say they are both fine, but she has never told me.
Someone very far has cancer. He told me tonight and I felt so stupid and wordless. Such a shitty timing and relative distance.
I do not have a conclusion. “It sucks” is not a conclusion, maybe, hopefully a temporary state.
In a time when our love was young and deep, and despite that I had upset and hurt you then, I have taken you to see
a film we both agreed afterwards was good. Now I own the film and you are with someone else.
I hate the cold wet leaves, their sparkling yellow from the distance of my window, all the way down. My spirit is not there yet. Wherever there is… I will admit I am not completely to terms with myself.
Where does all that love go? Does love go to love heaven when love dies?
I suck at saying goodbye. That is a fact. I have been sucking at this for almost one year now. I am not done chewing that yet.
Today it was not only the alternator belt that snapped, broke and was fixed en route from Cioranca to Antwerp. It took you four calls to decide there is nothing left to be said. “At ease, soldier! And don’t be a stranger…” I probably need more time. And still, the reverb inside me was like the flat line on the heart monitor: none, no reverb.
It took us ten months to accept what some of the others probably knew the next moment you got on that train. You called now so that we could mutually agree upon the diagnosis: rigor mortis. I concurred.
This end is both a failure and a new beginning. Raising from the turmoil, the question. Will I ever again be able to love as much?
In retrospect, I always wanted
Flipper to be my best friend. I have always had a (secret) fascination with dolphins. I hear they are friendly, playful and sexual, which would explain my choice. Nevertheless, at one point in my life, there was Aldo. You have to understand, I am one of the lucky few. In a time when
Lassie was taking over the world, my friend and companion, Aldo, was a collie. A real life collie. Not mine, like in I didn’t own the beautiful thing. But I did take care and loved him like it was mine. Aldo was a pet in the true meaning of the term. His blue blood was attested in blood line counting generations and awards. Dog awards, but awards nevertheless. So it happens that Aldo was also one of the lucky few. Being of almost royal blood, Aldo spent his time on earth as the pet of a very well-off family, where my father used to be a Jack of all trades. That included walking the dog. And so I got to meet Aldo and befriend him, and I got his love back. Despite his really imposing size, and majestic fur, Aldo was something of clumsy dog. And that also explains my soft spot for him. Aldo fitted the bill. A story of long walks and playful sessions follows. To the day Aldo went out for his master’s morning jogging, on the other side of the city, got separated and lost, only to show minutes later at the doorsteps of my block of flats, practically at my door. That showed who the real master of Aldo was, my uncle ever since told anyone who’d listen.
This is just a preamble to the Gramo’s meme, to follow here soon.
LATER EDIT: Got the same meme from Darkq.
Although it took me a while to realize, my favourite past time of my childhood must have been, for as far back as I can recall, physically fighting with my brother once a day or even more. My brother is five years older than me and I believe my main trespassing against him was, in his subconscious mind, that, apart from the fact I must have been a particularly annoying little brat at the time, my folks kept me and raised me themselves, while they preferred him be raised by our grandparents. A long story short, it was a love and hate relationship, spiced with various pursues, a mastership of throwing the flip-flops at each other, the cowboys and Indians figurine play, we used to have some boxes of these plastic figurines, I was the Indians and loosing every single time, contests of drawing vessels and fortresses market with flags in our three initials, we both had three initials, his were better, the drawings and the initials. Finally, because of this symbiosis, I had become a parasite for the larger group of older kids, who had to shepherd me in corpore. I went stealing with them for the little pipes to shoot paper arrows. In fact, a large chunk of our activities took place on the construction sites, where we used to press nails against the rail of the cranes, making little swords that is, in the botanical park, in front of the block, or even on the top of our block of flats. It was the fifth grade that my brother outgrew so much he refused to babysit me or be involved with me in any manner during his spare time, only occasionally to correct my behaviour, never in front of a third party, so I was totally entitled to desert to our neighbour, Laura from the ground floor; she had two large dolls, the equivalent of a Barbie blown to the proportions of an infant, and now I realize I was her third such doll. Laura would buy ice cream for me, and take to the movies. She was the age of my brother and I have suffered enormously when she fell for one of her class mates. By doing so she had practically ruined my whole summer vacation. I remember like it was yesterday how I have been asleep for two entire days because I was so mad with her.
LATER LATER EDIT: this meme goes to bloguette007, Andressa, runbaby, Pinocchi0, stingo and Musculin.
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