I have been feeling relatively snappy these days. Not energetic, just have had that snappish tone in my voice and in my actions. In fact I have been so snappy, I fear I'm soon going to snap.
I can't stand waiting. Well, maybe if I love someone, I can a bit, but otherwise I become first tensioned, then irritated and finally saddened, especially if I can see I am constantly promised something I can't get, and even more if I can see that someone who promised me something isn't busy doing something, but just doesn't care. So that's when I start to be snappy.
Today, when I started to decide if I'm just like one of the Jill Greenberg's teased kids or just sad, I stepped on a dog shit with my new shoes.
Are the new shoes making me lively like Carrie Bradshaw? Could they make me finally write some quirky blog posts? No, they made me feel more like Leo Johnson. I made a drooling comment about my new shoes to myself and thought what to write.
As always, my mind was empty, as vast as the field nearby.
At the end of that field was a car park. At the end of the car park was my car. Behind my car were some Uni students dancing without music. They were wearing bright green overalls. They danced on the sand, happily. We had a snowstorm on Sunday, but quite suddenly it is spring now. The students just went on dancing happily when I thought if I should write about the fact that today is the spring equinox.
I also thought should I mention the fact that we used to look down on everybody wearing those bright University overalls. We wore black. We celebrated annoyingly, faking young intellectuals by drinking cheap Chianti and re-acting famous contemporary performances, until I reacted to the excess cheap Chianti drinking. But never dancing on the car park. Never.
Once we were making a performance of Da Vinci's Last Supper.
I was Jesus. When the press came, I was having a cigarette outside and it read on the paper: Jesus wasn't having the last supper, because she was having a fag outside.
I looked at the sky where six swans crossed the field and I felt so dusty and chained. I was picking up the kids from the daycare and wondered why my mind was suddenly so empty, just looking for more troubles and impossibilities, when I could just be happy with everything I have. I should be enjoying of all that, not be saddened by everything I won't have, but there I was, so desperately much wanting to try flying, feeling lonely and bit damp and watching how the last swan flew away.
Suddenly I wanted to have a friend to whom to tell all that there was, inside my blank mind. I wanted to have a walk and a talk, but my shitty shoes just seemed to be stuck on the field.
I was wondering should I write about all the lost friends, who just have disappeared somewhere or about the ones, I can't ever talk to. Few days ago I counted all the people I used to know and who had committed suicide. Five. All young men.
I thought about the boy who was sitting next to me when I started school. We were having almost similar names and were the only ones who could read. I read The Famous Five and he read dictionaries and I couldn't get him at all, because he didn't have any sense of humour, but I sat there next to him, because we did have almost similar names and he was shy and so bright, even when I always turned my head away from him.
After 10 years time he was my dancing partner when we had a high school ball. He was shy, so bright and had still no sense of humour, but he had chosen a wonderful white suit, which matched my blue dress perfectly. Five years later I saw him standing on the railway station. I walked away quickly and hoped he wouldn't have recognized me. I wish I had said he wasn't that bad at all.
Spring. The time when the most of the suicides are committed, except maybe in November. I love light and wondered why this season makes us so depressed.
For months we can just hide, be like some grumpy old bears, sleeping inside in the darkness. And suddenly the light, revealing everything.
All the dust on the tables, pale faces, dog hair stuck on the black trousers. We have to take our winter jackets off and let the others see what is left there after the long winter. Was it just the heavy jacket keeping us not falling apart?
About selfies - I just discovered that the French for *selfie* is *égoportrait*, which is entirely perfect and beautiful. *PS: I’ve been advised that égoportrait is spec...
2 days ago