Monday, May 31, 2010
I can't help feeling sorry for Katie Holmes
I don't get wrapped up in the lives of celebrities, but I can't help feeling sorry for Katie Holmes. She looked happier before she met Tom Cruise. There's something eerie about that guy. I wouldn't want to be married to him. He gives me the shivers. Every time I see pictures of Katie Holmes now, I can't help but remember when she played Joey on Dawson's Creek, and I compare her to what she looks like now. Not that she looks bad, but she certainly looked happier before.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Revenge of the angry neighbours
I live in a stairwell where there are 8 apartments. On the top floor there are 3 single women, all in their 50's and 60's. One has mental problems and talks loudly in a shrill voice but is a very sweet person. The second woman likes to renovate at night, something which drives Nick crazy, because she lives right above us. He has pounded on the ceiling to make her stop and left a note in her mail slot once, and both times the noise has stopped. On the middle floor is us on the right, a retired couple right next to us, and a couple in their late 50's who have a very large dog who likes to bark at all the other dogs in the neighbourhood. On the bottom floor, on the right side directly below us, lives a couple of young, quiet sisters who never make their presence known.
To the left lives a young couple, and the girl is making her neighbour's lives a nightmare on the weekends. They moved in in March, and the moment I saw the girl I knew right away just by looking at her what we were all in for. I was right. There are wild parties almost every weekend, Friday and Saturday. For some reason the boyfriend goes out of town for the weekend a lot, and when the cat's away, the mice will play.
This weekend they amused themselves with throwing their empty beer bottles on the lawn outside, as well as hurling them across the garage over at the parking lot, where the are plenty of cars that they might have hit. Thankfully they didn't hit our car. I say thankfully because Nick reacts with an unbelievable fury when it comes to his car, and he would probably have gone down there and hit someone, which would have only have gotten him in trouble. Anyway, the damn bottles are still laying around. She hasn't bothered to clean them up. We had to go out to the parking lot and clean up the glass shards that were laying around after they had their little bottle hurling contest, to avoid the dogs stepping on the glass and cutting up their paws.
You may well ask why nobody asked the skank herself to clean up her own mess. Well you see, there are certain people in this world that there is no point in confronting, because things will only get worse. Had we gone down there and asked her to please clean up her crap, the outcome would probably have been something like this:
We: "Please go out there and take care of your garbage"
Her: "Fuck off!"
Then the next thing that may have happened was that I would have taken one of the bottles and shoved it up her ass. It probably wouldn't have worked though, but I might have tried, or at least wanted to.
Anyway, this morning when I came back from my morning walk with Kelly, one of my neighbours came down the stairs and starts talking about the noise last night. This is the neighbour who lives right across from me, and thus he lives directly below these party animals. They were apparently up all night, unable to sleep due to the noise and the cigarette smoke that came up into their apartment, since 15 people had been standing out on the balcony downstairs puffing away.
My neighbour and I discussed the situation for a while and then comes the old retiree who lives next to me, and the first thing out of his mouth is "They have to go!" He was of course referring to the couple downstairs. They had also had a sleepless night, since they live above them as well. All three of us agreed that we should all complain repeatedly, and sooner or later they're bound to get evicted.
Nick and I discussed it over breakfast and suddenly we came up with a brilliant idea. We should all of us, all the other neighbours who are considerate towards each other, gang up and create a noise fest one night. We were laughing like hyenas as we were concocting the perfect plan.
Ok, here it goes. Picture it now, a dark stairwell, it's 6:00am on a Saturday morning, it's quiet, everybody is seemingly asleep. The losers downstairs have finally gone to bed after a whole night's loud partying, which kept their neighbours up of course. Everything is quiet. They're sleeping, the troubled sleep of the hammered, who know that they will wake up in 6-7 hours with a severe hangover.
This is when the fun really begins.
First, the retired couple on the middle floor suddenly breaks out into a very loud polka session with about 10 of their fellow buddies. They are all wearing clogs and are clapping and cheering and having a blast. Sweet sounds of a hearty accordion echoes through the stairwell.
Then, the middle-aged couple begins talking on their balcony. This may sound fairly harmless but it must be pointed out that the wife has one of those voices that can bend steel. Meanwhile, their large dog is tied up on the grass outside, right outside the balcony of the loud couple, and he's barking incessantly.
Then all of a sudden the women upstairs who has a mental disorder begins dropping marbles every 1 or 2 minutes from the top floor. They drop onto to the stone floor downstairs with a loud clatter. Incidentally, they land right in front of the loser's door.
Suddenly loud new wave music blares out from the other apartment downstairs. The two quiet girls may look harmless but they suddenly reveal themselves to be raging new age hippies with a distinct taste for that type of music.
The woman on the top floor who likes to renovate in the middle of the night suddenly begins drilling with a concrete drill. The noise pierces through the entire stairwell.
Meanwhile, the other woman on the top floor, who walks with a crutch, takes her garbage out, and somehow drags her crutch against the railing as she walks, something which always creates a very loud, echoing sound that one can hear very well inside the apartments.
In our apartment, Nick has finally received my blessing to play his most annoying techno music as loudly has he wants. Hence, the base is so loud that our furniture is almost hopping around on the floor.
The losers downstairs, who naturally awoke from their drunken slumber, opens their door and stick their heads out into the hallway and wonders what the hell is going on.
"Why, we're just having some fun, same as you are every weekend!" We all answer, with a cheerful smile.
Hey, we can dream can't we? You see, the truth is that just normal anger doesn't really do any good in these situations. If you confront people like the loud girl as a rational human being, all you're going to get is an argument. But, if you bring on the insanity, it is much more effective. Anger won't scare people off, but insanity will. If you see someone out on the street who is alone and is laughing hysterically for no apparent reason, you're going to avoid that person. Irrational behaviour is much more scary than just plain anger. So I say, don't retaliate with anger, respond with madness.
To the left lives a young couple, and the girl is making her neighbour's lives a nightmare on the weekends. They moved in in March, and the moment I saw the girl I knew right away just by looking at her what we were all in for. I was right. There are wild parties almost every weekend, Friday and Saturday. For some reason the boyfriend goes out of town for the weekend a lot, and when the cat's away, the mice will play.
This weekend they amused themselves with throwing their empty beer bottles on the lawn outside, as well as hurling them across the garage over at the parking lot, where the are plenty of cars that they might have hit. Thankfully they didn't hit our car. I say thankfully because Nick reacts with an unbelievable fury when it comes to his car, and he would probably have gone down there and hit someone, which would have only have gotten him in trouble. Anyway, the damn bottles are still laying around. She hasn't bothered to clean them up. We had to go out to the parking lot and clean up the glass shards that were laying around after they had their little bottle hurling contest, to avoid the dogs stepping on the glass and cutting up their paws.
You may well ask why nobody asked the skank herself to clean up her own mess. Well you see, there are certain people in this world that there is no point in confronting, because things will only get worse. Had we gone down there and asked her to please clean up her crap, the outcome would probably have been something like this:
We: "Please go out there and take care of your garbage"
Her: "Fuck off!"
Then the next thing that may have happened was that I would have taken one of the bottles and shoved it up her ass. It probably wouldn't have worked though, but I might have tried, or at least wanted to.
Anyway, this morning when I came back from my morning walk with Kelly, one of my neighbours came down the stairs and starts talking about the noise last night. This is the neighbour who lives right across from me, and thus he lives directly below these party animals. They were apparently up all night, unable to sleep due to the noise and the cigarette smoke that came up into their apartment, since 15 people had been standing out on the balcony downstairs puffing away.
My neighbour and I discussed the situation for a while and then comes the old retiree who lives next to me, and the first thing out of his mouth is "They have to go!" He was of course referring to the couple downstairs. They had also had a sleepless night, since they live above them as well. All three of us agreed that we should all complain repeatedly, and sooner or later they're bound to get evicted.
Nick and I discussed it over breakfast and suddenly we came up with a brilliant idea. We should all of us, all the other neighbours who are considerate towards each other, gang up and create a noise fest one night. We were laughing like hyenas as we were concocting the perfect plan.
Ok, here it goes. Picture it now, a dark stairwell, it's 6:00am on a Saturday morning, it's quiet, everybody is seemingly asleep. The losers downstairs have finally gone to bed after a whole night's loud partying, which kept their neighbours up of course. Everything is quiet. They're sleeping, the troubled sleep of the hammered, who know that they will wake up in 6-7 hours with a severe hangover.
This is when the fun really begins.
First, the retired couple on the middle floor suddenly breaks out into a very loud polka session with about 10 of their fellow buddies. They are all wearing clogs and are clapping and cheering and having a blast. Sweet sounds of a hearty accordion echoes through the stairwell.
Then, the middle-aged couple begins talking on their balcony. This may sound fairly harmless but it must be pointed out that the wife has one of those voices that can bend steel. Meanwhile, their large dog is tied up on the grass outside, right outside the balcony of the loud couple, and he's barking incessantly.
Then all of a sudden the women upstairs who has a mental disorder begins dropping marbles every 1 or 2 minutes from the top floor. They drop onto to the stone floor downstairs with a loud clatter. Incidentally, they land right in front of the loser's door.
Suddenly loud new wave music blares out from the other apartment downstairs. The two quiet girls may look harmless but they suddenly reveal themselves to be raging new age hippies with a distinct taste for that type of music.
The woman on the top floor who likes to renovate in the middle of the night suddenly begins drilling with a concrete drill. The noise pierces through the entire stairwell.
Meanwhile, the other woman on the top floor, who walks with a crutch, takes her garbage out, and somehow drags her crutch against the railing as she walks, something which always creates a very loud, echoing sound that one can hear very well inside the apartments.
In our apartment, Nick has finally received my blessing to play his most annoying techno music as loudly has he wants. Hence, the base is so loud that our furniture is almost hopping around on the floor.
The losers downstairs, who naturally awoke from their drunken slumber, opens their door and stick their heads out into the hallway and wonders what the hell is going on.
"Why, we're just having some fun, same as you are every weekend!" We all answer, with a cheerful smile.
Hey, we can dream can't we? You see, the truth is that just normal anger doesn't really do any good in these situations. If you confront people like the loud girl as a rational human being, all you're going to get is an argument. But, if you bring on the insanity, it is much more effective. Anger won't scare people off, but insanity will. If you see someone out on the street who is alone and is laughing hysterically for no apparent reason, you're going to avoid that person. Irrational behaviour is much more scary than just plain anger. So I say, don't retaliate with anger, respond with madness.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
He just can't see it!
Nick cooks, and the kitchen is in a shambles. There are drops of food on the stove that have now dried up and stuck to it, that I have to scrub off. There are pots and pans piled up in one sink and dishes in the other one. The counter has not been wiped, and as always when Nick cooks there is flour on it, since he often batters and deep fries his food, to my great dismay.
Then there is the coffee table in the living room. There is an ever-going battle over that table. It's a matter of turf at this point. He's trying to overtake it with his camera stuff and technical gadgets and I keep urging him to put it away, which he won't unless we have company coming over. Finally I usually end up pushing it towards one end of the table so that I at least can clean. We have a candle tray made of glass on the kitchen. On it right now is a lonely candle, and Nick's cloth that he uses to wipe off his computer screen. Even the candle tray is under attack.
Then there are the dust bunnies, which are either doing the tango or making out, on the verge of breeding more little bunnies. He doesn't see them! I see them, but I don't think he does. I see the gravel in the hallway, but he doesn't. I see the stack of old fliers that need to be taken to recycling, does he? Nope!
When the sink is full of grime and the toilet bowl stained with delicious little brown spots, who do you think sees it and cleans it? Moi!
I used to think that he doesn't see it, but maybe he doesn't. A lot of men have this amazing capacity for turning a blind eye to messes. They simply do not notice when something needs to be cleaned. Even when it's begging for it. Or perhaps they do see but don't care. Either way, it can get on your nerves. I happen to like cleaning. I find it refreshing, and it's a great way to work off stress. I like scrubbing things until they shine, and I love the feeling that I get afterwards when the place is sparkling, well as sparkling as our place can get with all of Nick's gear laying around.
They say it's biological. Men don't see details in the home the way women do. During the stone age, it was women who stayed at home and tended to the cave while the men went out and found food. It must be innate for some men to be slobs.
Then there is the coffee table in the living room. There is an ever-going battle over that table. It's a matter of turf at this point. He's trying to overtake it with his camera stuff and technical gadgets and I keep urging him to put it away, which he won't unless we have company coming over. Finally I usually end up pushing it towards one end of the table so that I at least can clean. We have a candle tray made of glass on the kitchen. On it right now is a lonely candle, and Nick's cloth that he uses to wipe off his computer screen. Even the candle tray is under attack.
Then there are the dust bunnies, which are either doing the tango or making out, on the verge of breeding more little bunnies. He doesn't see them! I see them, but I don't think he does. I see the gravel in the hallway, but he doesn't. I see the stack of old fliers that need to be taken to recycling, does he? Nope!
When the sink is full of grime and the toilet bowl stained with delicious little brown spots, who do you think sees it and cleans it? Moi!
I used to think that he doesn't see it, but maybe he doesn't. A lot of men have this amazing capacity for turning a blind eye to messes. They simply do not notice when something needs to be cleaned. Even when it's begging for it. Or perhaps they do see but don't care. Either way, it can get on your nerves. I happen to like cleaning. I find it refreshing, and it's a great way to work off stress. I like scrubbing things until they shine, and I love the feeling that I get afterwards when the place is sparkling, well as sparkling as our place can get with all of Nick's gear laying around.
They say it's biological. Men don't see details in the home the way women do. During the stone age, it was women who stayed at home and tended to the cave while the men went out and found food. It must be innate for some men to be slobs.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Things that I would never do
1. Stand in line to get into a club where the bouncers are arrogant and rude. In fact, I wouldn't stand in line for more than 15 minutes to get into a any club, period. It's always puzzled me why people are willing to stand around for hours to get into some overcrowded place where the staff is rude, the dance floor is too crowded and the music is too loud. And before you go on to say that I'm too old to appreciate it, let me say that I have never been a fan of this scene. Not even when I was 18. There is no way that I would let some bouncer on a power trip treat me like a sheep.
2. Visit some place like Hong Kong or Beijing. Why would I want to push myself through the polluted, crowded streets of such a densely populated city when I can explore the moors and mountains of Scotland, visit the hot springs in Iceland or tour the Gold Coast of Australia, to name just a few locations that I'm dying to see. China comes way down on the list. However, it would be interesting to hike up the Great Wall and see some of China's nature.
3. Live in Stockholm again. I'm sorry, I just cannot stand that place. It's too bad that you have to go through Stockholm in order to visit the archipelago.
4. Sit through the movie "The Beach" again. Last time I had to force myself to go to sleep in the movie theater just to escape. I should have just walked out, but I was with someone.
5. Go backpacking in a rush again. In fact, backpacking period. I doubt I will ever do that again, but if I do it will be in style, with a suitcase and without the obsession of seeing as much as possible in a very short time. Back in 95, I spent 4 horrendous weeks tracking around Europe with two friends, who argued with each other incessantly, and who both had to be completely in charge, which left me with very little to decide on. Come to think of it, this is yet another clue to my increasing need for control. Anyway, I wouldn't recommend to anyone to rush through Europe just because they want to be able to tell people that "I've been there, and there, and there, and there...". It's much better to take one's time and visit only a few places but instead focus on getting some quality time there, and really experiencing it. How do you truly experience a city like Rome or Paris in just 1 or 2 days? You don't. The way we backpacked in 95 was more hysterical than anything else. Like we were on a mission. Actually, 2 people were on a mission and the third one was just the stooge that went along for the ride.
6. Eat dim sum. I'm sorry Dianne, I know you're probably mad at me for this, but I can't eat it. I promise, if you won't force me to eat dim sum, I won't force you to eat fermented herring. There are certain delicacies in my home country that I would never expect people from other countries to enjoy, fermented herring is one of them. In that same spirit, I ask to be spared from dim sum. I think I would panic if someone put a bowl of pork dumplings in front of me, particularly since I don't eat pork. The reason I don't eat pork is for moral reasons. I once saw a clip from a pig farm and some asshole was beating a pig with a long iron rod, and the pig was screaming with pain. It broke my heart. I know this doesn't go on in all pig farms, but the way that pig was screaming, it sounded like a human being, and I can't get it out my head. I don't even want to eat pork anymore, I've lost my appetite for it. I don't miss it.
2. Visit some place like Hong Kong or Beijing. Why would I want to push myself through the polluted, crowded streets of such a densely populated city when I can explore the moors and mountains of Scotland, visit the hot springs in Iceland or tour the Gold Coast of Australia, to name just a few locations that I'm dying to see. China comes way down on the list. However, it would be interesting to hike up the Great Wall and see some of China's nature.
3. Live in Stockholm again. I'm sorry, I just cannot stand that place. It's too bad that you have to go through Stockholm in order to visit the archipelago.
4. Sit through the movie "The Beach" again. Last time I had to force myself to go to sleep in the movie theater just to escape. I should have just walked out, but I was with someone.
5. Go backpacking in a rush again. In fact, backpacking period. I doubt I will ever do that again, but if I do it will be in style, with a suitcase and without the obsession of seeing as much as possible in a very short time. Back in 95, I spent 4 horrendous weeks tracking around Europe with two friends, who argued with each other incessantly, and who both had to be completely in charge, which left me with very little to decide on. Come to think of it, this is yet another clue to my increasing need for control. Anyway, I wouldn't recommend to anyone to rush through Europe just because they want to be able to tell people that "I've been there, and there, and there, and there...". It's much better to take one's time and visit only a few places but instead focus on getting some quality time there, and really experiencing it. How do you truly experience a city like Rome or Paris in just 1 or 2 days? You don't. The way we backpacked in 95 was more hysterical than anything else. Like we were on a mission. Actually, 2 people were on a mission and the third one was just the stooge that went along for the ride.
6. Eat dim sum. I'm sorry Dianne, I know you're probably mad at me for this, but I can't eat it. I promise, if you won't force me to eat dim sum, I won't force you to eat fermented herring. There are certain delicacies in my home country that I would never expect people from other countries to enjoy, fermented herring is one of them. In that same spirit, I ask to be spared from dim sum. I think I would panic if someone put a bowl of pork dumplings in front of me, particularly since I don't eat pork. The reason I don't eat pork is for moral reasons. I once saw a clip from a pig farm and some asshole was beating a pig with a long iron rod, and the pig was screaming with pain. It broke my heart. I know this doesn't go on in all pig farms, but the way that pig was screaming, it sounded like a human being, and I can't get it out my head. I don't even want to eat pork anymore, I've lost my appetite for it. I don't miss it.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Youth or mother?
Today this young guy rang on my doorbell. Kelly gave him a good barking of course. He said that he was out visiting young people and families with small children in the neighbourhood.
I don't have any kids, and I can't exactly claim to fall under the category of "youth" anymore either. So I wonder, which one of these target groups did he think I belong to. I should have asked him. Wouldn't it be nice if it was the youth category.
I told the guy I wasn't interested and he was really a good sport about it. There was no trying coerce his way in, he just accepted it and moved on. He just asked me where he might find young people living in the same building.
Anyway, what do I look like, youth or a mother?
I don't have any kids, and I can't exactly claim to fall under the category of "youth" anymore either. So I wonder, which one of these target groups did he think I belong to. I should have asked him. Wouldn't it be nice if it was the youth category.
I told the guy I wasn't interested and he was really a good sport about it. There was no trying coerce his way in, he just accepted it and moved on. He just asked me where he might find young people living in the same building.
Anyway, what do I look like, youth or a mother?
Control freak with a Peter Pan complex
My good friend wrote in her blog about how she is reluctant to make a change and strive for more, because she has a secure job which she's content doing. She's not making huge progress, but she's relatively happy doing what she's doing. I wish I could be more like that. In a way I do. I would hate the monotony of doing the same thing day after day, but it's part of having to grow up I suppose. That's what a job usually is. Having a boss is something most people have to deal with.
I wish I could.
In every single full time job I've had, I've done well at first and then once I've mastered it and once it becomes a routine, I become so utterly bored that I begin to make stupid mistakes. When I was 18 I got my first full time job working at the mall. It wasn't a bad job. It was in photo frame and picture/printed art store, and the job sometimes involved looking at art prints and framing pictures. This I didn't mind at all. I discovered Elvis at this time and I got to peruse the folders with paintings and prints and order things at a very good employee discount. Sooner or later though, it all became so mundane and routine that I started to hate the customers. Everyday was the same. Watching people dig through the purses for small change. This was in the days before bank cards and pin machines. I started giving people too little change back. Finally my boss got fed up and I was replaced. I was never actually fired, just slowly phased out.
A few years later I worked in a grocery store, and I started making the same mistakes there. Giving people a 10 back when they should be getting a 50, that kind of stuff.
While routines turn me into a zombie, having a boss to answer to turns me into a crabby bitch. I have always had a tendency to be a control freak, and it's only gotten worse over the years. For me, a permanent job with a boss is suffocating. I start to resent my bosses. I almost always do. I know I'm wrong, but I can't help feeling that they are in control of my whole life. I simply don't like to have to answer to anyone. I know that this is immature and not at all practical, but there it is. To top it off, I'm not a team player. I'm a lone wolf. I work fast and I do my best, but don't ask me to work in a team, at least not when I comes to creative work. In working with data entry, which I do on an on-call basis, I am like a robot. I work fast and my only focus is getting the job done and going home. Hardly the attitude that is needed to advance in a company is it.
Then there is the feeling of a lack of freedom from being locked into a job day after day, performing the same tedious tasks. I wonder if I were to feel differently about this if it was something as stimulating as working as a writer for a magazine. Most probably. Unfortunately this type of opportunity has yet to come my way. So the only experiences I have to draw upon are menial, dead-end jobs where I have felt like a drone. Even a brief stint I did summarizing and translating newspaper articles for an information company was mind-numbing after a while. The facts still remain that I'm simply not a 9-5 person. Routines are like death to my spirit. I wish it wasn't so, because that would make life a whole lot easier.
So now I work irregular hours, and sometimes I have very little work. I'm all over the place, going from teaching to interpreting, from interpreting to translating, from translating to some occasional data entry. Somehow I make ends meet. My only comfort is that at least I'm my own boss and my schedule is varied.
I'm like Peter Pan, I refuse to grow up. A darker, crankier version of Peter Pan, with a need for constant control.
I wish I could.
In every single full time job I've had, I've done well at first and then once I've mastered it and once it becomes a routine, I become so utterly bored that I begin to make stupid mistakes. When I was 18 I got my first full time job working at the mall. It wasn't a bad job. It was in photo frame and picture/printed art store, and the job sometimes involved looking at art prints and framing pictures. This I didn't mind at all. I discovered Elvis at this time and I got to peruse the folders with paintings and prints and order things at a very good employee discount. Sooner or later though, it all became so mundane and routine that I started to hate the customers. Everyday was the same. Watching people dig through the purses for small change. This was in the days before bank cards and pin machines. I started giving people too little change back. Finally my boss got fed up and I was replaced. I was never actually fired, just slowly phased out.
A few years later I worked in a grocery store, and I started making the same mistakes there. Giving people a 10 back when they should be getting a 50, that kind of stuff.
While routines turn me into a zombie, having a boss to answer to turns me into a crabby bitch. I have always had a tendency to be a control freak, and it's only gotten worse over the years. For me, a permanent job with a boss is suffocating. I start to resent my bosses. I almost always do. I know I'm wrong, but I can't help feeling that they are in control of my whole life. I simply don't like to have to answer to anyone. I know that this is immature and not at all practical, but there it is. To top it off, I'm not a team player. I'm a lone wolf. I work fast and I do my best, but don't ask me to work in a team, at least not when I comes to creative work. In working with data entry, which I do on an on-call basis, I am like a robot. I work fast and my only focus is getting the job done and going home. Hardly the attitude that is needed to advance in a company is it.
Then there is the feeling of a lack of freedom from being locked into a job day after day, performing the same tedious tasks. I wonder if I were to feel differently about this if it was something as stimulating as working as a writer for a magazine. Most probably. Unfortunately this type of opportunity has yet to come my way. So the only experiences I have to draw upon are menial, dead-end jobs where I have felt like a drone. Even a brief stint I did summarizing and translating newspaper articles for an information company was mind-numbing after a while. The facts still remain that I'm simply not a 9-5 person. Routines are like death to my spirit. I wish it wasn't so, because that would make life a whole lot easier.
So now I work irregular hours, and sometimes I have very little work. I'm all over the place, going from teaching to interpreting, from interpreting to translating, from translating to some occasional data entry. Somehow I make ends meet. My only comfort is that at least I'm my own boss and my schedule is varied.
I'm like Peter Pan, I refuse to grow up. A darker, crankier version of Peter Pan, with a need for constant control.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Madness
Since I didn't accomplish anything else I set out to do today, I will at least do this.
I had intended to go to the gym. At first I was going to go in the morning, but then due to a headache I decided to wait until lunch time. At lunch time I got caught up in something and decided I'd go at 3pm instead. When it was nearing 3pm I was feeling ill. My stomach was hurting and I didn't feel good at all, so I decided to go to the gym in the evening instead. Well, it's now almost 8pm and I still haven't gone. Nor did I write on my book as I set out to do. Today has simply been a crappy day all around.
At least I will write a little bit on one of my favourite topics - madness. I was chatting with a good friend this morning and she said that she was spring cleaning her house. It was 3:00am in her time zone! I can well imagine if I had started cleaning in the middle of the night when I lived at home with my parents. They would have thought I was stark raving mad. My mom would have stuck her head out the bedroom door and hissed:
"What the hell are you doing! Have you lost your mind?? Go to bed!"
Not in my friend's house. There always seems to be someone awake there. I've told her that her house is a madhouse. Madness lurks behind each door. This really appeals to me. A house full of oddities. I grew up in a home where I was often alone and even when my parents were home there wasn't much going on. I dreamed of living in a house where there lived a lot of people and where something was always happening. That's why when I was 14 I started a book called "The Funny Farm", about a big house where 7 people lived together. Something was always happening. People were always coming and going. Somebody was almost always awake and there were people arguing, an old lady baking, all kinds of activities, you name it. Each chapter contained some event, such as the adults being away for the weekend and the teenagers ending up sleeping in the same fold-out couch for some reason.
Initially it was a normal book with normal people and regular stories. Then as I grew older I grew more dark and troubled. I started becoming depressed, and with this depression the stories turned a dark corner. Now instead of being a relatively normal household, everyone became mean and extremely troubled. The old lady who used to bake and cook disappeared into her bedroom where she spent her days and nights sleeping and only came out into the kitchen in her nightie to drink water, only to again disappear into her bedroom and slam the door behind her.
One of the characters, the character who had previously been the most forward and active, turned into a catatonic vegetable who spent his day sitting in a corner of the hallway staring into space. Sometimes he would bang his head against the wall.
Another character turned into a psychopath who was prone to violent outbursts, where he would ferociously do karate chops and kicks in the air, for no apparent reason.
The other characters were no rays of sunshine either. And everyone suffered from the same problem, malnutrition. As an added bonus to the outbreak of insanity, the front yard was blocked by local hooligans who had taken a very severe disliking to the inhabitants of the Funny Farm, and who would always stand outside the house hurling insults and throwing rotten eggs and tomatoes at the windows. If one of the people inside the house dared so much as stick their noses outside, the hooligans would get them. This meant that they couldn't go to the grocery store. So they lived on stale buttermilk, dry, hard bread and dried meat. Where they got this from and how they always managed to have a supply of this but nothing else was never explained.
I loved every minute of writing about it. I was into the story while writing it that I would laugh out loud. The characters became so real that they felt like real people. This is what writing is all about for me. Emerging myself in this fantasy world that I've created. The reason that this story turned so dark, and the reason I am still prone to venture into the field of the absurd, is because madness has always fascinated me. That's why my favourite subject within the field of Psychology has always been Abnormal Psych. What other people find dark or disturbing, I find incredibly interesting, and sometimes even funny. Inside a movie theater, I'm the person who laughs like an idiot at things that other people don't find remotely funny. For example, when I saw "Pretty Woman" for the first time in the movie theater, I laughed when Vivian tries to get her glasses unfolded at the opera but can't and says 'These are broken! Mine are broken!'.
I was the only person who laughed.
I had intended to go to the gym. At first I was going to go in the morning, but then due to a headache I decided to wait until lunch time. At lunch time I got caught up in something and decided I'd go at 3pm instead. When it was nearing 3pm I was feeling ill. My stomach was hurting and I didn't feel good at all, so I decided to go to the gym in the evening instead. Well, it's now almost 8pm and I still haven't gone. Nor did I write on my book as I set out to do. Today has simply been a crappy day all around.
At least I will write a little bit on one of my favourite topics - madness. I was chatting with a good friend this morning and she said that she was spring cleaning her house. It was 3:00am in her time zone! I can well imagine if I had started cleaning in the middle of the night when I lived at home with my parents. They would have thought I was stark raving mad. My mom would have stuck her head out the bedroom door and hissed:
"What the hell are you doing! Have you lost your mind?? Go to bed!"
Not in my friend's house. There always seems to be someone awake there. I've told her that her house is a madhouse. Madness lurks behind each door. This really appeals to me. A house full of oddities. I grew up in a home where I was often alone and even when my parents were home there wasn't much going on. I dreamed of living in a house where there lived a lot of people and where something was always happening. That's why when I was 14 I started a book called "The Funny Farm", about a big house where 7 people lived together. Something was always happening. People were always coming and going. Somebody was almost always awake and there were people arguing, an old lady baking, all kinds of activities, you name it. Each chapter contained some event, such as the adults being away for the weekend and the teenagers ending up sleeping in the same fold-out couch for some reason.
Initially it was a normal book with normal people and regular stories. Then as I grew older I grew more dark and troubled. I started becoming depressed, and with this depression the stories turned a dark corner. Now instead of being a relatively normal household, everyone became mean and extremely troubled. The old lady who used to bake and cook disappeared into her bedroom where she spent her days and nights sleeping and only came out into the kitchen in her nightie to drink water, only to again disappear into her bedroom and slam the door behind her.
One of the characters, the character who had previously been the most forward and active, turned into a catatonic vegetable who spent his day sitting in a corner of the hallway staring into space. Sometimes he would bang his head against the wall.
Another character turned into a psychopath who was prone to violent outbursts, where he would ferociously do karate chops and kicks in the air, for no apparent reason.
The other characters were no rays of sunshine either. And everyone suffered from the same problem, malnutrition. As an added bonus to the outbreak of insanity, the front yard was blocked by local hooligans who had taken a very severe disliking to the inhabitants of the Funny Farm, and who would always stand outside the house hurling insults and throwing rotten eggs and tomatoes at the windows. If one of the people inside the house dared so much as stick their noses outside, the hooligans would get them. This meant that they couldn't go to the grocery store. So they lived on stale buttermilk, dry, hard bread and dried meat. Where they got this from and how they always managed to have a supply of this but nothing else was never explained.
I loved every minute of writing about it. I was into the story while writing it that I would laugh out loud. The characters became so real that they felt like real people. This is what writing is all about for me. Emerging myself in this fantasy world that I've created. The reason that this story turned so dark, and the reason I am still prone to venture into the field of the absurd, is because madness has always fascinated me. That's why my favourite subject within the field of Psychology has always been Abnormal Psych. What other people find dark or disturbing, I find incredibly interesting, and sometimes even funny. Inside a movie theater, I'm the person who laughs like an idiot at things that other people don't find remotely funny. For example, when I saw "Pretty Woman" for the first time in the movie theater, I laughed when Vivian tries to get her glasses unfolded at the opera but can't and says 'These are broken! Mine are broken!'.
I was the only person who laughed.
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