18th December 2002
10.56pm
Today,
I managed to bring myself to walk out of the apartment… after 48 hours.
Everything always looks good when you’ve not send it for a while. Yes I’ve
been in my room for that long. As usual, thoughts came streaming as I walked out
to the pharmacy, providing me with a 30 minute running commentary. I honestly
think it’s time I walk about with a recorder (something chic and portable) so
I don’t go insane storing the many things that should be written down. Then
again, I might just look the part…after who talks to a recorder while
strolling in the park?
Rain
continues outside. Setting me into this terribly
lazy/sexy/warm-red-wine-and-jazz mood. *Catches reflection in the mirror*…*gasp*
did
I say sexy? Correction… make that lazy/sexy/warm-red-wine-&-jazz
mood.
And we all know what that means. No clearing work is gonna happen to my table tonight. Let’s not even get to the part of exercise.
My mum
bangs on my door, demanding to know why is there a half eaten cinnamon roll in
the fridge. And goes on to lecture me about it ‘absorbing’ egg ‘smells’
and whilst it sits there unwrapped in the fridge. After that much of food
science being drummed into me, would I not know the risk of leaving it there? At
5am, tired and with my spine being a right bitch, the hygiene and safety levels
of my food would just have to be disregarded. There has not been a quiet moment
in this house since I came back on Sunday. Everytime I come home perpetual noise
it contains reminds me why I stay away. Highly irritable, nasty and tired –
the wonderful combination of moods that are part of my home experience.
Every day, it becomes more evident that I’m growing too old for the rules made in household that were made to govern toddlers. Answer me this if you will. How do I make highly professional phone calls and discuss projects while some idiot within the house will scream incessantly for me to deal with the cockroach lying squashed in the kitchen? Nothing in this house can wait. Even if I were on the phone preventing the next nuclear disaster I’d still have to go,
“Hang on a minute will you?! Goddamit can’t you fucking see I’m on an important call? The dead cockroach can wait!!”
And
please tell me again how is possible to ‘shift’ my operations entirely back
home when:-
- They
can’t understand my need for privacy
- They
can’t understand the importance of my work to me
- And
think just because I’m home I should bear the responsibility of sorting
the entire house out.
Why?
Just because I don’t go away 9-5, I am supposed to be able to accommodate
everything else while I’m supposed to be working? Why don’t you go tell
someone working in the office to come home during lunch to do the laundry? Well
it’s only fair ainnit? Since they do have ‘free time’ then.
Enough.
I’m going to blow an artery if this continues.
I’m
angry and irrational at this moment, making my ramblings more senseless than it
already is.
On
a different note, last night an old friend turned to me searching for advice (oh
if she only knew!). Her questions froze me in my seat momentarily…plainly
because an answer was just beyond me.
She
asked: -
How
do I know if I really love him?
I
think I do, but how do I tell him?
Do
I wait till he tells me?
Would
it scare him if I told him first?
To
all that, I think I managed to blag my way through by sounding like the caring
‘older’ person I’m supposed to be.
The
truth is that, I don’t remember what I dispensed to the poor lamb.
However,
today I got an email from her, a sign
of not-so-bad-after-all advice, and that's she's not killed herself over
heartbreak. It said:-
-Katia lasko!
I have found answer! And I will tell him mluji te!
And
she’s only 16.
As
I push my cart down Aisle 20 shopping for answers, she adds 2 more to the list.
