Dream 3 - Sailing in Pleasant Waters

This is the second time I saw myself sailing pleasantly. I don't remember the first one, which was some time ago, but this one was so beautiful and had a dominant feeling of peace and contentment, that I hope I never forget it.

In my dream, my mother and I are on this medium to small size sailing boat. It is white and very light and simple. It is constructed in such a way that it does not hurt people swimming around them - that was a very dominant part of my dream, that the boat was so safe that you could even swim under it, and it won't hurt you. It is made with some sort of material, that even if you go over a person, it is incredibly safe. You can hold onto the stern and even the propeller would not hurt you. Such a feeling of safety.

At first, my mother leads the boat and I swim around. It is so nice because the speed I swim matches the speed of the boat, so my mother and I never separate, we talk while I swim, very content. At one point she gets into the water as well, and I hold on the stern and play there, like I used to do when I was a little kid. Then I climb up and I sail the boat. It is so easy to lead, I can turn it in any way I want, and my  mother swims alongside, like a dolphin. It is so peaceful. And I realize, we never loose wind. Never.

Even though the boat is the safest thing, I still try to avoid the sides of the boat as much as I can when we swim, and try to avoid running over my mother when I am sailing and she is swimming. The boat is so easy to steer and so agile, that you can't avoid sometimes coming close to the swimming person. I remember once my mother goes under the nose and we brag about what a great boat this is about not harming anyone.

the bay in real life

The place we sail is the smaller bay of my hometown. The bay is, unrealistically, not busy. So we can sail and swim the way we want. Our hometown is behind us, and the wide-open sea is ahead of us, we feel safe yet not restricted in the bay. At one point I can even see the islands of the region in the horizon, all of them, including my favorite, within a greenish fog at a distance.

 my best imitation of what i saw in the horizon

Then I tell my mom maybe we should make a turn and sail the other way for a while, and I make the a big nice turn around my mother, keeping her inside of the turn in the bay by encircling her, and direct ourselves back towards the marina. My mother is still swimming alongside me. And I wake up.

Happily, all these mean good things. Swimming, sailing in pleasant waters is a good omen. It signifies contentment, happiness, prosperity and success. I wish all of these upon my family. I really believe that we all are in the right track to better lives.

Mom, I wish you all the contentment, happiness and safety just like I felt in my dream. I wish you a life that resembles the agile, light, easy-to-steer sailing, always on pleasant waters; beautiful things in the horizon and always a warm home to return to.

Laughter (EmreP)

Yesterday I laughed nonstop for about five full minutes.
Because of something truly stupid, not even that funny.

But I laughed, so hard that I cried, my belly hurt so hard that I could not breath at one point, and I kept laughing.

I remember the last time I laughed like this was when I was 15, and I distinctly remember where I was and who I was with. It was in front of the stores opposite of the city high school, and I was with my close friend EmreP, God rest his soul. He has been taken from us too early, although he was only too full of life. I remember what I wrote for him in our yearbook, I said: "Go live your life". Little did I know.

But I remember that when I was with him, many other days very much like this one, which I remember in detail, I laughed so hard that I could not keep standing on my two feet. I remember, across the city high school, in front of all these strip shops, I laughed so hard this one spring day, that I fell down on the ground, my knees, my muscles just gave up. And I remember him holding me, my arms, and laughing at how I was laughing. I was laughing so hard that my cheeks hurt, and I couldn't breath, so I had to hold my cheeks and make this "hoooow" sound just to be able to breath.
He would tease me every time I ended up on the floor with a "hoooow".

EmreP I miss you every single day.
I regret that I did not talk you into coming to college in the same town as I was.  And I remember the day when I kissed your forehead in front of our regular bar like yesterday. And I am still truly sorry that I scratched that very forehead when I was 12 and left you with a never healing scar. I miss you and it hurts that one day you admitted that we were inviting each other to our cities but in a very phony way knowing neither you nor me would pay the visit. It hurt so much that day, and it still does, knowing that we never had the chance to visit each other. You went in your own way, and I did go to mine, but I carry you in my heart, in our pictures, in our memories, in our youth..
I remember like yesterday the days we would talk on the phone for hours after seeing each other at school for a whole day. And the void you left in me, ...

That void, my friend, can't be filled. By no one.

You will be there, my dear EmreP, whenever I laugh so hard that tears fall on my cheeks and I can't breath. Every such laughter will be for you. There is a reason why it took me 12 years to laugh so hard... 'Coz without you, my dear..
Without you I never thought I could even laugh that hard..

WEC Turkey 2010, Fethiye

This is sheer awesomeness. I am proud.

I can't embed the video, but here is a link and i STRONGLY encourage you to visit and be awed. You can thank me later.

Speaking of Fethiye, maybe you'd like to watch this as well.

Restless

I am missing my restful laziness. Nowadays I am so restless, so much that, I can't sit at home by myself. I need constant company to distract me from my restlessness. What is the result? Jada is out every night. A beer with friends here, a game night there, a long night at work in between, and another beer with friends again. I don't know how to get rid of this restlessness. It is weighing a ton on my shoulders. I can't sleep at nights. I can't wake up in the mornings. I don't want to go to work for hours. And when at work, I don't want to come home. I shower twice daily because the touch of hot water on my skin is the only thing that soothes my restless heart and mind. At that moment I forget all my daydreams and hopes, at that moment, there is nothing to worry, my mind is empty.
I try to distract myself all the time, keep busy and talking, and thank God it works, but at some point I grow weak and the lack of peace wins over my mind again.. So hard to sleep.. So hard to wait and be patient.. What is this restlessness? How do I get rid of it?

Love

... is when you feel everything at once, and you can't decode them.

... is when you feel so much in your heart that it feels like it's going to explode into pieces.

... is when you have to be the most patient when all you want to do is to act as you feel, right now right at this very moment.

... does not require to be real. or long lasting. or any commitment. not necessarily.

You know the feeling when you just want to cuddle and kiss? Nothing further, at this point you care about neither the past nor the future; neither who you were nor who he will be; at this moment you care about nothing but the feeling of touch, of your skin to his, of your lips to his, of your knee to his. Of his hands and fingertips.

That's love. Love of the moment.
There is no other such thing that can make you forget about life, your most valued. Nothing... can ever make you feel like when you're in love.

Love is when you know everything is false but feels like right. Or vice versa.

But love is disappointment and hurt and pain and emptiness all the same. It is extreme pleasure and extreme restlessness, all in one.

It never comes when you are looking for it. It lurks behind the trees and the streep lamps, and makes you jump when you least expected.


Or so the story goes.

Fave TV Commercials

I was actually sitting next to "my man" when I first saw this on tv:

I'm on a horse.

And this one makes me laugh EVERY SINGLE TIME I see it:

Oh yeah that's gotta go.

Fave Poems 5: Nazim Hikmet - Letters from a Man in Solitary

          1

I scratched your name
with my nail, on the strap of my wrist-watch.
Where I am, you know,
there's no such thing as a mother-of-pearl penknife,
('sharps' are forbidden)
          or a plane tree, its head in the clouds.
Perhaps there's a tree in the yard, but
          I'm forbidden
to see the sky over my head...
How many are housed here apart from me?
I don't know.
I'm alone, far from them,
and they're all far from me.
          I'm forbidden
to speak to anyone but myself.
But I do talk to myself.
And as I find my conversation very boring
          I sing, dear wife.
What! you'll say,
that voice of mine is rough and out of tune
          but it touched me so deeply
                    it breaks my heart.
This heart, like a barefoot orphan in those old sad stories,
          struggling through the snow,
his blue eyes wet,
his little red nose sniffling,
          wants to bury himself in your bosom.
It doesn't make me blush,
          this moment:
               it's so frail,
                    so needy,
                         and simply,
                              so human.
Perhaps the explanation lies
in psychology, physiology, etc...
Perhaps the reason is -
          for months
          I've been prevented from hearing any other voice
          by this barred window,
                    this earthenware water-jug,
                              these four walls...

Five o'clock, my dear one.
Outside with its thirst,
          strange whispers,
          its mud-baked roofs,
          with a crippled and skinny horse
standing motionless in the midst of infinity;
outside, driving the man inside crazy from grief,
a scarlet evening with all its bag and baggage, all its craft,
descend on the steppe, on a treeless void.

Tonight will come suddenly.
Light will play about the crippled skinny horse.
Now in a moment stars will fill the treeless void
          of this no-hope nature
that lies like a rough male corpse before me.
Again we've reached the familiar end of the business.
Today too everything's in place, everything's ready
for a great nostalgia.
I,
the man inside
will show my modest skill again
with the thin piping voice of my childhood,
with an old simple song on my lips,
by God! which will still defeat my grieving heart;
I'll hear you in my head,
like watching you in a dim distorted mirror,
                    so far away...


          2

Outside, my love, the spring has come, the spring.
Outside, suddenly over the steppe
the fresh earth-smell, birdsong and all -
Outside, my love, the spring has come, the spring,
Outside, gleams of light on the steppe...
And now inside, the mattress alive with insects,
          the jug that doesn't turn water to ice,
and in the mornings sun on the cement...
The sun,
now every day till noon,
near me or far,
fading or radiant
          moves...
Day turns to afternoon, shadows fall on the walls,
the glass on the barred window begins to catch fire;
          outside it's evening,
          a cloudless spring evening...
Here inside, is spring's worst hour.
In short
the demon called freedom
with his glittering, scaly skin, his fiery eyes,
forces the man inside to submit, especially in spring...
This experience is always the same, my love,
                    always the same...


          3

Today is Sunday.
Today for the first time they brought me into the sun.
And for the first time in my life
I stood motionless in wonder;
          how far away the sky,
          how blue,
          how vast.
Then humbly I sat on the earth,
I leaned my back on the wall.
At this moment no daydreams,
at this moment no struggle, no freedom, no wife.
The earth, the sun and I...
I am happy.

Fave Poems 4: Nazim Hikmet

One of the "Poems written between 9 and 10 at night" for his wife Piraye

4th December  1945

Take out from the chest the dress you wore
the first time we saw each other.
Put it on, be like the trees in spring.
The carnation I sent you in a letter from prison:
put it in your hair.
Lift your high, white forehead
with its kissable lines.
On such a day you shouldn't be down and depressed,
it's not right.
On such a day, Nazim Hikmet's wife should be beautiful
as a rebel flag.

Fave Poems 3: Nazim Hikmet - Letter to My Wife

                                 11-11-1933
                                 Bursa Prison

My one and only!
Your last letter says:
"My head is throbbing,
               my heart is stunned!"
You say:
"If they hang you,
           if I lose you,
                     I'll die!"

You'll live, my dear--
my memory will vanish like black smoke in the wind.
Of course you'll live, red-haired lady of my heart:
in the twentieth century
                    grief lasts
                         at most a year.
Death--
a body swinging from a rope.
My heart
         can't accept such a death.
But
you can bet
     if some poor gypsy's hairy black
               spidery hand
                  slips a noose
                      around my neck,
they'll look in vain for fear
                      in Nazim's
                          blue eyes!

In the twilight of my last morning
I
will see my friends and you,
and I'll go
to my grave
            regretting nothing but an unfinished song...

My wife!
Good-hearted,
golden,
eyes sweeter than honey--my bee!
Why did I write you
                   they want to hang me?
The trial has hardly begun,
and they don't just pluck a man's head
                             like a turnip.
Look, forget all this.
If you have any money,
               buy me some flannel underwear:
my sciatica is acting up again.
And don't forget,
a prisoner's wife
               must always think good thoughts.


Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)

Fave Poems 2: Nazim Hikmet - Advice for Someone Going into Prison

If instead of getting the rope
          you're thrown inside
          for not cutting off hope
          from your world, your country, your people;
          if you do a ten or fifteen year stretch,
          or more than the time you have left
don't say:
          'Better to have swung at the end of a rope like a flag.'
You must insist on living.

There may not be happiness
but it is your binding duty
                    to resist the enemy,
                    and live one extra day.

Inside, one part of you may live completely alone
                    like a stone at the bottom of a well.
But the other part of you
          must so involve yourself
          in the whirl of the world,
          that inside you will shudder
when outside a leaf trembles on the ground forty days away.

Waiting for a letter inside,
singing melancholic songs,
staying awake all night, eyes glued to the ceiling,
          is sweet but dangerous.

Look at your face from shave to shave,
forget how old you are,
protect yourself from lice, and from spring evenings,
          and eat your bread to the very last crumb
and don't ever forget the freedom of laughter.

Who knows,
if the woman you love no longer loves you,
it's no small thing,
it's like the breaking of a fresh green twig
                              to the man inside.

Inside it's bad to think of roses and gardens.
It's good to think of mountains and oceans.
Never stop reading and writing,
and I recommend you weaving
and silvering mirrors.

What I'm saying is that inside, ten years or fifteen years
                    or even more can be got through,
they really can:
          enough that you never let the precious stone
          under your left breast grow dull.


May 1949

Fave Poems 1: Nazim Hikmet - On Living

     I

Life's no joke,

you must live it in earnest

          like a squirrel, for example,

expecting nothing outside of your life or beyond,

          you must concentrate wholly on living.

You must take living seriously,

so much so that,

your back to the wall, your arms bound behind;

or in a laboratory

          in your white coat and big goggles

          you can die for mankind,

          even for people whose faces you've never seen,

          even though nobody forces you,

          even though you know the best thing, the most real, 

                    is to live.

You'll take living so seriously,

that even at seventy you'll plant olive trees

not just to leave to your children;

          but because, although you fear death

                    you don't believe in it,

                    so great is the power of life.

1947

          II

Say we're ill enough for a major operation,

I mean that perhaps we won't ever get up

          from the white table.

If we have to feel sorry for leaving a little early,

we can still laugh at Nasreddin Hodja jokes,

and look from the window to see if it rains,

or hang around restless

          for the latest news.

Say we're fighting for something worthwhile,

          at the front, for example;

at the first assault the first day,

          we might fall face down and die.

We'll feel a strange anger,

          and not knowing

          the end of that war which could last for years

                   will still drive us mad.

Say we're in prison,

our age almost fifty,

eighteen years till they open the iron door;

but we must still live with the world outside,

with its people and animals, its quarrels, its wind,

          the world beyond the wall.

But wherever, however we are,

          we must live as though

          we will never die.

1948

          III

This world will grow cold,

a star among the stars, 

          one of the smallest,

this great world of ours

          a gilded mote on blue velvet.

This world will grow cold one day,

not even as a heap of ice,

or a lifeless cloud,

it will roll like an empty walnut round and round

          in pitch darkness for ever.

For now you must feel this pain,

and endure the sadness,

but so love this world

          that you can say,

          'I have lived'.

February 1948

[Letter to Kemal Tahir from prison]

Her brother's little sister

My parents expected a second boy after my brother. They expected another white/pink baby boy with blue eyes and no hair. Then they saw me - a dark skinned (if I have to quote my late aunt, "purple"), hairy baby girl with dark brown eyes. What a shock. Luckily, they had not painted my nursery in blue. Making nurseries color coded by gender was not that popular back in St. Olaf at the time.

I grew up with constant fights with my brother. Most of our childhood we spent by hating each other. We looked and acted so different that people wouldn't believe we were siblings. He used to tell me that I was adopted. We were not one of those siblings who would hang out together all the time. Although he was only 3 years older,  it was a significant break. When he was in middle school, I was in elementary; when he was in high school, I was in middle school and before I could catch him he went away for college.

Now I find it so sad that we spent our childhood, the only time we could spend together, not together. Now he is happily married and lives in Europe, and here I am. We see each other a few days a year, if we are lucky. I love him without bounds. Yes we would probably still fight over stupid stuff if we lived with each other in the daily life, but it doesn't matter. I love him because he shaped me and has one of the biggest roles in making me who I am today. I love him because he always protected me without being overly protective, he has always been proud of me although he teased me, I love him because he made sure whoever he knew respected me.

We never shared the intimate details of our teenager lives with each other. Now, when I found out my ex-boyfriend was cheating on me, he was the first person that I called. When I don't feel good, when my life is uncertain, he is the one I talk to. He is the one who says, "You know Jada, you are always welcome in our life, if you want to start a new life you can do it here and I will help you do it".

So, after all, I am finally old enough to embrace our relationship. I have been long aware that he is the one who made me who I am today. I talk about him so frequently, that he is a part of my daily life. I carry a sticker picture of him and my sis-in-law in my wallet and keep showing it to whoever would take a look.

Now when people ask me about my personality, I always say, I am a very warm-blooded typical Mediterranean. Yes, it is true. I laugh a lot, I speak with my hands as much as my voice, I am passionate as hell, I love summer, I love animals. I am a big hugger and I don't require that much personal space. Sun energizes me, snow inspires me.  I wear my culture on my sleeve, and my accent thickens when I talk about home.  I am open minded and liberal.

However, although I am outgoing and talkative, I do not trust anyone easily. I am very much like my brother, I select few to love and trust. And when I do I am there for them for good. That is what I learned from my brother. I am amazed at his faithful friendships. To this day, his friends have been like brothers to me.

And because of him, I believe in good intentions. Because as stubborn and as hard to get along as he might be at times, I do not believe at any one point he ever had a single bad intention in his heart. The way he perceives the world might be different than I do, but his heart is pure. It took me some time to grow up enough to understand this. But because of him, now I do believe in people more. I might not trust, but I never look for faults and bad intentions in people anymore.

Another big gift of being the little sis of my dear brother is my love for cars and motorcycles. Don't get me wrong, I am not a pro, but I am way too interested. To the degree that it bothered some of my boyfriends in the past that they knew and cared less than I did. And I am sure they also felt like I compared them to my brother at times like this (which I did, of course, along with my dad), and, well, they didn't quite make the cut.

As a little girl yes I played with my Barbie dolls, sure, for a while. But what I wanted most was to be able to ride a motorcycle and drive a car (OK I admit I also wanted to fly an airplane - but I haven't mastered that yet). I clearly remember this one light blue convertible Cadillac that invaded my dreams frequently. My brother taught me how to ride a motorcycle and how to drive the moment my parents gave OK. He made me get my licence for both, the day I qualified. He taught me how a car engine works, how to take care of my own car. Even now, we talk quite often about my car, his bikes, and he tolerates and even reinforces my enthusiasm to own my first dual sport motorcycle about every 6 months. Fortunately for my budget but unfortunately for me so far I haven't ended up buying one yet.


So my brother is with me, in who I am, although we may be living thousands of miles away.


If you had seen us, you wouldn't guess we were siblings. He looks nothing like me and I look nothing like him. I always wished I had his white skin and blue/green eyes, his dark blond thick hair. People still think he is a boyfriend of mine when they see a random picture of ours.

I admire him for a lot of things. I've always wished I was as social and as comfortable in the skin as he was. I adored the fact that he always had a bunch of faithful friends around him. I've always wanted to be as good as him in sports; 'coz he swims, skis, plays basketball, volleyball, rugby and this and that, and I can do none of those well.

And I wish I will be lucky enough to find the kind of happiness that he has been blessed with in the past 8 years. I am happily jealous of him and my dear sister-in-law.


I love you Bro.

Resolutions

I am not going to push things to happen. (Although I will not be passive, I can't be even if I wanted to, not in my personality, and I don't believe being passive does good for anyone.)

I will not ever become a regular smoker again, even though I might socially smoke.

I will work harder.

I will not go out every night, although I really don't want to stay home at all nowadays, no, I will not go out every night. Although I really enjoy my porter at the end of the day.

I will go to Tango more often, especially Mondays.

But I will not buy any new Tango shoes, unless it's the turquoise and gold pair I've been waiting for, or it's a pair that I cannot breath without.

I will not buy anything that I'm not going to wear comfortably and frequently.

I will save some money so I can pay my Bikram Yoga subscription, which I will go to regularly.

I will cook and eat at home more often.

I will stay between 105-110lbs.


I will not daydream. I will not hope unrealistically. I will act more like an adult rather than a teenager. I will know what is real and I will accept. I will not let my daydreams lead my hopes.


I will remember that joy comes from different sources, and I will not make any one single thing the sole source of my happiness, not even temporarily.

Dream 2 - Panic of Getting Married

This was a dream of panic - a kind of panic I've never lived before, and hopefully will not ever experience. Ever. It sucked.

In my dream, I am kind of in a relationship with a friend of mine, whom I will refer to as M.  He is (in reality) a very dear friend of mine that I haven't seen for a couple of years, unfortunately. We went to middle school together, and at times he had a crush on me. But our friendship always remained strong. Once, when he had girlfriend issues, I went to visit him for support in another city, and we made the classic joke of "ok we'll marry each other at 40 if we are still single, so we don't have to grow old alone".

In the dream I think we might be room mates or something, very close friends but I'm not sure about the intimacy, and everyone thinks we are going to get married at one point. Even we know we're going to end up together. This is all the contextual info I have in the beginning of the dream. The actual dream starts with me coming home, changing into sweatpants and baggy sweatshirts... only to find that our parents surprised us by gathering all family and friends, for a "surprise wedding"! Everyone is there. I feel very embarrassed to be in baggy home outfits, but mom doesn't even care, she says, it is such a casual event! They don't even let me change.

I see faces of family, of common friends from school. Everyone we know is there to get us married. M is very happy, he is enjoying the surprise, and since we were going to get married anyhow, he doesn't care how.

I start panicking. In my dream, I apparently also thought we would get married. But when it actually starts happening, I find that I'm far from being sure about this. I can't look at M in the eye. I avoid everyone. And I have this constant discomfort of being in the baggiest sweatshirt ever!

I see my best friend from middle school - D in the kitchen, drinking water. I see her in my dreams incredibly a lot lately, always as my wingman, always there for me. She tries to calm me down - but I know I can't go through with it. I am in total panic. In my dream, I always thought I wanted to get married. But no - now I realize my panic is because I don't feel ready for it, I can't get married, not now, not to him, what the heck am I going to do, I need to get outta here!

First I lock myself out to the balcony. Then I escape into the bathroom. I need to think.
I avoid people for three and a half hours.
M tries to pretend not to have noticed my hesitance.

And the question that creeps, funny enough, is always, why the heck don't they let me change into something normal instead of these sweatpants?!?

While thinking, I also realize, I might actually be in love with someone else.

Making up my mind, I get out of my hiding place, I sneak out a nice shirt and a black vest from the bedroom (which is funny because I almost never wear vests), get dressed and feel better about myself already. I need to talk to M, before telling everyone else. I take him out on the balcony and shoo his guy friends away for privacy. I tell him that I can't marry him with someone else in my heart. He says he knew I hesitated, why else would I lock myself away for three and a half hours? He hurts, but he understands. I don't feel as terrible as I should have.

As I make my way in determination towards the room with the guests, to tell them that the wedding is off, this one stupid alarm clock wakes me up by shouting my name loud and clear, so I wake up instantly.

But I remember I was feeling good to have decided to grow a pair and not go through with what felt like a claustrophobic marriage, even if it meant disappointing everyone, including a very dear one. I felt free and my panic was fading away. I felt confident in who I was, I felt strong, and strangely, I felt in love with this other guy.

Milestone after milestone

Man! I never thought I'd see what's-her-name again and I did. The lady friend of my ex-boyfriend. She eyed me indirectly in fear. The last and only time I saw her, she was married and was having kinky lunch breaks with my then-boyfriend colleague of hers, although she was sporting an angelic mother image with her little girl on facebook.

That day, she looked me in the eye and lied without a blink.

Today, she could not even meet my eye.

Diary of an ex-smoker wanna be - Day 25

Today is another milestone on my journey into a totally tobacco free life. I actually woke up from a dream, in which I found a spare cigarette in my bag and smoked it. It felt good and I didn't feel as guilty, considering I wasn't aware that I was dreaming.

The first two weeks were the hardest, and it became somewhat easier during the third week. I have been a social smoker for years, one here one there, and I have always enjoyed the act but not the taste, which prevented me from being a regular. About six months ago, I found an excuse to carry my own pack. At first, I only smoked when I felt like. You know, having a sip of wine at home, joining a smoker friend on a smoke break at a bar, the usual. Then I realized lighting one became a habit when I felt angry or sad, which, at that point in my life, was a little more frequent than desired.

After a few months of "no i'm not a regular smoker" denials, I finally went ahead and purchased my first ashtray for home. My empty deposit bottles sighed collectively.

Then a friend at work and yours truly started enabling each other a little too much at work. Once a day smoke breaks became almost four times a day.

The day I saw my third and biggest ashtray all full with a small mountain of cigarette butts, I decided this wasn't going well.

First I said, I am not addicted, I can probably quit much more easily than many. I mean, come on, I've been smoking for only a few months. So one day, when I was especially grossed out by the smell of an ashtray, I said, OK, I'll just not smoke another one. I'm not going to announce it to my friends either because it's not even that big of a deal. I didn't light one up the next morning, I didn't smoke one when we had our smoke breaks with the enabler friend of mine, but when I came home that evening.. by then I was so used to reaching over the coffee table and grabbing a pack and a lighter, it just happened.

So I said, well, maybe I'll just smoke a little bit more. My friend smiled at me knowingly the next day outside our building on our smoke break.

He tried quitting several times, with all the works, the patches, the programs.. everything. He has been a smoker for much much longer. So when he came to me and said, I'm quitting on the 15th of this month, I realized this was the time. I'd feel ashamed if I didn't join him on his resolution, and this way it would be much easier. It's a pact, you know, when one of us is weak the other will be strong; when one really really wants to smoke, badly, the other one will say no, no matter how strong the temptation is.

So we went out on the night of 14th to celebrate our pact. We drank, we had our regular smoke breaks out in the freezing cold in front of the bar, where Ann Arborites looked at us in disgust. After our last sip of delicious beer, we smoked our last cig, gave the remaining of the packs and our lighters to a friend of ours, and went home. No more smoking.

For me it's not a biological addiction. It's the act of lighting up one. In the mornings it gave me a quiet 10 minutes of doing nothing. At home it would be my reward breaks for getting things done. But more importantly, it went incredibly well with alcohol. The first two days were ok, but from day 3 on, it was horrible. If I had one spare cigarette with me I would have given up right then and there. Thank God I'm a lazy bum and I won't get out and drive a mile just to buy a pack of smokes, not in this weather anyways.

The worst was when I got mad at something. I was so used to grabbing a smoke in a moment of fury, to vent it off, kind of. It worked the same way when I was depressed, when I was longing the days gone... whenever I was emotionally tipped over. I got used to everything, but this one still requires active, purposeful resistance on my part.

One day I had a long, vivid, kind of warm kind of weird dream that had nothing to do about smoking. However, close to the end, I saw my friend who had quit with me, smoking. I was shocked and sad when he told me he went back and started smoking again.
The next day at work, while doing some mind-numbing task, I recited my dream. A day later, he confessed to me that he had sneaked one cigarette that very morning, while I was still sleeping. It had freaked him out that I had actually dreamed about it at almost the exact time. It kind of freaked me out too.

So after a couple of weeks after this event and about a week of being MIA over the holidays, I saw him again yesterday. He had been smoking.

Shoot. All this time whenever I wanted to smoke, it was always "well he is not smoking, I can't break our pact." So, what now?

The evening got worse as I found myself making this an excuse for me to smoke. I had to get out of the house. I met a few friends at my local bar, enjoyed myself, forgot about smoking. Or so I thought.

Then I had this dream, where the same people were out at the same bar, and I found a cigarette in my black hole of a bag, and I smoked it.

Mmmm it was good.

The ex in exclusive - brainstorming on levels of relationships

Several factors are contributing in my decision to write this article about relationships and the extinct art of monogamy: My personal opinions since I was a little girl, my parents, the cultural difference I noticed when I first came to US, a recent interaction with a guy, another recent chat with a friend, and a break-up 6 months ago because of the affair my (ex)boyfriend of 3 years had with a colleague of his who is married and a mother to a young girl.

Probably the last one is the major factor and recent happenings are merely the fuel.

The reaction of people to what happened when we broke up, shockingly, did not vary too much. There was a circle, the circle of the family and heart-to-heart friends, who were madder than I was. They were my thread of strength when I had none left in me. I was so weak and beaten that I still hoped he would be sorry and would "man up" enough to come back to me. I'm so glad nothing like that happened while I was still weak. I might have accepted him back - which would be one of the biggest mistakes of a life. Incredibly luckily, I had little yet enough strength when the inevitable apology came.

Then there were all these other people, whose reaction was something like: "Well it happens to anyone.", which I find very similar to telling a starving homeless guy that there are poorer and hungrier people in some other parts of the world, and lots of'em too! Yeah, very effective. This sentence later would be  followed by, after checking that I was becoming a tad better about holding myself, "Who doesn't cheat anyways?", to which my jaw dropped and my eyes popped out of their sockets.

Don't get me wrong, these people are my friends and by no means they justify what happened. But they understand in a way I never will. One of them is a guy friend of mine that I love very much. On my birthday the conversation followed as the example and I heard him say that there hadn't been a single relationship he had that he had not cheated, one way or another. Well, no more trying to hook him up with my gal friends from now on I guess.

I remember back when I was barely 20, two girls from college visited me during a winter break at my parents' home. I was quite good friends with these two girls at the time. We often went out at night, we met with my friends from town, and one night, one of the girls ended up snuggling with a guy friend of mine from town. She had a boyfriend for 3-4 years (who I also knew and to whom she is married now). I warned my guy friend about it and made my point very clear. He ended up taking her out on a walk so she would come to her senses, but before she did, they did have quite an intimate, emotional and very "hugful" stroll along the seashore. The next day, both girls thought I over-reacted. My opinion about these two girls changed forever.

I don't know why some things are very close to being black and white for me, but they are.

Why is monogamy so hard for people?

I never had any problem with it. Heck, I am a natural. When I am in love, when I'm in a relationship, I turn blind to everybody else. Even when I only have a crush, it is one and only for the duration of the crush. Apparently my heart is single occupancy.

Though, I don't necessarily think people have to be like me at all times. When you are not in an exclusive relationship, and as long as your partner knows, accepts the situation, everyone has the freedom to do whatever they want. I for one, am not the type to entertain the non-exclusive kind of relationships for myself. I congratulate my friends who can successfully maintain one of those.

One thing I came across only in US is though, the difference between many relationship terms: "seeing someone" , "dating someone" , "having a date",  "being in a relationship", and "having a girlfriend/boyfriend".

Of course, when two people start being interested in each other, they do not immediately become seriously committed as a couple. So naturally there is a range of intimacy. Sometimes the range is very very short, and whatever happens either ends soon or stays very shallow, which is also fine.

However, when does the "exclusiveness" come into play?

To me (and I've happily run across someone else who thinks like me), exclusiveness is there right from the start. Exclusiveness at this stage does not imply commitment to each other in a serious relationship or to a future together. Indeed, being exclusive has nothing to do with what the couple has internally. Thus, the prefix, "ex". 'Coz it has to do with the outside - meaning, there will be no other outside parties involved with whatever the heck we are doing here.

So you can understand my confusion about these terms:
People can "see someone" and also "some other one". People don't think it is weird.  (I'd go purple from shame of many dimensions if I was on a date with a guy who was also seeing some other people - but that's me.)
You need to openly acknowledge "you will from now on be an exclusive couple" before you can be sure the guy you're dating is not going to hold hands with someone else.
When you date someone, it doesn't mean anything more than, well, "trying each other on"???
But when you have a date, it is only "a" date, and it does not mean you are dating?
And when exactly do you become girlfriend-boyfriend?

I am, as this one guy called it, old fashioned in this sense. When I have a date with someone, I do not actively arrange other dates. When I am seeing someone, even though it may not be as serious, I am still exclusive. It is not the defining feature of a serious relationship for me, where you call each other girlfriend-boyfriend, it is merely a prerequisite. The seriousness of the relationship comes not with eliminating outside factors but building the inside factors. It comes with intimacy, with shared things (acts, emotions, people, time...), with commitment to each other. Only after then, maybe, comes the possible entertaining of a future.

My mom says I should have been born a few centuries back. I tend to disagree. I selfishly believe we need more people who think and feel like me in our time.

Isn't it very rare that you enjoy a very unimportant outing much more than you thought you would?

I went to tango this evening. After a very dry season of tango during the holidays (although I had a very enjoyable New Year's Eve Milonga) this one class + practica felt very good. My favorite leader was not there, but oh well. As I always say, you can't do much about the ones that got away.

I'm very proud of myself for the last few weeks: I follow my heart, I work hard, I push my body to its extreme in bikram yoga and I dance like nobody is watching in tango. My feet are on fire. There is nothing better than a tiring night of milonga that lasts until the wee hours of the morning. The sizzling pain on the balls of your feet is only your proof of the fun you had. When you ditch your expensive shoes aside and start dancing with bare feet it's even better.

So after a very normal but long awaited tango evening, two girls go to the bar they always go to. They enjoy three beers each, non-stop talking, about tango, about work, about guys, about friends, and they end the night with trying to get out of paying parking fee and spending a good half an hour laughing about the failure they had.

Man, there isn't a better world.

Although, it is very ironic and painful to say but, my vacation related problem has been resolved today. It turns out, I could have gone home for the holidays, and still be able to come back for work in time. I could have spent an unforgettable week in my college town, with friends I haven't seen for the longest time, and I could have entered the new year with family, celebrated my dear daddy's birthday, after years of not being able to do so.

Could've would've should've..

When you decide you should take chances, it never pays of; and when you say I'll play it safe this time, it comes back and bites you in the ass or rubs the good outcome on your face.

I either need a very awesome love affair or very good fortune in gambling. I'll take either.


Happy Wednesday to you all.

Dream 1 - Helping a Young Boy

I am a very vivid dreamer. My nights are incredibly joyful, I have my own personal movie theater in my brain, and I am the director of every movie. Almost every dream I have has a plot, with a beginning, setup, climax and resolution. Sometime they are tense, sometimes warm and happy, sometimes weird, and sometimes they are not exactly dreams but more like nightmares, with blood and corpses and all, but still, very oddly long and detailed.

The other day I had another dream, whose beginning is unimportant. What affected me most when I woke up was the very end of it.

In my dream, we are in a hospital, I think I am working there too. I'm wearing a white coat and I'm pretty sure I had dark hair in a very short bob. There is this little kid, who is troubled. He had lost his mom sometime ago, and the father is in his own distress. A doctor in the hospital, whom I will call Wilson and who seems to be a friend of mine in the dream, knows the family and is very concerned about the kid.  I am so touched by this kid, I want to help him very much. He relives the death of his mother at the hospital (because of an educated jerk at the hospital after which Wilson runs into the room and is shocked to see what happenned) and he starts reacting badly to it. He thinks he is seeing dead people around him and he is so scared he starts running around in the hospital in an anxiety attack trying to avoid them.  I can feel the concern and warmth in my heart.

Wilson and I take the little boy, hold his hands on each side, and tell him that we will walk with him, and the images will disappear, that they cannot scare him any more. I tell him that while we walk, he needs to breath, and remind him that the dead will try to scare him more when he ignores them, but eventually they will give up. We start walking together. Poor little kid is so nervous. He wants to run away constantly but we are there with him and we will protect him. We hold his hands tightly. I can somehow see the dead he sees. First they are only dead bodies laying on the ground. We walk out in a very busy street, and no one but this little kid seems to see them. They are not too scary, I am not afraid in my dream, because I know I am helping this little boy. As we walk, the dead start walking too, seeing that the little boy is not scared and is not running away while they are laying down. They walk in the same direction as we do, in front of us. I tell the little boy again that they will taunt him even more, but it's harmless, and we will just have to calmly walk through them. Then the dead all turn into dwarfs, still walking. The little boy does his best not to run away, he is very scared but he is brave. Then the dead turn into giant men. I tell the boy that they are only trying to make themselves more distinctive in the crowd, more scary to him. The kid nods. Then the dead start running in front of us.  The little boy is so scared, he is fighting our hands to release him, he wants to run away. We tell him that we are close. And when he agrees to stay, and calmly walk, once more, the dead all disappear. We have ended up in a somewhat busy square now, we're not in the street anymore, the street ended with this open space, and all the dead are gone.

Wilson and I take him to the side walk in front of the hospital, where we sit on a small wall that holds the garden behind us. Wilson and the little boy sit next to each other. Wilson is very happy, and the little kid is still in shock, he is happy, but very silent, I think he still cannot believe that they are gone. We talk to him, but mostly Wilson talks to him, in warm healing words. I sit in front of the boy, holding his hands in mine, I am incredibly emotional that this kid had to go through this hell, but came out of it, and we could help him out of it. While Wilson talks, I hug the kid, very firmly, and I cannot hold my tears anymore and I choke ever so slightly while hugging him, hoping he wouldn't realize I'm crying, I am very happy, with incredible warmth in my heart. Wilson sees me crying, and smiles.

I wake up with my chest heavy but warm.

What a dream. Even after days I am still feeling the dream. It was a very good feeling, but very big, very hard and very emotional too.

I checked many interpretations, almost all are good omens, but I feel like these dream interpretation books rarely interpret anything into bad. Regardless, I think one premonition that this dream does is that, if I ever become a mom, I want to have a son.

Impressions from my first session of Bikram Yoga

I don't meditate. I am not spiritual at all, and I don't actively think about healing, breathing, emitting good thoughts etc. It bores me, and although I have tried it many times, I never got a hold of it.

I am not an exercise-maniac. As a foreigner in US, I too can observe the health - fitness - exercise mania here. Everyone jogs. Everyone goes to the gym. It's considered small talk if you talk about your running schedule, as if you're talking about the weather. I'm not saying it is a bad thing. I actually like it, and am constantly trying to push my potential in exercising (which is not much).

Unfortunately back where I am from (maybe I will start using, affectionately, "back in St. Olaf"), physical activity is not too much of a focus in a teenager's life. The most kids get is to play soccer or basketball, which very rarely girls in the neighborhood or at the school do. We had PE teachers at school, who'd make us run the circumference of the school property a few times, and we would pant like dogs, and no one ever told us to "pace" ourselves. We always felt we were no good at any kind of physical activity, we couldn't even run! I consider it a loss for my teenage years. I wish I was hooked on running back then. After 25 I started running, even did a few 5Ks - big accomplishment for me! - but shortly in a year my knees gave away, not being properly used for a quarter century. A combination of the runner's knee and the IT band syndrome, no strengthening exercise or physical therapy helped. Now, I am a retired runner. Peh.

So I've been looking into activities that do not involve too much pressure on knees. Yes, I know, swimming. Yes, I grew up on the cost, I do swim well. But no, friends, I do not want to go to the pool every other day to swim. First, it is too easy to skip, for a professional procrastinator like me. Second, I like having fun at a pool, and swimming back and forth is very, very boring. Third, I already have too many showers a week, I think if I spend more time in water my skin may just start falling off.

Lucky for me I found Argentine Tango, which, miraculously, does not do much on my knees. Though I should admit your metatarsals start complaining after a while. But still, it's not really "exercise".

So I started Pilates, which I love. I go to group classes when I can afford, or else do it at home with a dvd on tv (which does not happen as often as I would have wanted). For a person whose belly is never going to disappear, you can imagine how great pilates is.
Recently though, a friend of mine, who has been going to Bikram Yoga for  some time, has been marketing it so well, that I finally gave up my non-existing money and gave hot yoga a try.

For strangers to the subject, Bikram Yoga is a series of postures and breathing exercises, carried out in a very hot and humid room. I think it is about 40 degrees Celcius (105oF). This ensures the exercise will be completely cardiovascular, and your muscles can stretch without being sore the next day. Or so it is said. My quads were a tad too sensitive the next day.

So you enter this reception area, where you see through the glass doors of the studio the people who are in session. Shockingly you realize they all wear bikini-like outfits. You only brought a baggy tank top and shorts. How else can you cover that huge belly? Especially when trying out those weird-ass postures, you don't even want to think how your your mid-section will look like. Man, even the guys are in speedos. Wait a second, is it just me or do 90% of those guys NOT have a single hair on their body? Wow, helloooo metrosexuality. Wait wait wait, they don't seem to have an inch of fat in their body either. Every muscle on their body looks like a drawing in an anatomy book. Man, this hot yoga better work on me too!

Their session ends, the instructor gets out with a half-hearted "Namaste" thrown away. You see that she is wet, as if she got out of the shower. She's not panting though, a good sign. People slowly start pouring out of the darkened studio. Everyone's face is red, but every single one of them is happy and bursting with energy. I immediately look forward to my beaming exit from the studio after my first session.

Although I am more covered than many in the room, having a tank top, I still feel incredibly naked. So I find a corner on the benches, get a "Bikram Yoga for Starters" kind of book in my hand and pretend to read. Someone calls my name. It's a guys voice, it cannot be my friend who invited me. Nope, it definitely is a guy. I look around, and to my astonishment, I see one of the tango instructors along with his girlfriend, all in sweat, dressing up. Apparently they were in the previous session. I say hi, kind of happy to see a known face, but also weirded out since I feel a little too naked. Certainly we all think how small a place Ann Arbor is. They wrap up, drink some more water and get going. I sigh.

My friend arrives shortly, gets undressed right at the reception (I had crawled my way to the changing rooms at the back),  gets her water bottle and enters the room. I remember her suggesting getting in early so your body adjusts to the heat a little bit before class. I take my stuff and get in the studio behind her.

Oh. My. God. The smell. Is. Intolerable.
It is 8:30pm, the last session of the day. The sweat from all the previous sessions remain in the studio. I buckle up with disgust ever so slightly. I know my nose will adapt soon. I pray it will be VERY soon.

I take a spot behind my friend, still able to see myself in the mirrors. Apparently it is a big part of Bikram Yoga. I lay my mat and towel, start stretching like I would before a run. I get dizzy in 5 minutes. I decide to sit and wait for the class to begin, while practicing nasal breathing. That's another key practice of Bikram Yoga, my friend said. The explanation has something to do with not alarming the brain - when you breath through your mouth the brain thinks it's in distress. I don't know how it works, but if it works, fine. Although I must admit I have very narrow nasal passages, and have always had trouble breathing through my nose. Especially in this stinky room, my reflexes are not to use my nose at all.

Then the instructor comes back in, checks my position in front of the mirrors, and we start. Simple breathing, standing up. I go dizzy every time we push our heads back. But come on, all these people can do it! I sure can do it. And I do. After a few more postures, I am completely surprised at my ability to carry on. Not easily, but still. And boy, did you see how I managed that posture! Wow. Who knew? My energy is only enough for a short amount of time, tough. I am getting tired with all these postures we are doing standing up, my heart beat is off the roof, I want to lay down. I start watching the time - not a good sign. Luckily, after a few poses, we do lay down. Yay!
Between every posture that we do on the mat, we lay down on our back and try completely relaxing. Although the postures don't seem to be too hard, doing them in that extreme heat is a big ass challenge. Every time we lay down on our backs, my movements become slower, and I am more aware of my heart beat.
I am amazed though, that I kept breathing through my nose. The moisture of the room must have something to do with it.
Bits of satisfaction start filing me in as we draw to the end of the session. I could stretch more than some others in the room, which means I'm not a total loss. I did not faint. Yes my balance truly sucked in some standing up postures, but I know from PT that one of my legs is shorter than other and screws up  my body alignment - so , oh well.
And the last posture where we twist our bodies to its possible extreme felt really good.

So I survived my first hot yoga session - the full 90 minutes! As I leave the studio out into the fresh air of the reception area, I feel my heartbeat on my face, but I'm not panting and I'm happy. I sit out for a few minutes, and follow others into the changing room. I have a warm shower, not too warm. Funny, I thought showering was compulsory, but only my friend and I shower, of all the women who were in there. Eww. Gross.
I come out to see almost everyone gone. My friend quickly gets dressed and leaves. I am, however, in a slow-mo movie. Everything I do is incredibly slow. I pack my things, I dress up, and I am probably the last one to leave the room.

My face is red, and I am full of energy. Go figure.

Cat's Tongue

I realize not everyone might think a "warm" mug of coffee is the best. A lot of people probably prefer a "hot" mug of coffee. Well friends, I am a cat's tongue. In Japan they call people who can't eat hot food a neko jita, i.e. a cat's tongue. Unfortunately enough, I burnt my tongue and lost my sense of taste too many times by being impatient and taking a premature sip of my hot drink.
So, I believe, a warm mug of coffee is much better than a hot one.

Crushes and Dates - the Matters of the (Light)Heart

It has been about 6 months since I changed my relationship status on Facebook back to single. It took me some time to "be back at the game" after some dramatic break-up, and I'm still not sure if I can still play the game. But at least I am out there now, I can actually find someone attractive again, be interested in dating, be excited about a guy.

After a few momentary interests, I finally thought I found someone to maybe entertain the idea of a date. A very casual, let's have coffee type of date, you know, where you wear jeans and pull your hair back in a ponytail instead of putting a ton of make up around your eyes and try to fit in your favorite evening top. This one guy is, simply guys, gorgeous. I mean it. I don't find anyone attractive so easily. Heck, the guys I fell in love with were not that attractive. Of all the great movie stars and playboys of our time, all publicly available for our eyes, my mouth watered for only one guy's torso, on a very particular movie (if you're wondering, it's Ryan Reynolds in Blade, he is simply delicious). So this guy, I mean, is not for the faint-hearted, friends. He looks cool but not aloof, has the lightest blue eyes and a great set of teeth in the cutest smile I've ever seen, is very athletic and just yummy. I've apparently seen him around for more than a year, but only very recently I have realized his presence as a possible joy for me. Anyhow, long story short, I did ask him out for coffee, and although to my credit I wasn't turned down right away, I took the hint after about.. well, two weeks. So after 6 full months of being back to the singleton life, I am mourning over the lost potential of my first real crush.

The most effective way to get over anything is to replace it - right? Especially when you have so much time in your hands. So - how can a person like me, who is a little too picky about finding people attractive and interesting enough to be even considered as a *potential* love interest, find that rare person? Where are all these people? Because, if one per six months is my rate, the chances are I'm not in for a date any time soon. Especially considering my pro of being outgoing enough to ask men out is canceled out by the con of the following rejections.

God, this guy and I, if we could have made a couple, I'm telling you guys we would have been the couple everyone hated - beaming, laughing, very pleasing to the eye. The couple you say the children of which would be so beautiful and cute that even thinking about it makes you jealous.
Having such an eye candy as a date would be a much awaited, very much needed change for me. Ah, we can't do much about the ones that got away, can we?

See this is how too much time in your hands becomes dangerous. You obsess about things. So I obsessed about him for a week or so, even had the warm romantic dreams, went to bed with scenarios of a future for the two of us, butterflies in the stomach, you know, like the usual teenager I was 10-15 years ago. As any sane person of our era would do, I googled him, found some more interesting bits of his life, as well as some very delicious pictures, that I am half embarrassed to admit I even used as my computer background for a few days. After waiting patiently after a "maybe" and "we'll talk later" for about ten days, I sent him a message which was never replied to,  and that's when I took the hint with a big, disappointed gulp and a cold glass of water to go with it.

Yes, at this point I was very much into finding a way to get a date with someone I could, maybe, like? But there is NO ONE I find I might like. Hmm... How about.. noooo no I can't.. But who will know?... I will!

A few friends of mine have actually tried online dating. One of them went as far as marrying (ironically) the best friend of the guy she once dated from an online dating site. Another had a 2 year relationship with one she found on eHarm...y, after which she started dating this other guy from PoF. Another two tried PoF. Maybe? Can it work?

It does for some of us, apparently. The question here is, do you really believe that you can hold your face straight when people you know will know that you have a profile on an online dating site? (As you can guess, my motto in life is, whatever you do, you should be able to do it openly and without shame, as if everyone will know.)
I can't help but think that it is a sign of desperation. Well, I know it. I am just not sure whether it is necessarily bad, or, a weakness to admit you are looking for a date online. I do not find it desperate for other people, for example. I think there is a very good justification for online dating - we people of our era are busy, and why should we sit and wait when we can take out destiny in our hands and use some shortcuts to find our best match? I don't think that is exactly desperation. But then again, the question that remains in my mind is that, how many of these people on these sites really think this way and are not, simply, desperate?

Well at this moment I am still on the fence - well, very close to the fence, on and off, but still on the conservative side. So far I have tried FOUR times, building a profile on an online dating site, only to  delete it after a maximum of one day, and never put a picture on any of them. I am not desperate, although I wouldn't mind meeting people, and the potential of finding a Mr. Rarely Likable is only too thrilling. Still, I am not sure if I could tell people without blushing into a deep red that I am "looking" for a date online, or, that "we met at an online dating site". Until I do, I am on this side of the fence. For people who are well comfortable with who they are, I say, enjoy online dating and, by all means, milk it. If they have a cute cousin or a brother, I wouldn't mind meeting them either. But until I can get rid of that deep red from my face, I will stick to more conventional methods of meeting people (by which I mean I will bust my ass trying to be social by forcing myself to take on hobbies and pastimes I don't even like that much; by pushing people to go out every other night, no, not another night at home sipping wine in PJs, but actually dressing up and going out; and by going to every event I am invited to) and hope to tell a how-we-met story that does not involve an online dating site. As liberal as I am, I am still not liberal enough to be on board with online dating.
Yet.

It all starts on a warm, cozy Saturday night after a long holiday break

Although not a workaholic, I ended up working during the holidays. Xmas does not mean much to me, and I've become old (=lame) enough not to feel anything about the new year's eve. When it turned out I wasn't able to go home for holidays, second best is working to accumulate some vacation time, while enjoying the shared spirit of laziness that's in the air during holiday season. Kind of a win-win situation, only you still need to actually do some work. Some being the key word.

Great for catching up on things, right? After a very busy fall, with classes and celebrations and continuous holidays, a nice break where you can actually get your car alignment done, clean out the kitchen cabinets, do that grocery shopping and laundry you avoided for a long time, and maybe go out and enjoy yourself a little bit too. A few movies maybe, some cheap shopping on the sale season, and a few drinks with friends on a weekday without feeling guilty about it the next morning.

Well friends, no it does not work that way. This is real life.

After you justify the first few days of laziness with being much needed, you see that even in the 4th day of your "free" time you didn't call the auto shop for an appointment for alignment. You still eat chips and pretzels for dinner because you will go grocery shopping tomorrow. No sign of productivity has appeared so far for you. Well, at least, there is still some more days. You sure will get whatever you thought you would do, done. Meanwhile, you can still watch the tv shows you have watched a thousand times before, sleep like you haven't slept in days, and do not move from the couch until you terribly want to pee. (This year I was better actually, instead of being a victim of tv, which I am known to be, I did get back to reading the "Cat Who" series by Lilian Jackson Braun, unfortunately the 21st and 22nd books I've read as well as their successors in the series are rumored to be written by a ghostwriter, which I strongly agree, and much less tasty than the previous 20, but that's a whole other story.)

Days go fast when you minimally work, since you start the day later than usual anyhow, and spend most of it daydreaming. The nights though.. There is no one in town to hang out with - every single person you know is out of town, with the family, back home, somewhere. Every social gathering is in dry season. Peh.

So this is how you start thinking about things, with an empty gaze, trying to decide what to do and what to eat next, and trying very very hard not to run out to buy a pack of smokes. You think about work and feel guilty that you haven't done ANY of the things you hoped you'd get done during the holidays. It doesn't feel good, so you switch gears and wonder what you can do with your time, something fun and productive, arts and crafts, perhaps? You have this great idea of making a throw, in red and white, very fitting for the holidays, you start enthusiastically, but somehow quit after the 3rd very long and time consuming row..

Yeah this is me. After leaving my crochet hook back in my arts and crafts bag, together with the throw I will finish one very distant day, I started thinking about life's more daily things in between showing up at work in weird hours.

Thinking too much is not too good, my friends. Nothing to do is not good. You start obsessing with stuff.

Fortunately the holiday season is almost over and I survived. And this blog is the fruit of my 10 day-long holiday season of "thinking". It is named so, because all this thinking is accompanied by a warm mug of tea of coffee and a very soft fleece robe or knee-blanket - and I cannot imagine anything better than that to start or end a day. Nothing screams cozy more than a cup of your favorite juice. So this is what it is. Something cozy to read, sometimes to brainstorm, sometimes to smile and most certainly to procrastinate.

So sit back, relax, and read as needed, with a warm mug of (actual) coffee in a nearby coffee table with your lip trace on.