what the FUCK do i want out of this life?
i feel like the one thing i want i can never have. the timing was and is all wrong. it was all wrong from the start and i fucking knew it. i even tried to fight it. the question i have to ask myself is: is what i got out of it better than never having had it at all?
and i hate myself for wanting it more than anything else. i am not that person. i faked myself into believe that i was a person that didn't care about such sentimentalities.
yes but thinking about never having it again...
this is why you never, never, never fall in love.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
irritibility
i'm so fucking irritable these days. i don't know what it is, but i get pissed at the slightest thing. it's like i am permanently pmsing. i am lonely, but i don't want to see anyone. i want to talk to people, but i want to be left alone. example: astrid was eating an apple and i just about lost it. seriously, almost punched a hole through the wall. i think it's just that when i am at home, i do get pissed at people. i get into verbal arguments with family or friends, we yell, we patch it up...it's a release. here i can't yell. i can't stomp up the stairs and say "fuck off"...
of course, getting out on my bike makes me feel better. listening to tunes that are fucking depressing makes me feel better too. sigur ros's ( ), an album i can listen to only when i want to slit my wrists, is high on my list right now. so is radiohead's "amnesiac" which has so many memories attached that i can usually only handle one or two songs before spiraling into a 24 hr. depression.
therapeutic photography has helped too. here are some images of what could be considered a therapy session: my bike, my music, my camera...
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Vacation and more bad news from home
This past week commenced the French work schedule for me--work five weeks, get one and a half weeks off. I spent the former part of this vacation in Rennes, the latter part in Paris. Exploring France and reconnecting with places I remember from my past has been informative and stimulating.
Rennes was filled with much silliness: drinking cidre in the Jardins de Thabor, playing ___________ Catch Phrase, and eating various international cuisine.
Paris thus far has consisted of visiting the usual tourist traps with a few sidetrips. Rue de Mouffetards was enjoyable, and I think most will agree that a ten euro pitcher of beer in Paris ain't too shabby. Tomorrow will be the highlight when I get to see the Shins at La Cigale, a venue very close to Montmartre (possibly near la Pigalle?). Other than that I have seen l'Arc de Triomphe, les Champs Elysées, la Défense, Montmartre, Place de la Concorde...the usual haunts.
In other news, my grandma is dying. I got this news via email, as that is the most effective means of communication...but as I am already so far removed from the situation, reading it in an email makes me even more disengaged. She had a stroke this afternoon and tore her aorta. She has been sick all year, and I feel like this is it, as much as that is a negative spirit to have. She is in emergency surgery now. This is her second heart surgery in three months. She is eighty years old.
How does one cope from an ocean away? Even my uncle in Iceland will be able to go to the United States...I cannot afford the ticket, and I also have to stay for work.
Putain de vie...
Rennes was filled with much silliness: drinking cidre in the Jardins de Thabor, playing ___________ Catch Phrase, and eating various international cuisine.
Paris thus far has consisted of visiting the usual tourist traps with a few sidetrips. Rue de Mouffetards was enjoyable, and I think most will agree that a ten euro pitcher of beer in Paris ain't too shabby. Tomorrow will be the highlight when I get to see the Shins at La Cigale, a venue very close to Montmartre (possibly near la Pigalle?). Other than that I have seen l'Arc de Triomphe, les Champs Elysées, la Défense, Montmartre, Place de la Concorde...the usual haunts.
In other news, my grandma is dying. I got this news via email, as that is the most effective means of communication...but as I am already so far removed from the situation, reading it in an email makes me even more disengaged. She had a stroke this afternoon and tore her aorta. She has been sick all year, and I feel like this is it, as much as that is a negative spirit to have. She is in emergency surgery now. This is her second heart surgery in three months. She is eighty years old.
How does one cope from an ocean away? Even my uncle in Iceland will be able to go to the United States...I cannot afford the ticket, and I also have to stay for work.
Putain de vie...
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Guingampian adventure
On Monday I had to go to Rennes for my medical checkup for the titre de séjour. It was a little more than an adventure...
I awoke Monday morning to the sun...I jolted up in bed, knowing that it was well past 8am, and as my train left at 8h35, I was royally fucked. I raced to the bathroom, and midpiss I realized that even if I ran, there would be no way to make it. I started to panic, but I remembered that there was another train that left at 11h38 and arrived in Rennes 30 minutes before my appointment. I knew I would probably be late to the appointment, but it was better than missing it altogether.
Turns out I ran into another American doing the same thing and we actually made it to the office on time. I got a chest x ray, and I don't have tuberculosis. Huzzah! Everything checked out OK...hung out with Alexa for an hour or so drinking beer (it is cheaper than soda) and talking about our respective problems with men. It was great to talk to a girl who isn't very high-strung, like my roommate (that I really like, but can sometimes be....difficult) and the Irish assistant Krissy who is...an adolescent.
We get on the train in Rennes and everything is cool. I talk to Alexa about books; we decide to do an exchange when we can. She is in a tiny town too, and we plan on doing fun stuff together.
Adolfo and I arrive in Guingamp, and we have 40 minutes before our train to Carhaix. We decide to promenade a bit...aaaand he gets us lost. I thought the train station was one direction; he insisted it was another. As I sometimes am way off with directions and realize that sometimes men are just better at those things, I let him lead the way. I know we are in deep shit when we turn into a residential area...there is no semblance of downtown, the police station we had passed earlier, or the train station. Our train leaves in 10 minutes. We are royally fucked-me for the second time that day.
Adolfo sees two men walking and asks them for directions to the train station. They laugh and say "You're 3 km from there....When is your train?....oh merde, you have no chance in hell of making it...let me drive you there." So this amazingly nice old man takes us to the train station, all the while in the car yelling "bouge! bouge!" to the cars that are going too slow. We get to the station one minute too late...there are no more trains to Carhaix for the night.
We are royally, completely, 100 percent fucked. (Redundancy for emphasis is not encouraged...)
This old man proposes to us:
I am hungry. Let me go home and have a bite. I will then take you in my car to Carhaix.
We insist that it is too much. Too nice.
I want to do it. I am a Muslim and we help our neighbors whenever we can. Let me go inside and tell my family what has happened and that we have guests for dinner.
We insist that we do not need to eat. That feeding us is too much.
You will eat some of my wife's delicious Moroccan soup. I insist.
So we ate Moroccan cuisine, met his family, and talked about how much we want peace in the world. It was beautiful. He and his son then took us back to Carhaix and refused payment. I have never encountered such generosity. In the United States, I don't know of any perfect stranger that would offer to drive an hour and feed two foreigners who missed a train or a flight. Never.
France is alright, I suppose.
I awoke Monday morning to the sun...I jolted up in bed, knowing that it was well past 8am, and as my train left at 8h35, I was royally fucked. I raced to the bathroom, and midpiss I realized that even if I ran, there would be no way to make it. I started to panic, but I remembered that there was another train that left at 11h38 and arrived in Rennes 30 minutes before my appointment. I knew I would probably be late to the appointment, but it was better than missing it altogether.
Turns out I ran into another American doing the same thing and we actually made it to the office on time. I got a chest x ray, and I don't have tuberculosis. Huzzah! Everything checked out OK...hung out with Alexa for an hour or so drinking beer (it is cheaper than soda) and talking about our respective problems with men. It was great to talk to a girl who isn't very high-strung, like my roommate (that I really like, but can sometimes be....difficult) and the Irish assistant Krissy who is...an adolescent.
We get on the train in Rennes and everything is cool. I talk to Alexa about books; we decide to do an exchange when we can. She is in a tiny town too, and we plan on doing fun stuff together.
Adolfo and I arrive in Guingamp, and we have 40 minutes before our train to Carhaix. We decide to promenade a bit...aaaand he gets us lost. I thought the train station was one direction; he insisted it was another. As I sometimes am way off with directions and realize that sometimes men are just better at those things, I let him lead the way. I know we are in deep shit when we turn into a residential area...there is no semblance of downtown, the police station we had passed earlier, or the train station. Our train leaves in 10 minutes. We are royally fucked-me for the second time that day.
Adolfo sees two men walking and asks them for directions to the train station. They laugh and say "You're 3 km from there....When is your train?....oh merde, you have no chance in hell of making it...let me drive you there." So this amazingly nice old man takes us to the train station, all the while in the car yelling "bouge! bouge!" to the cars that are going too slow. We get to the station one minute too late...there are no more trains to Carhaix for the night.
We are royally, completely, 100 percent fucked. (Redundancy for emphasis is not encouraged...)
This old man proposes to us:
I am hungry. Let me go home and have a bite. I will then take you in my car to Carhaix.
We insist that it is too much. Too nice.
I want to do it. I am a Muslim and we help our neighbors whenever we can. Let me go inside and tell my family what has happened and that we have guests for dinner.
We insist that we do not need to eat. That feeding us is too much.
You will eat some of my wife's delicious Moroccan soup. I insist.
So we ate Moroccan cuisine, met his family, and talked about how much we want peace in the world. It was beautiful. He and his son then took us back to Carhaix and refused payment. I have never encountered such generosity. In the United States, I don't know of any perfect stranger that would offer to drive an hour and feed two foreigners who missed a train or a flight. Never.
France is alright, I suppose.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
