03/27

This is when I think of her most often. It is when it's been ten months since I decided I didn't want to see her again, now, when she's finally accepted it as a fact. Now she is here, all her, with everything I hated about her, with the beginning about four years ago, and with the night in one of the last summers – and with the end that frayed my nerves, like a dog, like a blow dealt blindfold.
I couldn't trust my mind till the very last page of "White Oleander" – couldn't believe in the perfect similarity between her, the one that's haunting me now, and Ingrid Magnussen. It's impossible, but there it is, 1:1, each comment, description, lines she speaks – it could have been you, somehow it is you to me, with all your fucking superiority that makes everybody around fall down, with the premeditation and poison of yours – but one that is able to defend itself with the weapon of its strength and beauty. The denial of all religious systems and common senses. You. The one I wasn't able to separate myself from and it wasn't until the great cold Berlin wall of not seeing, not listening and of remaining silent was built that I actually found some tangible distance between us. The forever distance.
Or
I don't know what it is – it's March 27, two and seven, these numbers always lead me to you – the nights begin to get warmer, it's no longer the season of the nights in which to survive, to run through; now the nights start having their content. The smell, the wind, and the sky lingers over its colors everyday a bit longer. And it's today that I read the last lines by Janet Fitch, you, you, you, till the last page with no objective human flaw – did Janet know you, wasn't she able to defeat you, just like I wasn't. Our single voice against you, against Ingrid Magnussen: sometimes the superiority and strength is not enough. Or rather: it's just not IT. (If we said you are simply evil, both of you would laugh your heads off.)
And just like at the end Astrid sits in her cold flat dreaming of her mother and Los Angeles, so my thoughts deviate in the direction of your body – how does it look like now? All I can see is your back, just like when I used to have dreams about you so often, always with your back to me, always three steps before me, unattainable. At some point I found in myself the disgust for you that's still inside me, together with the yearning.
The goddamn shrew, but still – the only one, one in a million.

Or maybe my mind has just mixed things up.

oh, life.

Last weekend I would have written I'd never grabbed precious time for myself as greedily as I had last Saturday, a sunny one, and the last one before my mother went to hospital. One of the best days of my life, like a well-risen full loaf of bread, cut into and finished with awareness of the good I'm making use of. She made me a cup of coffee with cardamom and then we worked in the garden for long hours, leaving traces of cardamom aroma behind us, in the strawberry beds. The soil was spring soft and our muscles didn't ache afterwards.
And then there was waiting for the surgery and the three of us - she, dad and me – wouldn't fall asleep at night and during the day we made endless phone calls: what did she say, how is she, what did they say, what does it mean, does it hold any promises. And on Thursday morning they took out the first place I found myself at on this earth – the only safe one. It's less than half an hour, and the piece cut out is really tiny, they had said. And on Sunday she began to worry about us all over again.

On my cranberries pack it says any refuses should be sent back to the producer. Below which they give you their e-mail address.

Last night I cried so hard I thought I'd throw up.

I texted her saying I felt sad. She wrote back from her hospital bed that I had to eat a beet this week, necessarily.

another world

Antony Hegarty seems quite perfect a personality to me. A bit British, a bit American. Androgynous. Sad, but hoping. With great orchestra in the background. It's like above the yin yang level in the human evolution. Pretty perfect, really.

bullshit.

What's fascinating about the human creature is the assumption that worrying about things will help get them under control.

3 times

This weekend was so lavish and full that now I feel like a walrus in a dumpling pose on the beach with its tummy up to the sun, accumulating all sorts of warmth within a radius of 20 meters.
Friday. Party at P.'s place. Free vodka and chips, and meeting a perfect hermaphrodite: a guy with a head as shapely as Sinead O'Connor's (the Nothing Compares To You hairstyle) and with a clearly feminine kind of pride – the one which even among women happens once in a million hens. The yin-yang phenomenon stroked my head a few times and stated my jacket hood was so cool there was no way I could die. Which makes me consider the night an exceptional success.
Saturday. In the morning I exchanged 70 PLN for food (food! FOOD!) and after I got back I sat with my legs on the table to watch Korean "Happiness", crunching some delicious shit made of pure salt. I don't know how it's possible but the Taiwanese, Cambodian and Korean movies invariably leave me in the Asian state of concentration and serenity – even if, as it was in the "Happiness" case, they treat my emotions just like pagan washerwomen treated their old underclothes. (Which wasn't delicate, I assume.) And in the evening, "Slumdog Millionaire" in Multikino. Even if the movie had been poor, our discussion at the self-service check-out about the devise being in fact a document (and bill) shredder, and A's great act of courage when she climbed back all the way through the box office (walking on crutches) just to get her great love named Pepsi Max – all would have been enough to make my walrus tummy warm. But the movie wasn't poor at all, and although I couldn't physically bear to watch a few scenes from it, I do absorb it, make myself remember it; appreciate it.
And today there was spring explosion and the air smelt like some fresh laundry. I had much energy and went to the yoga centre open day. When it came to the downward facing dog, I felt my back singing "make me wanna shout".
And always always when I see the colors of the sky like yesterday's and today's evening, I can't help but hear songs by Sade in my head.

Full stop.
On Saturday my mom told me she's going to hospital soon again. I cried.