Christmas Tree DIY

 Christmas Tree is probably the most widely recognized symbol in the world (maybe alongside with the Eiffel Tower, which is quite funny since they are of similar shape; I always wanted to place an Eiffel Tower in my house instead of a Christmas Tree). 

 Whether we want it or not, without a Christmas Tree in a house the Christmas atmosphere can slip out through our fingers. From my childhood I remember the smell of a tree all around the house, and peeping through the branches at the garden hidden under the coat of snow. The Christmas Tree that we used once was coming from our own garden. Of course, it's unlikely going to happen in London, so this year we decided to listen to the ecologists and use a replacement. Here is an inspiration:

Speaking clearly- a thing about urban poetry

 I always tend to rather dislike questions about music. Maybe it's the inner concern,there's not really for me something like bad music. Music, apart from it's kind, always seemed to me to have a power, not only to create some certain types of emotions but sometimes to literally make things happen. I know that it all sounds like a bunch of cliches as far, but don't worry, this is not what I'm going to write about. Let me explain.

This question came into my mind all of a sudden at a party while I was dancing with A Great Guy. The club had a southamerican flavour and so did A Great Guy's origin. Suddenly, in the middle of a party this delightful balance got interrupted by a bizarre rhythm, blowing up the floor. I saw a consternation on A Great Guy's face (and when I say 'A Great Guy' I mean it!). It was then when this question came up. And yes, speaking regarding to the just-heard rhythm we both said we didn't like rap. But later on, I thought it was clearly too much to say, even though I never really was a fan of rap. But also it's not necessarily true I don't like it. And I thought about The Guy I Was (Not That Recently Anymore) Dating. He did like rap.

 My love affair with rap music was short and had pretty much a lot out of a one night stand. It started when I was still very young and fed up with christian-associated rock music, mostly because rap music in it's definition was always, if I can say it, rebelious. But the only CD which stayed with me for long was the one of a young, charismatic poet, not very popular in a 'rap' world and gathering rather a small, but faithful group of fans. He recited his own poetry with his calm, low voice with a slow and melancholic music in a background. I lived in a small eastern european city where the devil seemed to have said goodnight long time before, on a fifth floor of a hundred-years-old apartment. There was no elevator and wooden stairs were squeaking with my every single step, leading me to a dark courtyard to later enter a busy street in a centre. This CD was my only company in this walk through the forgotten world I didn't know yet I was supposed to leave one day, filled with crowded trams and sad, post-soviet architecture. I forgot about these moments afterwards, the moments with a rhythm. Only to remind it years later, at the party in London.

Birthweek- Day 2: Drinks at The Shard and Miracle Monday

 It's been a long time as I knew that today was going to be a Miracle Monday. It had to be as it's the last day when I'm 26. I'm really sorry I couldn't spend it with more of my friends as my phone died (as usual). But Miracle Monday today didn't let me down. 

 We went down to Tate Modern from St. Paul's, through my favorite bridge leading you to the museum with a posture of the cdathedral in the background. Today it was cool and misty, creating a magical postcard from a place I've never been yet, right around me. We went to see Paul Klee exhibition at Tate, and while we were queing to buy tickets the first miracle showed up. It was a lady with sincere brown eyes, asking us for a minute and apologizing for interrupting our conversation. Her name was Christine and she was French, as after living in London for over ten years her accent was still ringing at the end of the lines. She told me she had a membership pass and she can invite one person for an exhibition as a guest. 'It's amazing- said I. Tomorrow is my Birthday'. 

My Birthday Week- Woman Lifecycle

 I woke up today much later than I was supposed to just to realize that my Birthday Week has started. No, it's not a mistake and it has nothing to do with a wishful thinking. I always wanted to treat my Birthday Week as something special, even magical, celebrating not only one day, but several days of holiday. Not holiday in general meaning, but holiday as a time just for you, when you can do everything you want, everything you usually lack the time for. It was several years ago, when I invented how my Birthday Week should be. And I am planning to realize it now.

 Day 1

 There is nothing like getting new shoes. I know I said it already thousand of times but I'm going to say it once again. New shoes can easily clear away of the cobwebs around your mind. That is why after treating myself with a delicious black coffee and a strawberry muffin, I went out for shopping with my lovely Miss Muffin and Miss Indonesia 2014. I have to say that i hate shopping. Unless I run straight to the shelf full of shoes, pick the ones and they are just perfect. And that was it. I purchased lovely red platforms and high heel booties. Let's get my Birthday Week started. It's not like I had to immediately spoil with a take away meal but at least I fixed it with a glass of rose Echo Falls. Ca ira!

Mindwriting - an offer of a new hobby for every Absolutely Genius Writer

Recently I actively practice mindwriting. I was thinking a lot about starting to do some sport but as I hate gym, it's too cold to go for running and I don't have a swimsuit they don't produce my size in this country) I had to think twice. The idea of mindwriting came to me naturally on my coffee break and amazed me with it's functionality. It's completely effortless!- all you need is a brain in quite a good condition (no drugs, baby) and an ability to think equally about two things at the same time. It's easy, isn't it? Follow me- I'll explain you why is mindwriting a perfect hobby for a dreamer.

It's better than typing. You don't have absolutely any risk you will accidentally press the caps lock.

It's better than handwriting- your words always follow your thoughts. Moreover, the words are actually your thoughts. I am looking forward to the future when thoughts readers will be our typists so we can finally create effortlessly, with a smile of our faces. I could let myself get hibernated for that.

After discovering this such an amazing way of expression, I was happily marching through th grey scenario of lonely London. I was thinking about how many amazing posts had been already mindwritten, how many stories I'd just told to the random crowd of whispers. of course, you can't read it. There is an old fairy tale about a naked king who believed he wore indeed the most excellent outfit in the world, but only exceptionally wise people were able to see it. It used to be my favourite good night story.

If you see you got there down that mean you've gone too far- London you may know.

Sometimes I do like taking a journey. Not in that literal meaning you usually associate with the word 'journey', but the mental ones, the ones happening at night when you leave home taking only a camera and a pack of cigarettes. Then, in the dark, you don't really get to know the place. You get to know yourself, what to you notice when no one else can see, and what do you expect to see. 

 On Wednesday night I was heading down to Shoreditch to listen to a (free) concert of a band formed by staff of Financial Times. I made a plan to reach the place when I was supposed to meet my friends by nine. Plan was an important part of this process as I usually get lost even in my own pocket. I spoke to Google maps regarding that issue and it helped me draw a small sketch of the simpliest way I had found. At the end of its' advice Google said: 'If you reach down the Curtain Road, that means you've gone too far'. That means you've gone too far.

The Ride -Rollercoaster of our time

Over that weekend you had a chance to meet a couple of homeless people hanging out in East London. Maybe you passed them on the street, not paying attention, maybe you didn't even notice them. So actually they were not exactly homeless. It was me and A., having a real time of our lives.

This idea of a total freedom, without being put under any limitation neither stuck between boundaries, to the extend of not accepting even the limits put by ourselves out of our own choice, has been alive in my mind as an unreachable perfection since I was grown enough to understand it. Moreover, I never liked school. I didn't like structures in general, remaining rather reluctant to any sort of organizations, institutions from church and government to student clubs and youth association. I always considered myself somehow antisocial, never feeling a need of belonging. When I grew up, graduated, got a job and learnt how to follow up all kinds of society's trends, from time to time all of a sudden I got an idea of quitting everything and just leaving. Still (I hope my bosses don't read it) I carry the picture of my mind- to go out of my office without a notice, leaving my desk, my purse, computer and mobile, to just leave. No matter where. When I was younger though, some of these thoughts could easily made me depressed, ensuring me that I am not really suitable for any place neither job and don't really belong to nowhere.

Almost two years ago, when we had an exceptionally severe winter and I created Monkey Seduction, A. and I liked to spend late evenings drinking cider and talking about, as A. always defined, 'people and their lives', which meant for us something we dettached from entirely. Once, taken by an impulse, he took his guitar and played a song. It was about being a cat, wandering and everywhere where you can be yourself. I referred to this as to his exclamation how imprisoned had he felt in London for all this time, but then he looked back at me with confusion.

- I wrote this song before- said he avoiding my gaze. I understood that belonging to everywhere means belonging to nowhere. I realized that my total freedom is not really an issue of belonging. My total freedom was indifferent: it didn't have a definition. And definition is a limitation, too.

Commitments- when you're too much of yourself

Recently I have been experiencing a feeling of excess. Excess of work, excess of obligations, excess of requirements towards myself and first of all, excess of commitments. But beside that there was another excess I underestimated before (out of other ones, which finally came to drive me crazy and made me emotionally exhausted)and which revealed itself all of a sudden to ruin my calm joy after slowing down: the excess of myself. I am definitely too much of myself in the most literal understanding of the subject: I exceeded my 'all right' weight for already four kilos. And unfortunately, this exceed is not the one you can get rid of just by slowing down.

In my adult life, I never let my insecurities to get on my head. Even in the moment of my life when I was definitely too big I tried to figure out my way not to go mad about my appearance. It might be heared to you as a shabby excuse but this time I just stopped feeling comfortable with myself. I felt sick. Not emotionally but literally, I felt my body condition was crap. The scary thought which crossed my mind was that it's not exactly ok, when at the age of twenty six you would never wear a bikini. I exceeded not only my favourite weight, but also my favourite self. I didn't even tell my mom ('It's all because you perceive your life as a line of tasks and commitments. Everybody would get crazy.') So I decided to make a new commitment: I will come back to my old shape by my 27th Birthday.

Discreet Friendship

 I met Bill some while ago. To be honest, I didn't really meet Bill- we were never oficially introduced, we didn't have any common friends and we never actually spoke. But somehow, I met Bill. Trough the social network. One day, I got a message from Bill politely asking me to get to know him better. Cautious, I replied, looking for I guess another curious story in my life. But soon I realized that 'getting to know better' meant for Bill something completely different than I supposed.

 Bill's offer was totally honest, to appreciate this honesty, and his manner appeared to me as 'straight to the point': 'because who would refuse to the offer of 'caring and filled with deep emotions sex', including romantic sessions of massage, sharing 'sensuality of the moment' and then (my favourite part)- spiritual talk till twilight brings us back to reality. So who would refuse to such a great offer? Well, I did. As being a business person rather than 'candles and sunset' person I politely asked what I am going to have out of it. What's actually in it for me? So, Bill, you wanted everything: spirituality, intimacy, feelings, emotions, twilight, candles, maybe also a candy and a kiss on a forehead. And you offered for that nothing! Absolutely nothing, not even a flower! Oh, Bill, that is highly inappropriate!

Spotted in the sun

Recently I had a dream. I dreamed about a dog who was actually half French bulldog and half large king prawn. He liked to hang out on my head, which was quite problematic as his tail was always in front of my eye.

 There will never be enough of good reasons why is that so amazing to work on Brick Lane. But this thing has absolutely surpassed my most daring expectations. In the sun, for a moment I became the part of a creation. This picture I have taken with a miserable camera of my Blackberry captures the moment, when the time has really stopped.

There is No More Such a Land

 I  got a message from my mom while I was away and therefore read it with a small delay. It started- my brother's wife was in the hospital expecting their new-born any day soon. Small Tom was about to conquer the world.

 I haven't seen my brother since Christmas. To be frank we don't see each other often at all. Some time before I moved to London he had left the place where he used to be my best friend for several years. In my memory I see him always there, even though his life has moved ahead and I don't even know his hairstyle these days. 

 When I close my eyes I see a tiny flat on the top of a massive, old apartment. The gate was wide and always sinking in the darkness, which darkness I had to cross everytime to later keep turning and turning on the narrow, wooden stairs. I was passing the door on the first floor, which, according to the history of architecture, used to lead to the apartments of the best situated habitants. I had a habit to stop there and glare at this entrance, imagining a time of it's greatness, until there was nothing left to imagine. Right now it's just an old entrance, with a misery waiting on the high staircase for guests who are never to arrive. 

 My brother lived in Poznan. The place I used to call home. Still being the biggest mistery of my life, this city had always something sad and final. It was like an old best friend, who will always listen to you, always has time for you even you underestimate it and visit only when you have nothing else to do, whom you pass everyday not bothering to pay attention. Always there, never asking for more. I remember it standing in front of my eyes, covered with snow, with marble angels decorating old walls. Home. Now an illusion. Transformed by time. Abandoned. There is no more such a land, a land of my memories. Deep inside it, there is a deep dark hole made of pieces of feelings left by those who used to love this place, forever in pieces, forever in pain. 

All is full of love

 Whoever lives or ever lived in London knows that sun in London means more than anywhere else. Because is just less frequent. 

 Sun and love had turned back to London, after a long and severe winter. Just by this occasion, something I would like to share- a wall of love, forgotten and abandoned behind one of the corners of Shoreditch, unnoticed by pedestrians. Just there, a bit of a real love in the sun. Like the time stopped.

 On Via Argentina in the centre of Panama City there is a pub called Taberna 21, where Javier Medina Bernal used to sing regularly. Now famous, probably quite rarely visits old homes of his music. When I was a little girl I loved to listen to Julio Iglesias while swinging on my wooden swing hung in between the doors. It was just like this, a sun, a swing and world around me full of love. Just like this song, which makes me feel like a swinging girl once again, with a new Julio Iglesias in my ears- but be sincere- a bit more handsome. 

Shopper as an inevitable next stadium of the evolution

 - Do you know why Senorita Vargas eats so little? Because she makes shopping for so long that she forgets she was ever hungry at the meantime. 

- Oh come on- said Gene cutting the vegetables he was supposed to put on top of his pizza.- Our supermarket is a pretty big store.

 He placed the slices around the pizza bottom and carefully put his dinner dish in the oven.

 - Once I spent two weeks in the supermarket.

Something inside me just died.

 - Two weeks? Gene, are you serious?!

 - Yeah two weeks. You remember when I left my new shoes next to the cashiers. So, before once I left my computer there. Then I started to leave other things just because I found this place quite cozy. Finally I felt home and I spent there a bit by myself.

 If this story sounds unbelievable to you, estimate how much time do you usually spend in shops. And I bet you will get Gene's point. 

 I reached my awereness as a consumer one day while walking through the shopping centre near my home. I was passing this centre everyday with a great excuse- that is the shortest way to the tube station. Being real I am not sure if it actually IS the shortest way but I think I prefer to believe it. But this day was different than others: I stopped in front of a shop with cheap clothes (cheap but quite a good quality case somebody decides to be a tease) and slowly walked in. Many times before I had promised myself I wouldn't be stopping there, but there was always something stronger than that. I used to call it intuition- 'I came in and I saw these marvelous shoes for such a great price'; 'Look, so cheap, otherwise I would spend this money on booze or something more sinister'. On THIS day it was just the same- I hunted an amazing part of ankle booties and, incredibly happy, took a walk back home. Home, where it was meant for me to notice I had no more space for another pair of shoes. And that I didn't even remember them all.

 Overwhelmed by this discovery I posted a status on facebook saying: 'I went to work and came back with another pair of shoes. My life is out of my league.' First comments appeared in just two minutes. Slowly, my friends were coming out.

 'I just went to the dentist.. I don't know when I became an owner of a new hat.' 

 'Recently I went to buy cigarettes and came back with a leather jacket.' 

 'I left to buy more onions to cook a dinner- but I brought in two pairs of boots instead.' 

 I realized I was not alone. And that this time it was not about money. It was about something more important. About time.

Why do we love?- the way we should?

 A terrible illness has crossed Monkey Seduction's plan of development. But fortunately my ambitions, Mr Charming and my absolutely favourite employer won't let me being ill for longer. I remember once I read a guide how to keep promises we give to ourselves. One of the rules said: 'Tell somebody about it'. So, hoping it works, and to avoid procrastination, I would like to tell you about some ideas of my mind. First of all, in te nearest future my blog should transform a bit. Could be nothing huge for somebody who actually really reads me, but I feel like get to know myself a bit better. I want to share more things, tell what does it mean for me to be a polyglot and share my old diaries from places I used to know. People say that a good blog is a place where your readers are excited, your family is outraged and your friends are terrified. Let's see how far you an pursue an achievement.

 But in the meantime there is one thing which happened to me. Something which might be worth mentioning.

 'You don't love me the way you should'- was screaming a message me and several other friends got from Paolo O. Martin on Friday evening. The background of this situation could actually explain a lot: recently, indeed, we underestimated his taste for a good fun. Of course, Paolo, we do love you! But do we do that the way we should? 

 Exactly- why do we love? And what is the good way to do this?

If life could taste like Pina Colada

 This post will be a bit different then usual Monkey Seduction's approach to audience. In exchange I can ensure it has one advantage: it is real.

 This is my reality captured in a moment, an incredible moment, making me want to share it. No matter if we have a lifestyle or no, we have something what not everybody can have- benevolence. When I was a little kid my dad was singing me a song, going more or less like this: 'Seven little dwarves were going through green forest, had ain't no money but they had a lot of time'. Life in London can be pretty much the same. 

 On Saturday morning our friend was leaving UK forever- to the cold, distant country surrounded by mountains and the sea, to get married and settle down on a farm. We have been living all together for, as it seems now, eternity. On the last evening of this time, before we went to walk him to the bus stop, we visited a place he had been working. Because of this place he used to learn Chinese and bring home excellent high-class food. 

 This is how me, Chris, Gene and Mr Charming (Vincenzo was ill and stayed in bed) spend a great night out in Peony club near bank station. With wasabi prawns involved. Life was good. 

 

The 'L' word. No, this is not what you think.

 H like Hesitating is pouring down. -That's what I thought on one lazy day in the beginning of February. The kitchen seemed to immerse in the darkness, winking with a weakening light above the dirty sink, while the hidden behind the windows space outside continued swinging the universe with persistent whistling. Maybe this is the matter of lifestyle. At least that's the argument you always hear from your parents when you gamble away fifty quit, suddenly wake up in Exeter after the week-long party in Leeds or accidentally get pregnant. Or something just as serious, for your parents of course, like getting a terrible cold or feeling low after breaking up with your part-time Latinamerican boyfriend who works at the roaming circus. 

 Mind my sarcastic language but I swear, honestly, I would have never touched 'Lifestyle issue' if only popularity of this word recently hadn't killed the idea. If there is the thesis, has to be the question: what is this idea? 

The idea of the 'L word' has actually it's roots in democracy. It reminds us of a time when society allowed us to live how we want, not providing for us any ready patterns to fit in. The idea of a 'lifestyle' is supposed to give you freedom- the right to live in any world you like, even if it's an imaginary one. And here's a problem: it completely doesn't. 

THE GUY I LIVED WITH

- Can you hear me?- I heard my voice cutting the air in the unusually squeaky silence.

The Guy I Lived With slowly turned his face into my direction and I realized that I had never seen such an expression on his face. 

- Did you eat something? 

- Did you possibly see... a ghost?

Then the silence got quickly interrupted by sudden laughter above our heads. 

- Yes, I knew we know each other!- screamed THAT PERSON putting her hands together in the superficial gesture. Her voice sounded like a bird and I never trust people who sound like birds, so this time I decided to take all the way the side of The Guy I Lived With (usually I do opposite). 

 After the birdy left, sharing with us before couple of cliches and leaving half cuppa, I looked at his face with expectation. That was one of only several times for all this time I knew him when he blew. 

Why do you hate that lady?

-Did I say I hate her, I didn't say I hate her, I never said I hate her, it's not even that I don't like her.. I just can't stand her, can't stand her, I don't want her in this house ever again, she has a different lifestyle!

 That was this moment. The first time I realized what a big issue was a 'lifestyle'. Lifestyle was the only explanation The Guy I Lived With could ever get from her. Since that moment, the word stayed in my mind, as something sadly final and undeniably sarcastic. 

WHAT WOULD YOUR FAVOURITE BLOGGER SAY

 Probably something in contrary. The 'Lifestyle' is the most desired category to read about, to work with it, to deliver it. I have gone through several 'lifestyle' blogs and as you know, I have this category as well. I could say it's for SEO but the truth is that the 'lifestyle' comes out everytime when you have no words. Just say it. There is no such a thing in any reasonable description.

Jump in! -why do I draw

 There must be more in it then just a hobby or a technique, but I realized recently most of my friends might not even know that I draw. 

 When I was twenty one (long time ago it was) I wrote a sentence following some of my cartoon story stating that my right hand is actually more important for me than my brain. Because what I would do with a brain without any possibility to transfer this content onto paper. Some models insure their legs or other body parts, I would for sure find a sense in insuring my right hand. It't not like young artists are the ones with horrific dreams and fatal fantasies of losing their body parts, but I was quite unusual young artist. I bet van Gogh was coming pretty much from similar place. But he was crazy. 

I follow you -Fighting a dragon in the time of nowadays

 A year ago I created a blog. It was a life changing decision. I had two main reasons to do that: first of all, I wanted to improve my written English. And I wanted to write. Both aims have been reached.

 Recently I heard that it's Google Analytics I should listen to. According to me, everything is fine - I write. You read me. According to the Dragon, I have only few followers. And to make it worse, they are all humans. Therefore I would like to set up one thing- I am a writer. I write, I don't advertise thigths. I don't sell discounts for a trip around Cheshire and don't give away vouchers for chops and chips at Sophie's Bar. My grandfather always said that writing is a craft. And he never heard about Search Engine Optimization. So, if you still feel like following, you are more than welcome to follow. Deep see baby.

 Before I came to this country I never heard about SEO. (And I am almost seventy years younger than my grandfather.) At my teenage times Internet was defined as a box somehow connected to the telephone line and everybody in the village was pissed off because after eight you couldn't reach anyone. There was a website which had a chat option so you could connect with people in a neighbour town, which was incredibly exciting. Possibility of using Internet the way I use it now then would have probably been a science fiction movie for me. And in the past months I am wondering if back then I was not closer to the truth then now.

 Who are SEO experts? They are a patron saint of contemporary writers. They fight with a dragon of nowadays: Google. The Dragon is a machine so, according to the theory of evolution, is an absolute lord. Of words, ideas, theories, moves, clicks, squeeks, apftzzhh and completely accidental barks. The problem is that he can't see any difference between them. Because the Dragon, no matter how many poems we will write for him, doesn't have a brain.

Moving in or Moving on, the Sex and the City of London

  - This is absolutely unbelievable- said my friend sitting comfortably in a bar in Shoreditch after working hours.

 - It's completely normal- said The Guy I Lived With finishing the dishes after dinner.- It's London, the middle of the winter, everybody expects something, spirituality doesn't exist here.

 His part would be completely understandable. If it was not a reaction on a text I got while sitting on a tube, coming from my rather distant friend and literally offering me sex on the Morrison's parking.

 Ladies and Gentleman, this is the City of London. An absolutely unique place with one special quality: you can find here sex everywhere, every time, on every corner. On every street during busy hours you can meet at least three people who are up for booming basically now. And that's only my personal observation and I don't consider myself as an adveturous person.

MR FRANK

 - Don't look at me like that, I'm not a sexuologist. I'm not going to put a puzzle to your new 'outraged' post.

- But don't we have anything such as 'moral rights' in our law?

- That's the point- said Frank more cheerfully and rised his gaze towards me- This is all the question of interpretation. Or, if you prefer, the illumination.

- Oh my God- said I realizing that this time Frank was not going to be helpful.- You are infected.

SHOREDITCH, AFTER THE WORKING HOURS

 - Unbelievable- said my friend taking a sip from one of six bottles of Sagres, bought by us in a bulk due to happy hours restrictions- I was having a dinner with my friends talking about some 'usual-not-even-true-macho-male-stuff' and they were all saying that real relationships are not actually real, that men don't really need anything lasting etc. So when I developed an critique of an online dating thing I was supposed to be supported. But then I got surrounded by silence. All of them had online profiles. And a spooky explanation in the end of their tongues:

Susan, dwarves and snowy, lazy Sunday

 I cannot imagine a life without snow. In winter two years ago I was leaving Panama looking forward to many things, but now I have to admit, snow was an image on my mind. Snowy wonderland. Susan seems to be dreaming sleeping under the ironing board. We do love summer, but no when it comes to this:

Samba de mon coeur

 If you have a nice morning like me, wherever you are, in London surrounded by the cozy duvet of snow, or Panama in the middle of summer (oh, Panama!) or anywhere else I've never been to or never heard about, close your eyes and think about a miracle. Have you ever experienced something miracle? I noticed that there are usually two kinds of people: first are these who don't and never did believe in miracles. The second type is quite rare though: could be your neighbour, your aunt Sofia or your extremely annoying colleague. They believe that miracle can happen everywhere, and every time. They say it lies down on the street, or you have to do is be there, and pick it up in the right moment or the right corner. And it will change your life.

 I am a dreamer and I love to roam away with this theory and I can say, even if you're not good in positive thinking, you should try that. Because it makes your life exciting.

 So today, I wish to start from a cup of coffee. If it's only coffe, it's still nice. But think how could it be if the coffee was a miracle coffee. A nice morning miracle coffee. I like it.

Elle panique!

 Here is a usual Sunday. And honestly, there is nothing I can do. I neglect my blog and spend manic hours watching my facebook wall and eating strawberries. I'm giving my friends ridiculous presents for their birthdays and Christmas because I'm terrible in estimating somebody's needs. I don't even know how to be truly sad ending up being, as The Guy I Lived With used to say (at the time when he still spoke to me) sarcastic by nature. 'Don't look at me like that, it's all your fault. It's this lifestyle of yours!' When he had a better day he said that it's normal, just completely normal 'not to be in a mood' sometimes, being overwhelmed and hesitating to take part in any activity. But the thing is this is not about 'not being in a mood'. I don't even get depressed. I have panic attacks.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWvdqzUQUhI

Letters for New Year Forgotten in the Closet

 I do not believe in Christmas wishes posted on blogs for random people who may not even celebrate Christmas neither new year wishes for those who loved enough the old one. Personally, I liked 2012. And I'm happy the world is not over.

  This year I am particularly struggling with resolutions. There is practically nothing new about it I wish to pursue, and nothing old which haven't already failed. But indeed, something has given me new thoughts on that. As I spent a winter home, in my old room, I found many of my previous resolutions. It was funny. Funny what I used to think I wanted. And thank God it never came true.

 There are some, let's say, standard resolutions. Every year the same. Anybody ever planned to lose some weight? For me, it was always 3 kilos, no matter what was my actual weight. Quit smoking? Always worked for two months. Every year. Never more. (And I owe you the honesty that I have been smoking for three years only). Finally learn French (and I have been a good student- for the past ten years). Well, decisions are not my stronger sides. I drop everything as soon as it stops to bring me fun. But the idea to write this today was not about the resolutions. That would be too easy. 

 Clearing up my close I found a notebook. I have thousands of them, so at the beginning it didn't catch my attention. Just another notebook with old short stories I am not happy about anymore. But once I opened this one, I realized it has something else. Something which made me immediately need mr Frank.