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.
MR FRANK
- So you just don't want to admit you can't handle it.
- Handle?
- You don't talk about your grandfather. And you avoid you're grandmother's subject as well. You keep distracting yourself so you don't have to think that this is not just a question to get over. Because you feel there is something inappropriate to release it. What happened with a diary?
- I have it. Should I release the diary, is that what you mean?
- At least meditate on that. Or talk to somebody about it.
- I'm talking to you.
- I am imaginary.
- Right- I opened my bag to search for a lighter.- You've got a point.
A SOUP
- Look, Vincenzo I found a soup.
- Oh you have a soup, that's great.
- It's not just any soup, it's an instant mashroom soup I brought from my country.
- Hmm. That's cool.
I am not an agressive person. I swear I am not. Sometimes I just feel like putting somebody's head in the oven. Everybody feels like this sometimes, isn't it?
- What happened with this nice girl with blue eyes?
- She's gone to her home country. It's been a year, you don't remember?
- You used to talk to her.
- Yes I did. A lot.
- How about this guy who stopped answering your messages? I thought you liked him.
- Well, I didn't mean to cut his lower lip. It just happened.
- You really think it's about it?
Honestly I am not good in talking to people. I never was. I never understood people, these weird creatures with a penetrating gaze and cheeky smiles. But yes, some of them are my friends. It's a nice company for an alien afterall.
I thought about it on my way back from an Independent Republic of Bunga Bunga, which is a kingdom of Paolo O. Martin aka Paul Portier, and also a home for his tennis table. I was just saying to one of my friends, who's, unlike Frank, not imaginary that I keep having those dreams. In the end of them I fall. Nothing unusual, everybody had once in a while a dream about falling, but I have them all the time. I used to have a terrible vertigo. It got gone when I grew older but last week came back in a most unexpecting moment. During some work I had in the theatre we got to the upper circle to watch the show. There was no space, so we sat down along with sound technicians. Scary. I eventually felt the warmth from inside of my body. Then I felt dizzy- I was almost sure I'm falling. Who invented circles in the theatre! I'm sure someone has fallen at least once in the history. Then I realized that- I panic.
-Oh, hey who are you? You're just so pretty.
Fuck you.
- Are you Russian?
No, I'm from a planet Zogg.
- Oh, that's interesting.
Yes indeed. You wouldn't recognize a Russian even if they puked on your staircase.
- I'm no good with accents.
Like the whole galaxy. 'Experts' tell my Mexican friend everyday that she 'just sounds so Polish!'
Who are you, stranger who got stuck in my head. I can't even remeber your face. Why should I share any personal information with you?
- You don't like to share- I hear Frank's insisting advice.- You feel they want a piece of you, to take it, eat it, and never give it back to you. Is it like this? Was it a similar story with The Guy You Used to Date or At Least You Believed So?
- As you said Frank, you're imaginary.
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