Happy 2008

Bozo
Dan
Dani
Dee Dee
Ivo a.k.a Kuker
Kremena
Kris a.k.a z-arc
Kurt & Barbara
Lori
Milla
Pavel a.k.a Mani a.k.a Mabon
Poli a.k.a polkata
Sonja
Sun
Susanne a.k.a 1984
Tedi
Vincent a.k.a LOG1N

Thank you all!

And last but not least: TR; thank you for the magic.

Why bother a.k.a. ABP Christmas edition

The time has come for big decisions. I feel it with every cell of my imperfect body. It’s just a coincidence that New Year’s Eve is just a few days away. Or is it so? I don’t know. I’m only 100 % sure that that is the reason for my restlessness. And I also know that I need help to make those decisions. And that it takes an enormous out of this world luck to come across such a person that can provide that help. And, boy, I do need help.

The first cigarette is crucial. If I don’t have it I can go without smoking the whole day. Once I light the first one I can’t stop. Compulsive smoking. It’s a sign for something. Who can tell me what it means? It’s a key to the problematic issues in my life.

I’ve lost something of value. I once again find everything, I mean, just about EVERYTHING meaningless. Once again I fear tomorrow and I dread each morning. It’s a catch 22: I need people to find some answers and at the same time I keep away from people because I’m ashamed of the way I feel. I dare to speak to no one but that is the only way I can find an exit out of that maze.

That is why I don’t write to some dear to me people; I’m afraid they'll misinterpret my silence as indifference. I love them…but right now everything I might say seems wrong.

When all hope is gone everything that happens is accepted as a gift.

All hope is gone.

Nothing happens anyway.

Questions, so many questions…why do I prefer to spend hours and hours in some cafés or simply roam the streets trying to postpone the moment when I’ll have to finally go home as if there awaits me some terrible danger? Why I feel as if I’m suffocating between those walls? But I don’t feel much better when I’m out. I’m always on the run…running away from what? Myself? It’s possible.

I swear, I did wanted my Christmas to be merry and jolly; I did mean all the “love & happiness” messages that I sent to so many people; I had the best intentions to willingly succumb to the spirit of Christmas. But it didn’t happen because I feel “over” many things: depressed, restless, desperate, hopeless, apathetic, lonely; I feel doomed.

“When we have everything why do we weep over the little we’ve once had? How it turns out to be more?”

I’m methodically killing myself and no one is trying to stop me. There goes the answer to my questions.

“exanimate”. Useful word.

For over a week I feel sick. Literally sick. My hands are shaking, I have the feeling I’m about to throw up. I’m not ill, it’s not a virus. My mind is sick.

It gets worse with each second. Once again I want to die. Unfortunately now there’s much less pose in it than there was before. Maybe I want it because that’s something I have control over. That’s due to my New Year’s resolution: to be honest. That’s harder than it seems. If I have ever had any fans now I’ll lose them for sure. Well, shit happens. Sorry, guys, being the egocentric I appear to be I intend to have it all for me.

Amazing what a few days of isolation can do. Isolation can be healing. “The serpent always claims she bites to heal.” That’s one way to say it. The bitten one would say it’s deadly.

I can’t remember the last time I smiled.

I look at people as if they are animals in a zoo; each one is in a cage that’s going to turn into a coffin. There must be some that have managed to escape, lucky bastards. I’m just a visitor here. I must have gone off at the wrong stop or at the wrong time.

Why bother indeed?

This is why I love COFFEE HOUSE so much :)

Random Sofia

Some pictures taken over the past few days:

ABP # 3

If I take reality as it is-pure and concentrated, it will poison me. I have to dilute it by adding fantasies, romance (even when there’s none) and wishful thinking to make an easy to swallow drinkable cocktail. There’s nothing wrong with fantasies, is there? Some might say: No…as long as you don’t get carried away! Who’s to tell how much is enough? Half an hour? Twice a week? What difference does it make as long as it makes me feel good? None.

ABP # 2

(I can save myself the troubles to come up with a different name for my posts that way)

Do you know what depression is? Oh, I’m sorry, that was not a question; just an attempt for an artistic (?!) prelude (of course, if there are volunteers any opinions will be warmly accepted). Depression is when your bad mood goes way too far, beyond the line that marks the crossing of your personal space and your social circle and intrudes right in the middle of your inner world. In simple words (I’m just practicing my English, you know) it’s when your very own bad mood covers your very own mind like a shield isolating it from any healing power that might ooze from outside; nothing can get through; selfishness at its finest; a state of apathy that makes you go in a circle like a dog that has bitten his tail. The spinning makes me dizzy. All I have to do is to spit that tail out of my mouth and remain still until the world focuses and hopefully everything gets at its proper place. Until then I must try not to hit innocent bystanders.

Another bullshit post

I finish work at 5 PM. And what do I do next? Go home? No fucking way; anything but to go straight home. “Home” is just a word I use to refer to the concrete box where my belongings are, where I keep my bath towel and my toothbrush and where my bed is; “home” bears a descriptive meaning and no emotional what so ever. So where can a single…err, woman (I have to leave that girly thing where it belongs-in the past) go to kill a couple of hours on a working wintry evening? To a café, where else? There are 5 cafés that I feel comfortable in to enjoy my solitude. 2 of them are a bit far away-I go there on weekends, so that leaves me to choose between the other 3. One of them is my favorite: all the waiters are boys (I repeat: boys; no dirty thoughts, please, I’ve never had them myself…I mean, the thoughts :))) who greet me very warmly every time and since I’m a regular we chat as if we are friends (a few days ago one of the boys asked me: Are you writing a book? :)...whatever...); the cappuccino is great and it comes with a fortune slip (as lame as it is but I still find it very exciting to unroll it and read what’s on it. Sometimes it does change my mood to better; like that one: “If you can laugh at yourself you’ll always have something to laugh about.”); if there’s no free table the boys always manage to find a place for me; I feel welcome there and the fact that I leave a good tip every time has nothing to do with it (I’m sure about the last one; and that is why it gives me a great pleasure to tip them). I love that café.

But I can’t go there every evening because I am ashamed. I’ve seen that only in the movies: men/women drinking alone at the bar until the pub closes because no one awaits them at home. Well, it’s not a pub, and I order cappuccino but the last part is the same. I don’t have a reason to go home.

I don’t care if that post makes me look like a loser. I care little if not at all about what people think of me.

Quixotic

Pieces slowly find their places after years of what seemed to be a pointless drift.
May I?

EDIT: No. Life in its repetitiousness is dull. It’s all in the little details that happen in my mind. Imagination is everything. - Dec 12, 2007

Like it or not...

Age is knocking on my door and I have no choice but to let her in. Time is a dimension that my mind disregards and every meeting with my reflection comes as a surprise. Is that me?! I can not be me!? Someone must have snatched my body and replaced it with someone else’s! Yes, someone has; time.

“The saddest thing about aging is not that the body grows old but that the mind doesn’t”.