Monday, November 1, 2010

Slow Fingers

I'm not sure whether it's slow fingers or fast brain. Well, a fast brain isn't such a bad thing. really Unless it's combined with slow fingers. I get annoyed by the fact that I simply can't write down all that's on my mind. And I seem to type quite fast, according to people's observations.

It would be nice if I could type faster and more proper though. The right way, I mean. All ten fingers and all. Would probably make things much easier. I've been forced to type as fast as possible because of the uni. Writing all those papers sure does make one wanna be done with it as soon as possible.

But what often happens is that my thoughts run too fast for me to catch them. I remember sitting on a train in India, going south. Well, half lying in fact, since the roof is way too close to the upper birth, which doesn't leave you with much space. So I'm trying to write some thoughts down, but the train is wobbling all the time and I have to make if work somehow. Constant braking and sudden all-direction movements make it even worse. And I just want to write this down, so that I can hopefully fall asleep again.

The ride takes around 36 hours and, as much pain it is, it's a special experience. A lot of tourists travel first class while in India, but I usually just take the regular ticket and travel with the crowd. Doing that, I get so many thoughts going through my head that I simply can't work them all out. Sometimes I just write small sentences. Or even words only. As much as I can.

But when I re-read the notebooks, there's so many gaps. I remember the situation and I remember writing it, but I don't remember the thought. It's like there's something on your mind that you have to do. Call someone or add something to the shopping list or find a piece of paper with an important hint (even if it's Call Whoever). I know it's there - I was just thinking about it. It's at the tip of my tongue. I look around, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever: the thought, the hint, the paper, the number, the phone, the person... I think to myself I might start doing something else and it'll surely come to me. That's even worse. My memory sucks harder than my typing. Way harder.

And I see myself sitting on the train or leaning against the wall in a Delhi hotel or riding the tram, thinking of a hilarious word I could use for whatever. And I take my phone out of my pocket. Number one, I have to write stuff down since the pen-and-paper duo is regularly missing (I know it's ruining my memory even more, but I can't seem to shake it off). Number two, I use the phone as an opportunity to disguise my fits of laughter. Not to mention that someone starting to laugh out loud after a memory pops in one's head is frowned upon, while a bunch of rednecks demolishing the tram is regularly being ignored. So if I get that, I take my phone out, like there's a funny text on it. Then I can giggle. At the non-existing text, at the people and at myself.

By the time I get to the write-a-message option, the word is gone. A lot like whatever I was trying to say with this post. But it's coming back.

Someone has been constantly making noise since lunch time. Lunch was around two and it's nine now. I didn't finish lunch, since I got pissed off beyond limits - but that's a story for another post (that might come later). I barely started it, actually. It was a rabbit. Now I have a feeling it's a cosmic vengeance. So I go downstairs and redo the furniture order (I tend to do that quite often, especially when I need to clean my head). I chucked the TV on the floor, with the screen to the back. I've started to hate TV.

I created a third working surface (besides the huge desk and, well, the floor) from that trolley thing the TV used to stand on. I can't find the right word, but it's something like a commode on wheels. Super handy. It's filled with papers and books now and alas! I can move it around the room. Now I really have a mad-scientist look on my face...

So, even though there's two desks (if we put it that way), I'm sitting on the floor. Well, more lying, again. But there's only a thin IKEA rug and I'm so thin as well and the wooden floor is too hard on my bones and I can't keep lying down and I'm even more annoyed and why can't I gain some weight and it's all oh so fucked up, so eventually I sit up. So yeah, I'm sitting on the floor.

I'm trying to make some sense out of the whole material, trying to compare Latin declination types to the Greek ones and then Sanskrit and Old Slavic and finally Lithuanian. It should all make perfect sense, but somehow it doesn't. I'm rusty, that must be it. I'll do my best though, since the exam is in three weeks and, as occupied as I've been with it, I still need to prepare it better. Way better. But it's OK - I like doing that. I like linguistics, I've wanted to study that and now I'm almost done. It's the final exam and it's supposed to be huge, right? I console myself.

In fact, linguistics was actually the reason I stormed off right at the beginning of the lunch. I was going to write about that, but I better finish this one off first. Suppresses and ignores the whole lunch story...

And as I'm trying to position myself so that I don't end up with any cracks and bruises in my anatomy, someone seems to be cracking nuts or something. I don't know what kind of nuts and whose nuts, but it's annoying as hell. (I've fast forwarded a couple of hours, since it'd be a mega boring read.) So it's been five hours and I can still hear it. I don't know who it is and maybe it's better that I don't or I'd be breaking into someone's flat Mad-Max style.

Considering the mood that I'm in, I figure I better imagine a nice meadow full of flowers, drown myself in incense sticks and wander off seriously dangerous to flipping out by remembering nice places and sweet memories in my head. It's shit cold and I'm out of incense, so I simply play the most relaxing music I've got. Since I tend to listen to some really chill music, it's quite of a challenge to find something yet slower and more relaxing.

So I run into something called Native American Flute or whatever and play that. I air the room out and hope a condor will fly in and instant kill me while the window is open. Now I remember someone telling me that their perfect way of dying was being killed by a pigeon flying into their head. Imagine reading that in the newspapers, she said. Alrighty then...

I listen to the flute and it's nice. In my head I see Anna climbing to the Machu Picchu, kicking lamas (or whatever they are) off the mountain and, despite the somewhat disturbing imagery, I manage to relax a bit. The music is nice and there's still some sunlight coming in and it's all nice and calm and fuzzy and shit.

And the hammering is still on. The light turns into dark, the warmth into cold and the soothing flute becomes the most annoying imaginable sound in the galaxy. I get up, look out the window and I can't figure it out. It's weird since one neighbour lives in Sydney (so it's probably not him) and the flat on the other side is vacant. I'm clueless. What I do know is that I'm very edgy indeed.

I'll check my Facebook page - maybe someone's suggesting a kick-ass going-out thing. Not really. I download my photos from there and plan to liquidate the account. Fuck Facebook. Then I go and play some cards online. Need I say I lost? Three times. I red-x the window and check my blog. Nothing. Who cares anyway.

I run into some blog suggestions, write a couple of posts and see what cool ideas people have to write and keep writing regularly, often also including other people and seeing what they had to say. At this point I wonder whether I'll ever stop ranting. The blogs that I've ran into say whatever, it's ok to rant, we all do it. Good.

So I think to myself (and I'll write it as it is, since it's a big mess): I could actually write something. But I've read so many stories and have so many ideas now. If I start typing, I'll surely leave something out. I always leave something out. I wish there was a mind recorder. Damn that Dumbledore! Oh, I'll open the pages in Recently Closed Tabs. OK, write fast. Paper or Word? Or blog? Not paper, I'll never type it again. Like India. Oh my, I'll never finish that book. So-called book. So many thoughts lost. Can they be lost anyway? Maybe if I read it again, it'll be easier. Shit, it won't be easier - it'll be crappier. Thinking about India, you moron. With this hammer smith around. Geez, will he ever stop? OK, start typing, you'll lose it all. Okay, okay.

What was I gonna write again?


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