Sunday, February 26, 2012

Goldfish, wishes and such

I don't know why, but it often happens that conversations usually end up with the same topic: religion, music, sex, private wishes, food. Bottle-of-truth style.

One time, during a 45-hour train ride along India's west coast, my friend and I realized that a worrying amount of our conversations end with food. If not food, then drinks. We were laying on our upper-berth beds and talking about what we'd eat now.

Of course, it doesn't make it easier, but one just can't stop talking about it...

All those question... If you won the lottery, what would you do?

I’d definitely go with a degree. That’s my first answer. I have a degree. I don’t really need one. But I’d buy one, just to prove that it can be done.

But if you’d ask me the question right now, I’d say this: a walk-in fridge.

I’m serious.

I can always eat. You wouldn’t say that if you saw me, because I’m 55 together with a chair and a fruit basket. But I always have munchies.

It’s 1.28 and I’m nibbling on the last piece of bread and eyeing the last apple on the table. It’s actually an old chest, but let’s go with table.

The kitchen is upstairs and there’s really nothing in it. Cheese and all the other stuff I’ve already dismissed during the day. But I could eat something now.

Cookies. Or muffins. Maybe cornflakes. Some crunchy ones, with a lot of fruit.

That makes me think of Indian home-made müsli. Dammit!


No one knocking on the door with a trayful of nibbles.


Saturday, February 25, 2012

Bihevioral existence

Once again I'm thinking about something I often find myself thinking about. About the fact that everyone's been talking about some big changes. Twenty-twelve and all that stuff. It won't be an apocalypse, but it'll be an immense switch in the collective consciousness. Well, at least I think so.

I'm not so much into conspiracies and theories thereof, so I can't say for sure. I didn't even read that much about it. The most I've done is talked to some friends about it over tea. But that kept me thinking.

Maybe it will be a big change that will, during a longer course of time, change the world as we know it. The same way fire did. The same way industrialization has. Electricity, Internet, whatever.

But then I started thinking about what it will mean to individuals. How will I change?

I'm a quite bitter person, if you haven't noticed. I'm bothered with a lot of stuff and I'll rant about whatever I can. People, naturally, don't like that. Well, some don't, in any case. I reckon people want to let go and unwind for a bit. There's a nice Croatian phrase that pictures it as letting the brain out into the pasture.

I wish I could do that. I wish there was an on-off button. I've always wanted that. Either that or a third arm.

I digress.

People have told me often that I have to relax. Let it go. There's nothing to do. Chill out.

But what does that mean? Let go of what? Of myself and who I consider myself to be? Won't that make someone else then?

I bet if I was all peachy and grinning, people would think I'm on some experimental stuff. Would that be me? Can you tell someone who's utterly and disgustingly happy all the time to bring it down a notch, get serious and land down to Earth already? How would that make them feel?

So, I'm looking towards the end of the world. Well, my world at least. And what? Am I supposed to forget who I am and just act like I'm someone else, only to make some people feel better? Better about who? About myself or about themselves?

If I want to change the way I act, I must first change the way I think. If I change the way I think, would that be me? Cogito ergo sum comes to mind.

If I change myself for others' sake, am I working on myself or am I doing the exact opposite – working hard on losing myself?

Thursday, February 2, 2012

All the advice I've been given

I was lying in my bed the other night and some random stuff kept popping in my head. I guess the stretch must've triggered it. I remember how I used to get cramps every time I'd stretch before going to bed.

Why did I stretch in the first place? Good question. My sister told me it's good to stretch out when hitting the sack. It supposedly relaxes all the muscles that take part in the stretch. And since I've had problems with sleeping for as long as I remember, I started practising it quite early.

But as I started to stretch on a nightly basis, I started cramping up. Then I got another advice from my sister. You have to keep your foot soles up, not stretch them out. So, no ballerina. Standing style. Hammer down.

So, naturally, I kept thinking about all the good advice I've gotten during my life. All the small ones that no one really remembers. Everyone keeps using the same ones, like Love yourself!, Don't let it bring you down... and stuff like that. Such diary material...

My dad told me to piss in a specific corner of the toilet in order not to be heard five rooms away, as well as not to get piss all around the bathroom. Everyone should have that framed. Or clean after themselves.

My brother told me not to break my bones. You know, knuckling your fingers to death. Doesn't do any good. Doesn't do any damage either, according to research. I was already paranoid my hands would start shaking by the time I was 25. That wasn't the reason.

Don't use too much vinegar. Stand up straight. Brush your teeth. All those advice I should've taken.

Carpe diem. Drink more water. Smile!

I'm trying to come up with more of those, but I'm finally starting to get sleepy. I might just stretch out and hope I'll doze off.

Try to call yours back and stay pretty. G'night...


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