Wednesday, March 22, 2006

coffee and cigarettes

There's too much of the former and not enough of the latter in my life.
That is, of course, because I am an Incurable Sensible Person (ISP).
Not so sensible that I never smoke, though. If I didn't know better I'd smoke all day. Bloody love it. Love the feeling of it, the way I feel like a 1930-s German Film Noir-star (if there's such a thing, film noir is not really my field of expertise), love how it is totally enjoyable without making you put on weight - and how it's perfect for moments, minutes, hours, days, weeks of boredom/stress/nerves.

But I'm an ISP. So I limit my smokes to a few every other week or so. Like I control every other aspect of my life. I have friends, dear friends, who I honestly think secretly hate me for it. I have the boyfriend. I got the degree. I'm on the career ladder. None of this is something that I'm overly proud of. I haven't exactly achieved anything that would make people go wow.

Except my friends, of course. Yep, I love them all. They're funny, intelligent, interesting, entertaining people who know how to talk, how to write, what to talk about, how to party, where to go, what to do... except what to DO with their lives!

This wouldn't bother me so much if it wasnt' for the fact that they, all of them, constantly come to me for advice. I guess I'm like the token sensible person in their posse. But I have no advice to give them. What can I say? "You're 31, you've been to uni for 8 years but you still can't work out what you want to do with your life, so in the meantime you put it on hold, work in a job that you don't even need high school to do, can't decide whether to marry your boyfriend, get drunk with me every forthnight and COMPLAIN??"

It drives me mad. Seriously - why do they ask me?? They never seem to want any advice anyway. They just want to carry on with their under-stimulating lives, waiting for mr right and The Perfect Job (but what that would be, they can't articulate) to fall in their lap. Which it won't of course.

So just shut up.. I don't know. Fix yout own lives. It's not that hard. Not making a decision is also making a decision.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

solitude

I can't help but wonder what would happen if I never left this flat.

I haven't been far off this weekend.
Except one trip to the shop, a 10 K run earlier today, and a 90-minute walk with E. this afternoon, I've alternated between two positions: I've either had my a$$ firmly planted on this chair, in front of the computer, or I've been on the couch reading ("Pride & Prejudice" and every single weekend paper, including 2 tabloids, the token serious paper, the local broadsheet and the pink financial, all purchased on my 1 trip to the shop). And I've consumed embarassing amounts of popcorn and pick & mix-lollies.

Of course, I've started off every five-hour session by the computer with the intention to write something that might at least resemble a creative text.
Instead, I've downloaded hundreds of songs onto iTunes & the beloved iPod, and I've caught up with people I forgot existed on MSN messenger. I did use some creativity to work out what the hell to talk with them about, though.

Needless to say, it's been a pretty comfortable weekend. What would happen if I continued like this?

I have had periods of unemployment in my life. Never intentionally, but unintentional passivity is the sort of stuff you have to expect when you do not only an arts degree, but a media degree (as professors and snobs and science students like to spit out the word). What I learned then is that I, who am usually quite efficient, active and known for having a fair share of energy, can mutate into a TV-shop watching, coke-drinking slob. (I only wish I was a coke snorting slob, that sounds much more intriguing.)

Luckily the man comes back tomorrow and my ordinary working week starts on Monday. I never thought I'd be happy to have an A4-life. However the bohemic existence is overrated - and terribly messy.

*Milly

Friday, March 17, 2006

and thus began my blog

I am always drawn to things for the wrong reasons.

I started reading Paul Auster because I wanted New York, I wanted concrete jungle, traffic, noise and urbanity. And I liked his characters, his descriptions, his language. And his photo on the cover.
I did read the books, I enjoyed them enough to keep buying new paperbacks. Paul Auster was a faithful tube-companion the spring of 2003. So I definitely did read the books. There are stains in them now, of coffee, chocolate, croissant-grease, that reveal that I did read them.

But I couldn't tell you what they were about. I just loved the sound of them. Like I loved the sound of Just Like a Woman when I first (consciously) heard Bob Dylan. I was 14 and I listened to Blonde on Blonde again and again, I had no idea what the songs were all about, but I loved the idea of Dylan, I photocopied the cd-cover of Blonde on Blonde (you know the one, Bob is all messy hair and scarf, he could perhaps pass as a young character in a Paul Auster novel). Most of all I loved Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands. Didn't understand a thing. (English is my second language, back then it was so poor it was hardly a language to me, rather a collection of words.)

So, when I decided to re-read the New York Trilogy this week, I was delighted to discover that I actually got behind the words. No, I won't provide you with an analysis of the book, others can do that. Plus I might be wrong.

Anyway. It's nice to discover that you're growing. Getting older, if not wiser. I sometimes wonder how it happens, and when. If I've lead the same life for the last 3 years, how come I'm smarter now than I was 1 year ago?

I'll leave it with this rather random rant (I do love my alliterations, although I know that Hemingway said it was the stupidest form of rhyme, or something like that). And thus ended my first post. It won't be the last. It's nice to be back.

*Milly