Freud would listen to it. I’m sure.

That was a high tension on the table of “Penka” while mom and me were waiting for an order. Strangely fast we started to feel embarassed by each other with no proper idea for a talk. It’s like we’re trapped by each other company. I noticed her mispronunciations (more often than I voice it) and she got irritated that’s why I had stopped speak out (and because my opinion of the clothes doesn’t change her choice) and she knows I cannot speak expecting condemnation. It’s hard for me to pretend being interested in the domestic/practical/routine issues and it’s hard for her to talk about something else. Even her talks about the last crappy audiobooks or lame discussion about the last HBO teaser make me feel totally misearble. I try to look preoccupied though it’s obvious that I’m not. I cannot stop editing her speech while listening and get through it to the grip. I feel impending panic again like there is unbearable truth within. The truth is that my mom is not like I’d like (and imagined as a child) her to be (she’s not that intellegent) but anyway I crave for her approval and suffer from her denial and disergard. Like any other child. Is there anyway to free yourself from it? Is there even a chance to not to base on a primal desire for being accepted and praised? I don’t know. I hope so.

Advertisements

1st

The day is calm as it is expected of the first January. There is expecadly a lot of food in the kitchen and no desire to eat it. We spend our New Year Eve watching Elementary, playing cards (we couldn’t find Monopoly) and drinking champagne. I wanted to sleep and hardly could get a plot of an episode. That was a year Putin was not wanted to speak, I couldn’t take his words seriously, all the same. Family, family, family. The institution the goverment has least power above.

Everything seemed unnecessary: dress, wishes, package for the gifts. (Mom gave me a certificate for cosmetic). At the evening I made a little speech about presenting money vs. real gifts. And of course she wasn’t agree with me at the beginning in her own manner. It’s like every time she is responding me she omits “You’re not right because” at the beginning.

Anyway, I’m in an simple good mood, we’re going to the cinema and I’ll make photos.

Sunday

I finally had slept enough this night. In the morning, the body was quite demanding of physical activity and stretching. The yellow light was filling the rooms with light and shadows, the cat was curious about miraculous sparkles on the window glass. I made delicious French toasts and coffee. Everything seemed more or less fine. We drastically watched “Elementary” (I tamed this mom’s habit so at least I don’t suffer from ads). I washed up and dusted and washed some clothes. But I was terribly sad all the time.

At the top of that, mom was called about a cup I did – it was defective because I wrote the wrong proposition. Everything turned ugly. And my sharp sadness became even sharper. I had no choice but get up and go to work at the weekend.

I hadn’t wanted to leave a flat today not simply because of greasy hair, but because of the fear to see happy people hurrying up for holiday errands. The moments I hate most. My emotional sensibility and insecurity comes on stage and declares all the faults and cracks of my life, moreover, it paralyzes me, makes every move hard.

At the work I turned on the music and had printed some pictures while waited. The same grey room seemed more private and secure that way. I thought it was pretty good to sit there and be alone without lame attempt to seem OK. But then a man from another part of the building came to say he was leaving. In a glimpse of an eye security became insecurity again. Then accidentally a female client came to pick an order. And I was rude to her.

In fact, I became so sad after a video about depression, then I had suddenly realized that I suffered it a few times without proper treatment or approach. I just kept the pressure on myself and felt terrible for not being that productive, friendly, enthusiastic, focused etc. And instantly I wished a proper treatment or ability and knowledge to cope with it gently. I wished to outburst and to stop it. But I have that not-working post-soviet approach “Come on, you’re OK, just cheer up, people have worse problems and they tackle with it!” I wish to be more clever about it.

Hardly not crying I made a delicious lunch and then scrolled online shops for a perfect notebook, which is quite a time killing activity. Finally, I decided to start the one I have (though it’s bigger and has no elastic band). Afterwards, in an idle mood I started to read the new Esquire. And it was a perfect pleasure, thoughts, ideas, gentle and intelligent jokes I laughed at loudly. It always makes me feel as a part of an intellectual society and it makes me realize how empty I actually am. The metaphorical desert is not only outside but inside too. It spreads terribly.

The irony is that the whole terror of the first half of the day sank away with water I used to bath. Astounding power of Esquire!

dark pink

It’s both magical and fully grounded feeling of a moment when you go out of the tennis club to the winter yard. The trees, the playground, the cars – all is covered in puffy snow. It’s pink, yellow and black. What a strange thing to feel such intense loneliness and despair there.

I offered experienced it before on the road home after a workout. It’s a tiny thread tightened around lungs, a thin needle in heart, some massive and terrifying darkness above. It’s a moment to stop among the beauty of a late evening to hear music out of a car and don’t want to move. Come home again… (someone may not have a home to come)

I don’t want to know anything about new SW film, I want them all to shut up. It’s all a pre-christmas sadness and nothing else. I try to remember some good childhood memories of New Year Eve, but always tumble on a memory of a fake Santa in business shoes and parents going to work for celebration after his performance. (Why am I so negative about childhood? Mom says that it’s only my perspective)

It seems that I cannot get rid of the virus of sadness I caught being a kid. Essentially it’s the same.

times of darkness

It is a certain truth that in December inner demons wake up and start gnawing inside. It’s almost always dark and colourless. The aloofness looks as sharp as never and at the moment of literal loneliness screaming seems a natural move. Attempts to make it noisier, to keep music or videos on are like creating a shelter of your own.

But it’s never enough space for yourself like I need a table, a room, a flat, a house, land or an island to hide. What am I hiding from? From pretending of being someone I’m not, of speaking something I don’t care about, of stupid replies people can make. Or something else?

I don’t want to talk to people and discover once again a distance (on many levels including the distance I create) between. I cannot read articles on the Internet – the text is swimming before my eyes, it’s like a meaningless pattern on a curtain.

Sunday darkness

Going out to the dark cold street in Sunday is like falling down to your own abyss. Yandex music playlist makes you want you’re eager to do – scream loudly and jump. (I don’t know why) Useless to say, but there is no Christmas spirit. People are hiding in their burrows, there is no fair or fuss around, just three New Year trees along the central street. This all makes digging down incredably easy. 

I realize how sentimental, vulnerable and sensitive I am. It creates a ton of problems and a wall around. It just came to me that probably I do not have any strong connections now because I’m afraid and unable to trust fully. Maybe I’m just emotionally disabled. I don’t really care or empathise with anyone (except fictional character but that doesn’t count as real, does it?). I consciously live a life of an icelander. 

I don’t know, just wanted to write something, not getting depressed (I’m not really).

The first working day of this week and I’ve being sick by it already.

In spite the fact that I couldn’t get asleep for a really long time (as usual recently) and even wrote a post under the blanket the last night, today I’ve got up in time. The grey reality of late sunrise and calm show falling down. The road to the work lost its autumn charm and became timid. Summer, autumn and spring don’t seem regular to this place, those seasons are rather moments to come and go. The winter, on the other hand, is the natural state, it’s emptiness, deadness is the ultimate truth. It’s constant and moveless, it’s like a person without makeup and outwear, just like it is. Ugliness is a constant. 

While complecting mediocre books at work I was even considering should I or should I not to write it down. I mean the fact that most of the day I spend making the machinery work. And obviously, I decided to write it down. That easily made my tangible (after weekend) mind to bore. The girl who works with me amazes me week by week with her local dialect. She’s a good person but I can’t help noticing her illiteracy. 

I was desperate to play some phrases I watched in “BlacKkKlansMan” or to act at all, to say things out loud and move my body. “I’m black and I’m proud!” for example. Or “I never considered myself as a Jew and then I was there denying it out loud” (roughly) That’s so strange to not to be able to discuss a film! I really liked this one though originally I just wanted to watch some Adam Driver’s acting. (such a fifteen-years-old logic!) 

I took a taxi to get to the New town, and it was wise considering the traffic jam. But the driver amazed me, he drove a car and watched a film on a tablet! Sorry, what?! I was listening to a new Pozner interview and didn’t care. I came earlier and finished earlier.

films are everywhere

This day was quite strange (as all days when I write are). I woke up slowly and being aware of time and place. It was grey and white behind the curtains. Probably it had been snowing all night. Good exercises and the memory of yesterday night’s film made me feel fresh and alive.

As a matter of fact, it was SW I watched. And the funny thing is that I didn’t plan it I just felt terribly sad and lonely. Recently I’ve been using Social Media control app and extension, that allows me to use addictive sites only 30 minutes per day. And as a result, I had and still have a terrible craving for it. But it’s constructed in a way you can’t fix it or change on the same day. So I was locked out of all those stupid videos and articles while the day was grey, studies went slow and unemotional at all (like you expect emotions from studies). The fresh walk made me realise that I need to watch films like I did before. Watch the classic ones from the lists and the premieres. I crave for visiting theatres and having thoughts and emotions there.

At the weekend I had finally finished reading a marvellous book about the script writing by McKee. It spoke out loud both my own ides and his better structured and observant studies. It filled me with the excitement of discovery, a desire to observe and notice. It was like I’m again a girl going crazy by Chekhov’s plays and ready to analyse, imagine and declare it with irrational eager.

One thing he (McKee) wrote was right about the effect films can have on people. The emotions they create leave in the theatre, but the mood can chase us for hours, days, weeks, months, even for years. And it seems right, I don’t feel the emotions I had while reading Harry Potter’s fifth book, but the mood is still there. The same is truthful for TLJ. Thought the climaxes excite and terrify me every time, it’s only the mood, the image, the smell of it that stays with me in time of “real life”. It’s the wide beauty I rose in my mind, but not entirely the product of the filmmakers.

And it seems like a full circle back to love for films and drama I’ve lost. Such inner sense makes me feel almost surreal in normal life. This shuck just cannot be taken seriously.

Monday being Tuesday

It was a day pressed down by clouds and greyness. Again I didn’t manage to get up at the time and did everything in haste. Outside it’s all strangely grey like there is a gloomy autumn finally. In the morning I was all about dreams of SW and ideas read yesterday in McKee’s “Story”. It broke off fast enough.

Probably, it’s a show about wealthy Russians migrating to London, which made me perceive my colleagues as highly provincial. But truly, it’s just the same thing as it was at the beginning of the interaction. And people coming was at the same level. All those complaints about things we cannot control, all those kinda intelligent comments about Russia and Russians being invalid country and people. They all just talk and feel good in such obvious observation. It’s strange to me. And irritating. Surely the viewing of “Leviathan” on Friday made me contemplate on this topic once again, but I don’t want to make acrimonious comments and feel right in doing only this. It’s a lame logic for me.

Yesterday I agreed with myself to eliminate social media in my daily routine and do some educational stuff like reading. Today I almost immediately went cold turkey. I even started to google some filming news and then pulled myself back. And in the evening I spend almost an hour reading and listening that “SW news”. That made me assume the same thing as yesterday and the same thing I had assumed after watching “The Force Awakens” in the theatre for the first lime. It’s going to be a total disaster, they won’t make it right, the level of drama will be the way lower than the Eighth and I’ll be disappointed at the end. There is simply no way to make it better.

tlj-databank-rey-kylo-lightsaber-throne-room-1_5e940106

Plus to being cold turkey I had a female client who printed the documents for UK visa. I read it through and got that she had a Lithuanian husband who worked as a recycler in the UK as an EU citizen. Their photo seemed strange to me, almost like fictional, but it could be real. What couldn’t be real is the fact that she’s doing it and I feel surreal giving her copies and saying regular things like I have no interest. The universe tries to flick me on the forehead reminding things. All the time.