Anger and hate

So, I have told mom about my little plan of career shifting. It was organically, she asked herself if I really move on to Moscow and I said that I have some thoughts. It was terrible, this conversation. Once again I felt pressed and small, unable to do anything with my own life. Afterwards, I grew angry with her endless and fundamental disbelief in me. She suggested to come back to the local Uni for a part-time study for … just in case (I lose). She said that it was a stupid, thoughtless move. It drove me crazy. She never believed in me and would never do. She tries to comfort me with tasty meals and praise for well-done chores. I don’t need such a cold comfort! I need her to believe that I can actually do what I intend.

For so long time I’ve been in a state of not being able to do something with my life that it really seems that I can’t. I cannot talk neither to her nor anyone that I have dark days of self-pity and profound sadness. But she again notices what people of my age achieve. There is no way to rely on her as an emotional supporter. This all keeps me low and I want to get out of this swampland. I’m sick and angry of being weak.

While cleaning up our flat I unwillingly caught myself thinking about moving on to the other city, finding a job to sustain and doing all by myself. I don’t want to look into her eyes and see pity.


Country party

It’s really hard to keep thoughts inside such a small head. Yesterday mom and I spend about six hours at the anniversary celebration of my grandmother’s younger brother. That was very queer for me. We went there by taxi. It was the end of a street in a country which isn’t so easy to drive. So, for me, it’s an obvious downturn.

We came inside and almost immediately we met my cousin. She changed in a bad way, got weight. I didn’t know what to do, people who in the best cases I barely knew approached me hugged and asked some questions (like we were close friends, but we weren’t). There was a long table with appetizers on it. I felt as uncomfortable as it was a foreign country to me. People around spoke Chuvash loudly, made stupid jokes and nickered. The whole evening I tried to keep my face friendly or neutral. But the food was good (thanks to a cooker). We gifted one of my pictures (which I couldn’t sell for years) and they seemed satisfied.

After the first serving, I went to the backyard to hide from the strange relatives and maybe to read. I suppose I looked exactly like silent closed people who sit with a book during a party. People were amazed by me not dancing or talking to someone. But once I was at the bench swing three older women surrounded me and interrogated with obvious but hard to answer questions. Where am I, what do I do and etc? My official legend is Moscow, VGIK (what rings no bell in their mind), painting. It’s not so easy to tell it when you don’t feel it in so many levels. And you know almost nothing about interviewers.

People were of the kind I precisely expected. Interests in gardening, pension reform, children, but gardening in the first place. The young people who drove later were like their children. Mothers suffering from post-childbirth weight gain, speaking vulgarly about Turkish hotels where you can swim (really?) and controlling their children with dull toys in their hands. No way I wanted to network with them. My cousin and I had a moment of talk drinking red wine, we tried to recall old times when we spend so much time together. But frankly speaking, at this moment we are so distant in life and mindset. She has two children, a husband and a job at her father’s factory. When they gave me a lift afterwards her son spoke: мой язык жгет. Firstly I thought that it’s just an unaware child making mistakes but then both mother and father said it. So I couldn’t restrain myself and made a notice that it’s right to tell жжёт. Then I lamely tried to smooth it. But whatever snob inside of me can’t bear such rude mistakes.

In my attempt to hide I sneaked out of the house and walked down to a pond. It was naturally beautiful and calm (though music destroyed the silence). I made photos and wanted to row there. In the evening I returned and had been standing at a small wharf for a long time looking at the waves and colour of sunset. I recall the first time I got to such a country style only-relatives party, I was four or five. I couldn’t stand the noise and left the banket hall to draw in the other room. I remember drawing a dolphin while they drunk.  Things don’t really change, do they?

tennis psychotherapy

Certainly, it wasn’t my day at the tennis. A friendly and talkative co-player who had just come back from the vocation at Turkey triggered my strange condition. Sometimes it’s all like school, I feel not cool enough unless I have done something worthy of other people’s attention. In a word, I feel undermined when someone has a “better” life. Analyzing it afterwards I came to an idea that it’s not the facts of someone’s life that drives me crazy, it’s my life is meaningless and colourless what freaks me out. The vague hints of love travel, career promotion trigger something mad in me.

It’s not a surprise that I played bad. During the first game with a new girl, we had (actually, she had) problems with counting. She asked a trainer and he started to explain to me why I was wrong. One moment it had maddened me. It was so obvious at the moment that no matter I do or speak I’ll be on the wrong.  Probably I was, but I couldn’t stand another why-you-are-wrong moment. I failed. And again and again. At the end of the training, I was sad and deeply ascertained that my major problem is psychological. Probably I do sabotage myself to fail because, in spite of the desire to win, I’m terrified of being in a spotlight. I’m terrified of the social load it can bring. I suppose that this poison comes from the deep past, someday I can’t remember.

Finally, all I need is worth praise.

This is one of those days when my own flat seems to be a prison of wrong decisions. I oscillate from one activity to another with a constant sadness. OK, it looks like every post of mine is about sadness but in reality, I can be quite satisfied and enthusiastic about my routine. Yesterday, for example, I did some more SS work, went to the swimming pool (and had my own swimming track) and met with Kate (from ChuvSU) and the whole day I felt strong and self-assured.

However, this morning was basically idle and fruitless, then in the afternoon, I tried (not really) to draw that house I started. Such a dull task! I shouldn’t pick it in the first place. At two o’clock I left it the way it was, took my backpack and went to the library. Surprisingly, it wasn’t completely empty, but quite enough to go into study flow. Making a mind map of a pretty simple and more or less straightforward topic I found out a certain mutual connection between generating new technologies and the rise in schooling years. Probably, it’s obvious, but it’s pleasing to find myself.

More I visit MacCafe more I ascertain that it’s not a place for me. There are too many children, parents, and strange looking people. Back at home, I tried to draw the same house with the same success. But simultaneously I listened to a Michael Sandel lecture and students debate about African-American people’s educational opportunities. Such a distant but familiar problem for me (kinda provincial/moscowian problem).

When mom came The Problem arose again like a silent wall or a gigantic pillar. Or at least I felt it that way. The request for my being at some relative anniversary party out of the town, and as a result another review of my pictures to be gifted. The question of me not leaving hometown.

And actually I mull over it more and more, I’m almost persuaded by myself to it. But my game is about getting better not drowning here. I have an acceptable plan for a tired adult craving for education.

And finally, it’s Saturday. It’s grey and windy outside, and freezy inside. Mom is making a soup in the kitchen, I can hear vague noises of TV. I’m sitting at my desk, having done Anki reviews and have no courage to open the textbook to record new questions. I’m too coward for this.

I would work on this rather than drawing a house. Funny thing. I have arranged a meeting with Kate, but I suppose that my doubts will have vanished at that time. Soon Nastya will arrive at Cheboksary and I will have this rare opportunity to talk with her. How will it be? There are so many strains, so many untold words. We live completely different lives. It will be OK anyway, I’ll try my best.

So, this day is almost ended and as far as I promised myself to write a diary, I’m here. Today nothing special happened. I woke up a bit late, at eight-ten, didn’t want to jog and made exercises for glutes at home. During the breakfast, I watched a video about Molier (but it was more about French theatre in common). I came to a conclusion that all those crash course videos which I liked so much before are rather frustrating and distracting. Of course, I washed the dishes but without previous enthusiasm, it’s just a chore. Every time I turn to the kitchen sink something little dies inside me. It’s sort of treachery to my values, to my vision of life, the way I always thought was mine. But still, I do wash up every morning like I always wanted to be free of that routine.

After that, I came to my room and was going to make a mind map for SS, but instead, I recorded the flashcards in Anki. I got distracted, I looked up for a textbook for mom. It was lunch time but no hunger was presented. So I waited and then fried eggs. Lazy lunch. During lunch, I watched an episode of Scrubs.

After that, I decided to go out for sketching (come on! Who are you trying to trick?) Slowly I got ready, chose some podcast, but it was boring anyway. At the Lakreevsky park, I wrote down my thoughts about life and the whole idea of coming back to VGIK. Is it gonna work or not? Looks like not. Anyway, the way back home I visited the bookstore and impulsively bought a beautiful violet binder and fine pens. I was inspired by the binder like I was going to use to something interesting.

At home, I started to draw a house and watch Scrubs at the same time. My mood rose because of the comedy. It’s stupid but still works. I haven’t really progressed in the drawing. My feelings are totally strange about drawing, it seems a bit ridiculous to me now when we have a superpower of computers.

A tennis training was good, I did well and was praised. I like to be praised.

There are too many thoughts in my mind, they grow, they blow, and they take all the rooms in my head. Though there aren’t many thoughts, they are just squealing.

The weather is grey-coloured. I’m worried if I need to take an umbrella to the passport office. I don’t want to have curly wet hair on the photo.

Currently, I have the philosophy to learn, but for some reason, I don’t do it. Why? Laziness, the intention to avoid the pain of knowledge? I don’t know why but I have to put myself together. By the way, I want to learn phrasal verbs. As usual, when studies are finished, I get a second wind. No surprise. I even think about IELTS again. I should be more organised and disciplined. Probably, I need to study outside the flat, for example at the library. At home, I feel rather relaxed than gathered. Everything tries to distract me. As it seems to me. Frankly, it is just not so easy to focus, my mind is always looking for ideas.

However, this text is messed it doesn’t matter because the main purpose is to gather my mind.

Maybe I will watch today’s match between Kasatkina and Stevens. Tomorrow it will be Sharapova, finally.

Monday after holiday

Beside the cold wind and snow storm, my holiday got finished. In spite of all my despise of this idea, I went to the Uni yesterday. How was it? That was all expected and predicted. A philosophy teacher appeared to be a tired woman with 3000K students and the terribly complex subject she hardly knows. Plump and angry. So, there is no hope for improvement.

I was friendly with girls but at the lunch break went to the empty hall to sit and calm down. My head was splitting because of the weather, bad lecture and stifling atmosphere in an auditorium. The lecture was ridiculous, a lecturer was sight-reading a sheet of English text. At the middle of the lecture, someone found a text and shared it online. I started to use it and (Surprise!) managed to do more than she read. At the last lesson, we watched some specific videos (on YouTube) and I couldn’t keep my attention, that was boring and the audio system harshly bit to my ears. Finally, I forgot my purse at the toilet.

I have much thought right now and many of them are about future and this moment.

first exam

Today I had the first exam at this University. The hardest part was in the morning, I had to get up at six and be in a place at 8.30. Long time I tried to persuade myself to sleep more, but then I pushed myself out of the bed and slowly started to get ready. Mom got up too, she cannot sleep after alarm clocks. At the breakfast, I forced myself to eat an oatmeal, though I wanted something new and tasty. The way to the University I was thinking about million things beginning with the thought that didn’t make me sleep at night (it was a wonder: What if Rey will turn to the Dark side at the ninth episode, this would be very surprising) and finishing with the comparison of trees on the hills and the Breighel’s picture.

I run into the hall where group-mates were sitting. It turned out that one girl picked up the documents because of the financial situation. (I’m amazed by a social gap, some pays 450K and think they’re ordinary, some cannot handle 20K but think they’re ordinary too) However, I’d got a good partner for preparing dialogues. In the audience, I felt really strange because there was too much mindreading without any explanations. Finally, we had a short boring dialogue which the teacher didn’t like. I underperformed. After that, I wrote sentences. I was the last in the room and I got four. And I certainly couldn’t care less. Now all I want is to sleep or go out but not to take the textbooks and learn anything. No, please, no.

P.S. Right now I experience an emptiness and timidness of life without star wars. It’s my regular boring life without a spark of creativity. But I caught it, felt an excitement of making up new things and now I feel necessity for this. That’s great to use fantasy, mind and courage to make something.

Girls and I had met today at the Coffeemania. I was a bit scared of new talks about relationship and man. The way there I fell down and stained my beautiful blue jeans. I came here in time but I didn’t expect to meet girl sitting there. But they were, and despite my little fear to look odd, behave oddly and be awkward I came and hugged them all. At the beginning, I really had troubles in fitting myself into the conversation. I asked myself, was I really compromising and hiding again? I kept silent some time and during first minutes figured out that my star wars obsession wouldn’t fit there. There was no chance to speak about such an abstract topic.

We came through family matters, New Year Eves, and other boring topics. I ate terribly sweet cake and coffee while they were discussing family life and operations. At the middle of the meeting, Mary and I had a discussion of the question of positive psychology. To my surprise, I tried to persuade her that it’s not an ultimate point of view.

Finally, I could speak about Star Wars and other films but obviously, they couldn’t respond. (I feel to tired to finish, I frustrate to much, I need some sleep)