That Awkward Morning

That awkard moment. When you wake up one random morning after sleeping for very few hours, after your nerves have been forced like a chewing gum spread until exhaustion, after you have done favours on top of favours with no pleasure whatsoever. One morning when you have to be in two or more places at once, you cannot put anything in your system besides an ice coffee prepared with hot water, because you're running out of milk. That specific morning when you've already done so much and don't know how you did it, but there's still so much ahead. When your appearance brings about cleaning facilities, eyebrows mops, hair broom. But you have to fix it and move on. That one time when despite all odds you have to shine and be simply great. That awkward awful morning before the amazing one.

Later edit: I got through today. I just gained back an idol. Aaand Grey's Anatomy has freaking good music. Since ever, forever and ever.

Healer's List

Since I have recently decomposed all the "constructive criticism" I received from well intended ladies or gents, there still remain the flaws I do a great job discovering by myself. Reading me one would swear that, at least at a theoretical level, I am striving to overcome my defects, training to become an utopian being. But here's what I have to cope with. I've been recently struggling with a underdog feeling. No matter what I do, I sense that I am underachieving in every and all areas possible. Which gives me a constant feeling of discontent, and an adjacent outward dissatisfied state, which further throws me into a vicious circle. Dissatisfied me is more or less [most likely more] bitchy, demotivated, bitter, indecisive, moods that translate into my giving less than I could actually give and my taking in far less than I would deserve,  which by all means cause more discontent and draw wider circles on what used to be calm water. Dismayed me is far less interesting, way more nagging, always bearing ludicrous questions or dismal topics.

My weird life policy, which consisted of my hating my own guts but strangely still considering myself above the rest of nearby mankind, started to reveal more and more loopholes. All this odd thinking does no good, but turns against me in the most nefarious way. So since I recently learned about myself that I am getting better at meeting deadlines, and since there's huge intrinsic pressure to add some value to my 25th anniversary, which is supposed to be a life-changing moment [when I should miraculously wake up wiser and thoroughly mature, like on every somewhat round birthday], I give myself exactly 4 weeks to improve. Despite of what may  seem comprehensive evidence, I am a pragmatic rather than a dreamer, so I am not expecting some motivational crap [this time molded in the form of  "to do list"]  to fundamentally change me in such a short time span, as I keep trusting that people stay more or less the same, what changes are just the circumstances they act upon. What I do expect though is to become more accustomed to what I am and have and cope better with my reality, in order to find a way to rise still being true to whatever that reality is. 

Among the daily action items on my healer draft, I listed whatever may drag me a step further from my self instated fear and loathing, i.e. paying an honest compliment, finding out something new about a person I say I love, doing something nurturing for my brain, doing something happy for my body, acknowledging a disturbing fact and talking about it, trying out something unfamiliar. Putting it trivially, I cannot keep claiming the supremacy on myself if I don't learn being the one I appreciate most, and I cannot preach my love for the others if I keep failing them. So let the countdown begin. Motivational much? Motivational music also, be it.

I am, whatever you say I am.

I am really awful when it comes to accepting critiques. In an ingrate kind of way, I keep criticizing everything that moves or breathes, but I have this abominable habit of failing to take in the "constructive commentaries". In an even more ingrate kind of way, and sort of weird at some level, I stir up people to point out my flaws, only to afterwards indulge in the nasty things I hear about myself. Then I somehow twist them around in my twisted head, cover them up in sugarcoating, until they actually have a chance of appearing in a positive light. There's this standard question in all the pre-interviews, where one should point out their strengths and weaknesses. What's even more common than the question itself is the fact that everyone's aware that one ought to find a defect that can be, in some manner, turned around so that it turns into a quality. 

I'd hate to be misunderstood, and in my defensive fashion of presenting facts, I'm gonna start from the premise that I am by no means infallible, on the contrary, I keep discovering imperfections every day. It's just that the people who think of themselves as fit to bring up my flaws, are simply that kind of people that provide me with pre-interview convertible weaknesses.

I've been recently told that I am difficult. That was because I had the guts to get into an argument with a guy who proclaims himself as "a smart guy that reads a lot", and the recklessness to contradict his 1 inch broad vision. I decided to conclude that by "difficult" he meant "complex", which after all is not bad at all, is it?

I've been scolded for being pretentious and snobby. Yes, I care about the place I buy my underwear and coffee from, and I fancy going on holidays abroad instead of my homeland. But it's only because I have a strong practical sense long term wise and when feasible I don't cut down on quality.

So, they say I am also arrogant and unnecessarily sarcastic, especially when meeting new people. I reckon a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, and on the top of my list is filtering as conveniently as possible the persons I surround myself with. If I can still go for sarcasm and arrogance instead of an axe, so be it!

You would never guess, I am also precious. Not in a nice sense, I don't believe I've unlocked that achievement, of being truly precious for anyone else except my mother. I apparently am a sylphid brat. Just because I have the nerve sometimes to be a bit protective of my own (precious) self.

After all these bluntly stated opinions, what else is there? I'd guess nothing but bitterness and a proper music background. Whatever,  whatever,  whatever.

Sundays I go crazy, this one too

It's like a hungry revolting monster eats me up every Sunday morning. I wake up wanting to act normal, well, at least the normal I used myself to, but I somehow slip into the crazy Sunday mood. Not quite sure what influences me to embrace this socially unacceptable conduct, it's not like every Saturday night I get stepped over and soul-absorbed by a thousand people trying to attend an overrated event or, oppositely, I feel randomly ignored. It was a mere happening that those should happen this Saturday, so it might explain today's partial Sunday fail, but what do we do about the rest? Because trust me, I am to be reckoned with in this holy day of the week, I wish I found a way I were not.

Somewhat helpful for the Sunday social monster was tonight's outing. We went to see Shorts Up via London in a newly opened location, some sort of an industrial space, overestimated, from my humble perspective. The course of events was rather acceptable, starting with a concert of Moonlight Breakfast, a fresh young band, whose lead singer seemed quite stoned to me. Their music is bearable though, I most definitely recommend it for steamy circumstances, for those who experience them, more or less. 

What followed was a number of short British movies, 5 to 15 minutes, which carried my mind and feelings through a rollercoaster. The journey started literally up with a "lift story", which I guess wanted to have a profound strike, but I had not achieved the right cultural status yet, so what I perceived was a bunch of people going in and out of an elevator and interacting at a superficial level. Meh, it worked though, superficial can be my thing. What followed was a rather disturbing tale from a sperm bank, which beyond the trivial and somewhat kinky cover up, I suppose was a pointer to how selfish and crazy can loneliness make human beings. But then again, who is not crazy and selfish may throw the first stone. Then an amusing alter ego story, about how can one take in one's dark side and learn to live with the horrible feelings and cravings that eat one's inside up. Rather appropriate story for my Sunday mood swings. Then Nolan's short up about a bug, from what I concluded a cinematographic interpretation of Kafka's metamorphosis, which I unfortunately missed while trying out the eco restrooms. Last but not least there was Stanley Pickle's story, which ruined everything I had been striving to build up with British muffins, Grolsch and enjoyable trivial little movies. The maximum level of sadness wrapped up in a toy story, with piglet sweaters, green fields and purple ribbons. Which brought me back exactly to the state I started the morning with, outmost heartly autism. We left before the bald lady sang, otherwise who knows what would have become of us. And who else to attend to the more earthly tasks Sunday evening brings about. All in all, I survived another week end without stewing someone, be it myself, which is great. And there's even more silver lining to the current situation. Tomorrow's Monday, so, good news, it cannot possibly get worse. 

Meanwhile, chop chop with your eyes wide open the delicious butter cream muffins, and forgive my crazy Sundays.

Later edit: A-ye, I shook out my stone age and discovered how to add videos, so here's also a sample of the Moonlight breakfast, a song so true it hurts.