Twee zachte armen om me heen....*

It has been for the first time in a very long time that last night I have wanted a boy/girlfriend regardles of being in love (which I am by the way but more on this subject later).

Not because it is what family and society alike seem to expect of me.

Not because I think a partner-for-life is essential for my happiness.

Not because I'm utterly sex-crazed from the withdrawal of physical attention.

But because it would be so nice to be able to say "Hold me for a while" without the immediate need for an explanation.

ANd I really don't feel like explaining. I only makes me tremble with anger. An negative loop that I need to get out of.

*two soft arms around me, a reference to a well-know dutch claasic about the solitude of a pestered misunderstood boy whose father is a sea

Rant XII

My faithful readers know enough of my character to think that the description of me as a person lacking patience is, if not accurate, at least an understatement.
A lack which I believe has been less and less apparent in the years wherein the posts on this blog have been increasingly few in number, but not solely because the quick temper was less often expressed. I pride myself on being very near the most balanced person that I can be. Very near indeed. If you, my dear dear reader are aware of faults in your own character, of which you know that with continuing self-restraint AND self-discipline you may lessen their evil influence over your actions and more importantly reactions, would it not hurt you in no small part to notice that hard work being undone by a source outside of yourself?

For that is what for ten months now haunts me.

I might never wake up happy, but nonetheless I wake up often enough well-rested and contented, vigorous and with a myriad  creative ideas to occupy my time outside the dull four walls of office space, but every day by lunchtime all my vigour, patience and determination are sapped. Sapped clear and dry (not sure if this is a proper english-language expression) because it takes whatever energy I can muster to keep my temper under control while my good intentions and clear instructions are being mocked and met with disdain and puzzled looks.

The first day of the rest of my life.

I've signed a contract today. With an employer that I dreamed of working for, from almost the moment that I started looking for a job.

I should be overjoyed, shouldn't I?

Then why does it feel like the biggest mistake of my life.

Le waste of time

Today I spent 6 hours in meetings. Six.

That's about 5 hours more than I 'm prepared to sit in an uncomfortable chair, listening to management decisions that not in the least concern me. And the one gathering that was actually interesting and interactive was a mixed succes.

Mixed since

a) I wished I would not have had to put up with the blabbing of colleagues/attention whores.

b) I took on some extra-operational responsabilities of which I have ofyet no clue how I'm going to manage them.

Challenge Accepted

I've challenged myself today. Can someone remind me on July 17?

Start People

The title of the post refers to the company that was unlike so many others succesful in getting me a temporary job. For those of you curious after my soon to be (temporary) employer. The picture should be a clue.

Road Trip

Yesterday, a thought looming in the back of my head for months has popped to surface: why don't I just give it up? Both work and house and start travelling? So far I'm thinking of popping by in Japan and California, US to say 'Hi' to some much missed friends and after that I want to hitchhike or backpack around New-Zealand.

Knowing myself, I will not pursue this plan fully, if I even make it to the first step but it goes to show that I am far from being as attached to my job as my bosses and co-workers would believe. I can't escape feeling slightly guilty, inspired by loyalty for bosses that don't seem to appreciate no matter what effort or result; but it fades quickly enough when I start equalling out the verbal abuse, the meagre paycheck, the lack of growth potential, and the numbing of my creativity.

November Newsflash

The second but last month of 2009 is drawing to a close and I feel that I most write something, even if it is but to announce some already well-known facts.

- I made it to 50K words in National Novel Writing Month, as you may also notice from the widgets on the left (yes, that left).
- I have achieved in 2009 whatever goals set for 2008 were left and hope that 2010 will prove a year of equal opportunities and self-love.
- I am on a job-hunt again, much the same as I was in this period last year, with the exception that I can now afford the luxury to apply only for those jobs that I want to do, while I'm doing one I'm not so fond of doing.
- I have bought all but one christmas present for my housemates. Including the one for me.

Extraordinarities

I had intended an update on how life back at the art academy is going, then later I intended one on some fortunate unexpected encounters, even later I wanted to share my workrelated frustration and then how I have had a serious open and construvtive converstaion with my superiors ( I wish to have it known explicitly that I mean here superior in company rank, in all other respects I will not be made to feel inferior).

But inspiration isn't bubbling and if it would be, I would be writing my private live in gold ink on black paper with red hot words, breathing lust, brutal passion, physical angry temptious sensuality and...

ehm not a shred of reality.

Bussiness Idea

Many many months ago, it may even be years, we* had the brilliant brilliant bussiness idea of getting paid to 'fake' somebody's social networking. Apparently it's not such a bad idea: click here.


* a group of my friends who by their nicknames are known as; Yahweh, Pegasus, Rabbitine, Dr. Evil, 01, Swashbuckler, Gentle Man

December 11th

Forever I have been doubting myself, until I proved today to myself my worth. I wonder if today will be the day that everything changes? Probably not.

Nonetheless I'm content and very much in the mood for celebration.

Money down the drain.

What good is it to spend money you don't have on fixing the seven month flat fore-tire of your bicycle when as you finally regain the use of your beloved and trusted bike, the rear-tire goes kabang, 6 miles from home?

6 miles from the warm comfy bed that you wouldn't have had to leave if the job counsellor would have taken the trouble to read your résumé first, instead of simply deciding on the dot that you may be to highly qualified already to apply for a course to improve what little competences your fellow contestants have that ARE eligible.

The Job - II

Loot
- 1, 24 €
- silver earring
- 1 can of Pringles 'Hot&Spicy'
- 1 chicklit ' Temptation in the air'
- 2 pencils
- 3 pairs of sunglasses
- white hat
- can of orange juice
- can of Red Bull light
- 2 keys
- 2 glossy magazines
- multitool
- map of Brussels
- 1 pacifier
- 11 ballpoints
- 1 fountainpen
- 2 umbrellas
- lighter
- giant box of marshmellows

It goes without saying that I gave away a lot of this stuff.

Medical File
- 2 torn fingernails
- aching back
- blocked nose

Paycheck
Around 2000€, probably somewhat less, but I ain't complaining.

The kindness of strangers

Warning: I had planned a post titled 'leeches' on how strange it is that some people at a mere hint of friendliness suck themselves into your life oblivious of how unwanted they are. Workshift switching fatigue has decided against it but you may find fragments of irritation of the same nature in the post below.

Looking nearly my least attractive I seem to still appeal to strangers in such a way that it is impossible for them to check notice boards or ask the railway station attendant their trivial questions. No, it is much more preferable to bother me while I'm enjoying my last carefree minutes before I have to start working. In exchange for my quick and acurate answers they are so generous as to provide me with advice. Unsollicited advice, there are few things I like less. And for your information, you personal space invading overly motherly middle aged cow, I'm not cold I wear short untill half November.

After the night shift, knowing I have at least two hours before I can get a train. I slowly walk to the station and make for the central waiting room so as not to be stuck alone on a extremely well-lit sterile platform. For the first quarter or so my companions are sleeping homeless people so napping is out of the question. I get into ready-to-doze-off modus and stare blankly at the not-so-cunningly artistic pattern of floortiles. An hour and a half of waiting to go and there appears my knight in shining armour, sent by divine purpose to warm my lonely nights or sit close enough to thouroughly disgust me with his improper English, arrogant patronising smile, cheap compliments, barely audible whisper and the assumption it is ok to just caress/hug/kiss random strangers. Good thing my nose is blocked from working in airconditioned spaces or I might have reeked the stench of alcohol on him too. Have I asked for this nitwit to lure me into giving my phone number (do not panic loyal readers I was tired not naïve), did I unwillingly invite him to declare his eternal love and friendship by not moodily barking out my independance as I would usually do but smile a tired yet possibly apreciating looking smile as he cycles by waving at everybody caring to look? It would seem so.

Well if glazy eyes, unkept hair, worn out pink trainers, cereleum blue sneaker socks, dirty beige shorts, an oversized light blue sweater, pink/purple stains of paint on all exposed body parts, unshaven legs and the unsual smell of disinfecting soap mixed with waste heap stink and restroom odour are what it takes. Watch out, menfolk, here I come!

Rant III or IV ( I'm too lazy to check)

In order to completely understand what I am complaining about you must know the following facts. I have a holiday job. This job is with the Belgian railways. Everybody and I do mean every single person that works at the Belgian railways receives a fluorescent yellow vest (available in the sizes small and extra large so whichever you choose it won't ever fit no matter how much weight you loose or gain) upon signing contract. This is because everybody that works at the Belgian railways (or so they make you think) must occasionally walk between the tracks and must then for everyones safety be as visible as possible.

The yellow vest now is so much associated with railway personnel that I cannot stir in it or I am asked questions on how come the train is late (note that this is the same train I have to take to get at the workspot in time), if there is nothing we (probably meaning the belgian railways) can do about all the people standing up in the train, by lack of seats (forbidding grandmothers with 3+ grandchildren going to the sea on pain of being branded out an eye with a red hot poker sprang to mind, but I managed to keep my mouth shut), if there is more than one train going from Blankenberge to Antwerp per day (seriously who wants to go to Antwerp? Then again who wants to be stuck in Blankenberge, it's bad enough to work there.) etc, etc, etc. This I do not even want to complain about, jobly hazard or something.

But today, still sporting my yellow vest I arrive at platform 7 whence my train leaves at 16h33, I get seated leaving one chair between me and my neighbours on either side. I take off my vest and start folding it in order to put it away. Barely has the man on my left (of course it had to be man) spotted the fluorescent yellow or he comes closer and starts telling me about his day and his job and yada yada yada. By nature I am a curious person, I want to know everything, whenever and whatever people tell me intrigues me and I always wonder about what they aren't telling me. Provided that what they are telling is something I don't already know, can't guess myself and isn't being breathed into my face alongside the not so pleasant smell of cheap beer and soggy yet smoldering cigarettes. And incidentally, yes just-together couples can be very cute but not when they are practically undressing themselves and eachother on the platform and he keeps whispering (or whatever the softest still audible 12 yards away voice is) in her ear how much he would like to make love to her. And even if they were cute, there is no need to point this out to someone who is very busy not falling in love again.

Watch Out! Fantasy on the loose

I planned a lot of posts here but my messed op life rythm is not only putting me asleep at weird hours, it also overstimulates my creativity. Before I went to bed this morning I thought about a post I planned concerning how and where and when (and most importantly by whom) my birthdayparty would be organised, I ended up dreaming very weird situations with hockey sticks, polar bears (both dead and alive), biomedical doctoral thesisses, gigantic silver earrings and pink snowscooters. I don't suppose you want to know. Factual posts however might be too much ask for from me this time.

The Job

So I've started a holiday jod, the toughest so far has been getting up in time. My biorythm is now after a mere three days so seriously fucked up that I find myself awake about an hour in advance, so I get on-line as I failed to make a connection to the internet yesterday evening when I actually planned this post.

My fellow job students:

Liflaf: The sum of his every feature should make him the handsomest, nicest, most likable man I have yet set eyes on, but from the fact that I could even consider Liflaf as a nickname you will learn that one plus one does not always equal two. He's nice enough though.

Wush: Not even worth pondering about. Plain and boring. Resigned after a mere day of less than hard work.

Cut: Looks, young and energetic but fell ill on his second day. Seems OK but I haven't really had a chance to talk to him.

The work:

In one short sentence, I clean trains. And I can tell you this, people are a messy lot. The dust and the occasional candy wrapper one can live with but I've seen dirt these few days to make your stomach turn.

The loot:
- 10 cent piece
- silver earring
- an unopened can of Hot&Spicy Pringles
- a novel with the title ' Seduction in the air'

I probably won't be that rich after just this one month.

Hectic Days

I have returned from London. In one piece but somewhat sad after the loss of my beloved Nicholas. I have managed to paint one wall of my room in time for the scheduled installing of shelves only to be informed hours later that the shelves-installer won't show up. I have cooked a delicious Couscous (dixit the eaters) and helped to cook an even better lasagne with mascarpone the day after. I reported for duty at my holiday job, lived through the medical check and met my colleagues. I have barely eaten today and I am exhausted by the heath.


Come back some other day for a review of London musea, a detailed description of my colleagues, an analysis of my emotional state and whatever more you fancy reading.

Stapler

Known as a handy office instrument, however some people have clearly underestimated the use of staplers in beginner's sewing classes.

"Perfectionist"

You heard it. That's what he called me. A perfectionist. As if it was a bad thing.

Bah. Men.