Bored like me

GigglesAt times I get so bored by people I actually feel I’d start crying on the inside and my head would flood with tears, and my brain would then drown! And I’ll just drop dead amidst the conversation.

“Girl dies out of boredom” all newspapers’ front pages would scream.
“Such a tragedy, she was so bored – she couldn’t handle it.  They had no mercy”  people’d be whispering among each other on the streets .

You can easily picture the scene, even more so if you’ve watched Happy three friends – everybody’s happily engaged into a friendly chatter until someone’s head explodes. Only it’s just me and I am not particularly happy. I might seem friendly though. But mostly bored. On the inside.

Many would wonder – why would you cry on the inside? And I am fully prepared to answer that question. Because, mind you, crying on the outside after the age of three is considered a socially unacceptable reaction to mundane activities such as socialising. Being true to your inner calls often times leads to social isolation and painful death. Therefore,  civilized intellectuals do stuff on the inside of themselves. Those include, but do not exhaust with – shouting at people to shut up, using a fireball-shooting weapon, driving through pedestrians and counting the scores (mothers with children are rated the highest), sweep sharp objects through collocutor’s throat or corners of mouth, being rude.

Others would also wonder – is it possible to cry on the inside and flood your head with tears? The answer to that question would be – No, it is not possible to cry on the inside and flood your head with tears. Anatomy is simply not working that way. Dumb ass retard! (reaching for my shotgun)

I dare you to wonder more.


We started seeing each other one Friday around tea time. He was, naturally, a young English stud with a slim body, unnecessary manners and deeply embedded emotional short-comings.
“Exactly what I need – NIL emotionallity – I am incapable of attachment, my heart is long dead and I have priorities!!” my wise biligual head was muttering whilst my not so wise, alingual and supposedly dead part in me started its slow descend to betrayal.
One semi-sunny Wednesday that part ambushed me. I had spent the whole day fighting my urge to be romantic, when all of a sudden I named it fear and decided to go against it. Gave my last money for a train ticket to a small gray town south of London, famous for its women’s prison. I’ve always wondered why there’d be a prison in the middle of town.
I had a warm welcome. We had tea. And wine. And sex. We then slept together. All the usual.
I tried not to breath heavily, to walk quietly, to smile widely – the little creepy things that possess the, otherwise, sane people when trying to be liked.
And whilst I was playing my little spectacle, he simply said: “You need to go. My girlfriend’s picking me up in half an hour.”
I found it was such a cliché.
“I now get the prison”, I thought to myself as I caught my eyes hovering over the kitchen knife.
It was raining outside. Of course it was raining. It was pouring cats and dogs. And cows I might add.
Ok, I won’t make any scenes. I’ll just leave. It’s too trivial to pay any attention, my inner voice kept rambling.
“Right. Ok then. I’d need an umbrella. Please.”, me.
“I’m not sure I have a spare umbrella”, him.
“But you do have an umbrella, don’t you? Just give it to me, we’ll find a way for you to get it back”, my outer voice is still calm and I start to secretly admire my inhuman self-possession.
“I might need it in the afternoon. I’d walk you to the station to take it back but I’m not sure I’d have time.”
“Dude, just fuckin’ give me the bloody umbrella”, I started to realise this is the point where my inhumanness starts to back off.
“I’d really need my umbrella”. Him.
The man has spoken. I gave up. From there on I only could’ve gotten physical. Instead, I chose to keep my sanity (I was about to write dignity 😀 ), fully conscious of the fact that this story would have been much more interesting otherwise.
I leaned in and kissed his forehead, silently wishing him dry feet and a limp dick. I then left.
30 minutes under the rain.
At the train station I had an unpleasant recollection – the display of the ATM will show NIL.

Terror, n, Lat.

Know words. Acknowledge phenomena for what they are and choose whether to support or resist them.
Знайте думите. Назовавайте явленията каквито са и изберете дали да ги подкрепите или да им се противопоставите.
Comprez les mots. Nommer les phénomènes tels qu’ils sont et choisissez de les supporter ou de les combattre.

TERROR, noun, (Latin) A very strong feeling of fear. 1. Something that causes very strong feelings of fear: something that is terrifying. 2. Violence that is committed by a person, group, or government in order to frighten people and achieve a political goal
Anxiety, awe, dread, horror, intimidation, panic, shock, alarm, consternation, dismay, fearfulness
Calmness, confidence, contentment, assurance, calm, composure, happiness, cheer, glee, joy

ТЕРОР, м. (лат.) 1. Страх, ужас, причинени от заплашителни и жестоки мерки на властта или частни лица: Всявам терор; 2. Управление, властване с насилие и заплаха: Полицейски терор. Фашистки терор.
Ужас, гнет, страх, заплаха, безпокойство, измъчване, изтезание, насилие, преследване
Спокойствие, сигурност, защитеност, увереност, удоволствие, щастие

TERREUR , nom féminin, Peur violente qui paralyse. 1. Un cataclysme qui provoque la terreur de la population; 2. Pratique systématique de violences, de crimes en vue d’imposer un pouvoir : Un dictateur qui ne se maintient que par la terreur; 3. Personne ou chose qui inspire une grande peur, qui effraie : Ce garçon est la terreur du quartier.
Еffroi, épouvante, frayeur, panique, peur, voyou.
Calme, confiance, douceur, héros, sérénité

Mental secrets

I’ve been dealing with panic/anxiety disorder and depression for about 10 years now. No, I am not depressed throughout the whole time, and I am most definitely not sweating my ass off over the everyday bullshit in my life. In fact, I live a perfectly satisfying, independent life in one of the most exciting cities in the world, I stand behind my professional and personal choices, enjoy great social life and despite being a pretty feminine and attention-drawing female – I take good care of my balls.

However, every once in a while, I collapse into the greasy hands of despair and no rational reasoning nor pills or spirituality can  pull me out of there. I just have to wait, scared to death, for my misery to finish with fingers crossed I won’t die in the meanwhile (because I’m that scared – see the word-game there ;))

Now, here is a little secret. I go for a run every other day. I run about 3-4 kilometers, on a good day – 5. It takes me a kilometer to warm up properly. One might say – an average jogger. So,  once I’ve warmed up – I climax. I simply do. I don’t know why. It happens to other women as well.  It is not sexual. I am not sexually aroused; have no sexual thoughts or desires in that particular moment. I just climax. My breathing gets faster and heavier,  I get a heavy feeling in the lower part of my belly, I feel like running faster, I do… and I climax. I then have to slow down. Sometimes I have to stop. On rare occasions I have to sit down so that I don’t faint. Most of the times, however, no one would understand. I’d just run right through my orgasm, wait for the rush to pass by and keep running amongst the by-passers. That is one of the reasons I don’t do tandem running, running groups or marathons.  I don’t want to be judged, mocked, laughed  at and therefore – isolated for not being normal.

So, same thing happens when I’m having a panic attack. A panic attack, for those of you ignorant and blessed – is a disorder, which causes a sudden adrenalin rush, triggered by the, otherwise, in other circumstances, normal fight-or-flight response. In a matter of  milliseconds your blood pressure  catapults, your heart starts racing like mad, your thoughts get all mixed up and dramatically sink into the negative spectrum; you get the feeling that both your head and your heart will explode and you’ll vanish forever but before that you’ll make a fool of yourself, splash everyone with your own blood, hence die in pain and shame or .. simply lose you mind for eternity. Fun. It can last from 5 minutes to a good half an hour. Once the peak passes you’re left shaking, exhausted and slightly disoriented, and you lose all will to live. So, as I said, I’ve learned to run through my panic attacks – I panic alright – I just don’t let people know.  I don’t want to be judged, mocked, laughed  at and therefore – isolated for not being normal.

What I’m trying to say with this self revealing piece of … text, is as follows:

Be nice to the people you communicate with – you have no idea what is it that they are trying to hide.

If you’re nice enough – they might decide to share what they’re hiding – hence you might benefit. Or even better – you might help someone by simply being NORMAL AND NICE!


Parking Lot-tery

People sometimes say they are standing at crossroads.

For some – there are no crossroads. There are no roads.
Some are in the middle of an empty parking lot. Standing. Staring. Silent.

They fully realise the significance of their choice – it is universally insignificant!

Their reflection in the surrounding others:
Some are smiling, knowing that is the first of many free steps.
Others are frowning, yet relieved to have chosen to turn left, or right at the crossroads.

The best part of being in the middle of the parking lot is that it doesn’t really matter!

And here I am – taking a deep breath and make a step in the direction of my nose.

(*Smiling! ‘Cause one thing I know for sure – smiling is good for the facial muscles!)