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78 winter in the end of the world
This bit now will be bad, readers discretion needed. This bit will cover nasty bits of being a woman doing mans job, a load of bodily functions and/ or actual dysfunction. It will be all sorts of yikes. So you know. Or, in case you decide to continue reading – you certainly will know 🙂
In case you are new here or just normal person minding own business I start from the fact that I do work a few different jobs. Sort of. I run businesses but every now and then I have to do actual fieldwork myself. For instance now due to the orcs’ conducted war in Ukraine I have lost 90% of my income and hence I have no means to keep the staff on payroll. So I let them go quite some time ago. That again turns into me being the actual worker because nobody is much interested or able to come for two or three days off from their new post to help me out. You know, common sense. My work is heavy physical work that is outside, by the sea usually, open in fierce weather, devastating temperatures. I usually have all my nordic gear on, but the winds in winter are so strong it feels like someone is cutting your face with hundreds of razorblades. I am thinking of smearing my face with sealfat because I suspect that’s what inuits do. Though no proof. I might try geese fat first for a test if that will keep my face not frozen. The situation is so harsh I am ready to sign even blank paper to get away from there but I can’t. They pay is good, and in fact, the pay is almost the only income I have now, mind you, it’s just 10% of what it used to be. So I have to keep going. Blody orcs. And mind you, adding to the constant conflict around me and within me I am the only non-russian in this field, and I am the only woman. I fight inside me every fucking day to keep on neutral face with these russians. I know part of them are supporters of the ol’ fart called poo in a tin. Luckily they know I am “guilty” of deporting a few comrades of theirs. So they keep shut now when I am around. But the tension is exhausting. Especially when they have promised to rape me many a times within this 25 years of working together in the same field.
So. Outside, freezing cold, from 8 in the mo to 17. Straight. On feet, outside, no place to hide, no place to get warmed up. I dream of the oilrig job – must be norwegian tho – maybe one day when I grow up. There at least they get paid better and have food and housing taken care of. I do have 15 minutes breaks twice during the day when the machinery operators go for smoke, and one 30 minutes break called lunch. I say called lunch because within 30 minutes I am not able to go for lunch. It takes me 10 minutes to get to my car, another 10 to get to labourers cantene, and you already see I am late :). I can not leave. I stay outside, dig out my pie or a half frozen banana as a lunch and avoid drinking at all costs. I avoid it because there is no toilet near. One toilet is 1 kilometre away, hence I can get there within 15 minutes but I am not able to be back on time. So no drinking anything at work for the last 25 years or so.
Yesterday I had to go to work. Alpaca tights, thermo underwear, skipants, thermo socks, woollen socks, metal nose boots, bra, thermo blouse, t-shirt, wool pullover, feather vest, silk scarf, wool scarf, Helly Hansen feather jacket for severe weather, hi-vis jacket that is blinding yellow with reflecting stripes. Hat, gloves. Tools into pockets – I have sharp spear, permanent pen, knife. Then paperwork, handful of usual pens in case one of them decides not to work in freezing cold. Tissue paper for nose. If I actually feel the snot running 🙂 ! Because it can freeze in an instant…. you might just brake off the icicle 🙂 So I am set. I can barely move but better to have problem being a tad too warm or even hot than freeze to death within few hours. Been that, done that, thats how I say this. I kid you not! Few years back I ended up in surgery for being too long in freezing conditions. Not a pretty sight but lucky to be alive, it was close call!
So we start work. Boring. Not that cold luckily! I feel warm and can even open up zipper under my chin. Working outside in north the vital bit is shoes. My mom already said that every disasterous illness creeps into you through your feet. That’s how people died in Gulag. What she meant is even tiny cold turns into horrible fever if you get your feet cold, physically, not metaphorically. Feet must be kept warm. My feet are good today because it’s only -4C. For my american friends that’s about 24F. I used to work in -25C, which is -13F. Have vivid memories of surviving this. Horror, supreme horror. It was so bad I ended up in hospidal for my guts to be cleaned because I managed to get severe inflammation of my ovaries and tubes and it all turned into 2 kilos of puzz and it exploded in my abdominal cavity, and I lost consiousness and switched off totally. I liked it “there” tho. It was warm and subtle light, I heard someone calling me. There is a tunnel, I can confirm, but I did not see the light in the end of the tunnel, more like the light, soft light was all around me. I remember it well. Very pretty and comfy, no pain! The incredible excrutiating pain I felt right before just disappeared! That pain was when the tubes exploded. It was beyond the level of pain a human can withstand so the brain jumped into action. I read later that this is survival mode that the brain swithces on to in order to save you. You faint of pain in order to survive. Coma is the same kind of survival mode of body. Fascinating. When I woke up the medics were here, three nicest men I have ever seen. I was shaking on the floor uncontrollably, I could not stop my legs. Could barely speak. They asked me some questions they needed so they can choose the right action – one they asked if I am on some drugs, probably because I was shaking on floor so mad they had to sit on my hand to keep it still for injection. Morphin it is! That was incredible! Morphine started to work literally within seconds! No pain!!! I was so amazed I said no more need to go to hospidal, let’s all go to dance! I mean, these guys were like from the firefighters calendar. We had good laugh. I really did not want to go to hospidal, but let me tell you, I am glad I went because the abruption in abdominal cavity would have killed me within a day. So they took my tootbrush, some pajamas, put them into some bag, wallet, phone, charger and carried me out to their fancy red and white van. Thanks to morphine I felt nothing but joy. And sadness once they gave me over to hospidal where the staff was only russian pissed off chicks moaning on me being brought to their station. I always wonder why they think I don’t speak or understand russian if I am local. They can see from my name that I am local. And I am not teenager or 20 years old who today maybe don’t speak russian. Anyways, I was put to waiting room which is like a hall with 7 or 8 beds that are separated with the white bedsheet kinda things. Like curtains. I got to bed with someone helping me. It started to be weird numb feeling in my legs. Climbed to bed, someone took blood, then waguely remember one guy came took me to MRT pushing me in wheelchair just in case. I would not been able nor permitted to walk. They suspected something, and were all surprised I was not drugaddict. With me in the waiting hall behind the curtains was one teenager and behind another was homeless guy. God damn how stincky he was. And covered with maggots. Horror.
More later,
the gross bits about bodily functions did not fit even 🙂 so I will do one more soon!
Gotta go fill up car and feed the cats at cottage.
XOXOX
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77 no laughing matter
In order to remain sane humour is probably the number one tool. Just cruising around finding funny bits in every situation. I am pretty sure that humour is the best medicine. It is clear that people who can laugh over themselves hold better selfpicture and cure better from various illnessess. Or even cure faster. I was once very ill, ended up in the hospidal, nobody understood whats wrong with me because all the tests sort of showed that I am totally healthy. Yet I could not move, my skin was dark grey and all my body was in excrutiating pain. There were strange ulcers on my face and hands. Even breathing was painful. I vaguely remember laughing about it when chief surgeon came, sat on my bed and said they can’t sort of keep me in there if I have nothing wrong with me. So I asked if I am officially the best actor they have seen. We laughed. Then they ran some more tests and in two days she came back and said they have narrowed down the diagnosis to two possible cases and now is only one more bloodtest to be done to be sure which one is correct. I asked what are the two options then, maybe I can already tell you the right one. Because I know my body and each corner of the hell I have been to with this body. So she said the tests results indicate the two possible diagnosis have identical symptoms but cure is totally different. So I asked what are the two possible diagnosis and she hesitated for a long time. First option, she said, is that I have endured very long time very high level of extreme stress. Well, that was, indeed, correct that time. I had been working full time in a position of high responsibility and studying in university full time too. My days started at about 6 in the morning and I got to home at about 22 in the eve, full day only go-go-go, no mistakes, no slowing down. That had been going on for years and my body started to give up on me. I did not want to agree with it though because I had to be tough. I could not be loser like that. In hospidal for stress. It sounded about right, but I had to be tough. In hospidal for stress sounded like Looserville. She stared at me when I sort of fought the diagnosis. I asked whats the prognosis for cure. She said I have to give up one of my main things, either no work or no university. I was not allowed by doc to do both. Or actually, my body was not allowing. I asked for how long and from what time on. She said immediately and by the looks of it for at least a year. I felt she could hear the thoughts pacing in my head and I swear there was smoke coming 🙂 from my ears. I asked her if she saw the smoke, she said, no but I can hear the galloping thoughts in your head. We laughed. No laughing matter, but we laughed. I was devastated of the prospects of slowing down, losing my academic progress and probably re-doing some of the courses.
I asked whats the second option of diagnosis they suspect. And she said HIV. I bursted to laugh because that for sure, for me, was not the option. We did the bloodwork to be “officially” sure. I was right.
To cure the stress my doc said she has her novice idea of how to cure it. That time the diagnosis was not widely spread. She had seen just one case before. And the patient died of it. We became free not long ago and people were new to the capitalism and she said not all people understood how to live with new rules. Business, gangs, maffia, killings, that was common. And stress. We had long talks and she suggested, as a chief, that I accept her new way of curing for me. I was to be at nights at home and come in back to hospidal in the morning at about 7 or 8. Like work. The idea was that at home among own people the patient gets better faster. She was right. We laughed that me being sick is like a work! First week or two was difficult because I was exhausted and in pain. Then started to be better and better, skincolour changed back to normal bit by bit, the ulcers disappeared one by one.
I had to pause the university for a year. Obviously. I could not quit work because I had no other means of income, as all the commoners that time. Nor had I family who could feed me. So surviving alone was nothing new to me. Very hard, when thinking back to these times. Very unfair too. This doc saved my life by telling me if I don’t change the workload I will die. Even if my head refuses to believe it my body parts will give up on me. Just like my skin started to give up. Next would be heart.
I was some 2 months going every day to “work in hospidal” and then she said I can go back to either university or work and that I no longer have to come to hospidal. Unless I collapse again. I went back to work.
Many, many moons later I had stroke. Because of overload again. But that overload was not caused all by myself. That must have been the stars.
Anyways, the weird and partly illegal (she faked the documents as to show that I was in the nospidal 24/7, otherwise I would be considered non-obidient for the treatments) sessions in hospidal proved that humour is vital. Mental health was not considered healt issue at all in soviet union and thats why we did not even have boxed to tick in documents 🙂 So during the hospidal days she always came to my room for her lunch, when it was her shift. We chatted away and laughed about things that happen in life. I don’t remember any jokes, but I remember the feeling of getting literally better within hours.
So one day I now came across a real life story about Brisbane couple who drove their car to the shopping centre only to have it brake down in the shopping centre parking lot. He told her to carry on with the shopping while he fixed the car. Wife returned later only to see small group of people gathered around the car. On closer inspection she saw a pair of hairy legs protruding underneath the chassis. Unfortunately although the man was in shorts his lack of underpants has turned his private parts into glaringly public parts. Unable to stand the embrrassement she dutifully stepped forward and quickly put her hand up his shorts and tucked everything back into place. On regaining her feet she looked across the bonnet and found herself staring at her husband, who was standing idly and silently watching. The bloke from the AA who was the mobile mechanic on site however had to have three stiches on his forhead.
One of my neighbours is 90 years old man who suffers from Alzheimers. So every day in the morning at 9 he knocks on my front door and asks if I have seen his wife. I am doomed to explain every day to him that his wife passed away a few years back. I have been thinking about how to avoid him coming over, or maybe just not answer the door for some time so he would quit coming. But it’s worth it. I will keep answering the door and explain him his wife is gone because it’s just worth seeing his smile.
Love and all,
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76 my lucky numbers!
Everyone who has some co-excistance experience in life sure has received the mighty silent treatment. Or is it correct to say silence treatment? I got it. However its correct name is. I still remember the bliss! Nobody bothering me, nobody wants nothing, nobody talking shit or no shit. To this date I do not understand why some folks think the silence treatment is some sort of punishment 🙂 …. I loved it and I have fond memories of that time. Or these times. First time it happened I felt weird but then I remembered this very same silence was in my childhood home. Sometimes. But I remember it was just a few days because you can not really run a farm in silence. So the minimum words were something like that: “horses done?” or maybe just “mkmkm” as in “no”. Our people do not talk much anyway, so it did not feel awkward at all going days without any communication. I did have contacts outside home too, work and school for instance. Or even shop. That is why this silent situation went on for weeks and once even for three months! I took it like always needed vacation, chilled, had movienights alone, went to disco or for a beer, whatever I needed to be done I could do. Independent women were and are scary for men. I guess. I learned from childhood that if something needs to be done the way you want it to be done it is better just to do it yourself. This way it sure gets done the way you want AND it gets done more or less the time you need it. That is why I am not useless dandelion. Not only do I have to do all “women” stuff I also do all “man” stuff. I set up furniture, fix plumbing horrors in bathroom, set up electrical connections, can tell by the sound whats wrong with my car or its engine, build a house (3rd!!). I also do all the gardening and cooking and the desserts and baking for cafeteria. Also hairstylist. And seamstress. It all started out of need. Now I don’t even bother looking for help. Just pick up tools, find materials and do it. I like to have all things done in my terms. Can not stand ordering some plumber who comes and starts complaining about covernment instead of fixing the problem. Those bastards charge by hour. I know politicians suck big time, I sure don’t need to pay for listening this shit.
So. Ok, I am impatient. I am fast minded and free. That is how I can just decide in the morning that I shall drive to home island and go to the restaurant there…. and back the next day maybe, maybe not. I love this freedom. You actually can not have this kind of “outbursts” if you are common 9 – 5 worker, employee. This status is the worst you can have. All capitalists and communists of course love to have a lot of workforce who have just about enough means to survive, work hard and have zero ability to break free from this vicious circle. They teach this stupid stuff in schools to, even today: learn good, become someone and work hard. Probably parents repeat this mantra also, as coming from the same vicious circle. I tell right the opposite. Plus they see that I don’t work like “normal” people. They know I run few businesses, they see I work hard but I do that on my own terms, they see I usually do not work from 9 – 5. The concept of work is pretty vague for the young people, or kids actually. I think I will have 2 more businesses soon, ran by me only partly because someone has to be legal age to open bank account at least and sign contracts or so. I will be silent partner. You will be notified if and when the businesses will take off 🙂
Found myself a new closing line.
CUNT!
C U Next Time!
What did you think, silly!
off to editing my book
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75 Buon Giorno!
Remembered suddenly a concert of Chris Rea, the concert I must say. He had just written a song that he then decided to sing for the very first time. It is in internet ofcourse, look it up. I was, as always, in first row, right in the middle, seat 16 or 17 is always mine. Or both of those seats in fact. The song is Two lost souls. If you can find it live then that is, ofcourse, always better then the studio version. Well, at least in my opinion. For the artists who can sing that is.
I came to the two seat thing quite some years ago, some think I am just hopeless. I take two tickets to all the concerts I go. Yes, you got it right. I hope to have a date or a companion to go with me. Sometimes I have my girlfriend or even sister in law with me. But many times I end up going alone because everyone I know lives far away, hours of driving if not a daytrip away. So I go alone for the most of the events. Especially in winter. Nobody bothers getting out of the house in freezing cold. And in this endless darkness.
In my playlist this song is among Tom Waits’s “Hold on”, all the Leonard Cohen songs, all AC/DC, Metallica, Richie Sambora, Rammstein, and all the best blues songs on earth. “Tennessee whiskey” and such. Time flies. Last year I added a few favourites like “Sad motherfuckin’ parade” and “Let it be me” to my list. I put my endless list to play when I write. That actually slows my writing down because I have to sing along loud and wrong 🙂 Many many moons ago I had a stroke after which I had to learn to talk again. I did not even know I had a sideeffect or talk-impairment (not sure if that’s the word in English)! I did not know my mind was thinking one thing but mouth was telling totally different words!!! I realised it some four months later when at work the ladies did not understand me. I was telling about work, so I thought. I was telling about shiploads, forklifts and discharge speed, but out came some blur about horses, rainbows and bunkbeds!!! And all that happened in Russian language. The ladies looked at me in shock and distress, you know, the look like “wtf is this chick yapping about”…. My speach did not make ANY sense but they did not understand that they should somehow adress it. Because they did not know I have had stroke so they did not know I am in trouble. Or, probably they did not realise this situation needs to be adressed.
Went home thinking what the hell just happened. Started to put one and one together. I thought I told proper words. But out came totally wrong words. I started to hear myself, thinking back the audio what I heard myself telling. I sure felt I am dumb!!! Huge confusion! Asked around if anyone had noticed my speach being strange. Answers were not pleasing. I asked eveyone to alert me if they hear and see that I am talking nonsense again. Boy, it was every day. In addition of blurring nonsense out I lost letter “S” aswell. Took me some 1.5 years to have brain and mouth cooperating again. I still have sort of a blackouts but they are similar to what “normal” people have – you know, when you want to say something but you have lost every single word. As if you just don’t know the words. I have it in every language, which makes it slightly confusing if I tell something to my kids in Russian and they have no clue what I am talking about. My work is 90% in English or Russian, none of which are my languages at home. Today. Used to be English for many years, then Russian for not so many years…. Many times I start to talk at home in Russian after work, as throuhgout the days that the language I use and think in. The strange thing is I did not even realise I use wrong language. So all in all I think I have not totally recovered from the stroke effects on my brain.
The side effects or leftovers of paralysis are more or less gone, only rarely feel the difference. I also started to work more with my left hand. Probably initially I subconciously chose left hand to get over the paralysis. So I kept my left hand busy with everything I needed to do. Except writing or brushing teeth. Everything else I can do with left hand as far as I can think of. However, people around me think I am not right in the head because I laugh all the time. With or without obvious reason. I can confirm I have not been that happy camper all my life. For obvious reasons. But I do not remember being that jolly. I suspect it is the result of stroke. People ask me quite often what drugs am I using 🙂 and when I tell that nothing more but occasional Paracetamol or Iboprofen then they just look at me with suspicion in their eyes.
Singing was one thing that got me back to normal. I actually still don’t know if I am all normal again because nobody here knows the difference 🙂 of before and after. So I just hang around and be myself. Always laughing,
Sunrise. I see it coming through fog. The heatwave is over. Had a week of zero degrees outside. Now promises another round of freezing cold, some -25C. I love to look up what it is in Fahrenheit. It’s roughly -13F. We used to go to school with this freezing weather. One reason being we did not have thermometre nor phone or any other means of knowing that school is closed. So we went anyway and as many other families were poor as fuck as our family then their kids came to school aswell. So the schoolhouse itself was open because nobody ever locked the doors…. until one day the teachers realised someone on 5th grade had changed the grades in the “book”. The Book was the main book for the whole class’s grades, everything in one for every subject including sports. The Book was usually in the teachers room but sometimes the representative from class had to carry it from one classroom to other. While doing that every now and then someone realised how easy it is to better the grades. Usually “3” became “5” and “1” became “4”. If you failed and got “2” that was difficult if not impossible to “better” without teacher noticing. Changing the grades was pretty naive thought in our tiny island tho. Teachers knew not only everything about every student but also every parent, every grandparent even. So if you dumb enough to get “1” or “2” then this struck out and stayed with you forever. The first inventor of “bettering” grades got away with it mainly because the teacher of geography was a heavy drinker and she was not sure if she really put bad grades or were the kids suddenly all excellent in geography. Her 3-s an 5-s were both chubby and roundy, very easy to mimic. I know it because I had red ballpoint pen. Not one kid in school was allowed to use red pen. I also did not use it every day, because of fear of it getting confiscated. That was the rule. Only teacher write in red. So when my classmates came to me with that Book and asked me to write some numbers for a test paper I knew what they wanted. Oh, yes, giulty I am! No harm for me because I only had best grades, straight A student as they say. In our time the grades were 1 – suck at max, 5 – exellent. I turned some of the 3-s into 5-s. Not all, ofcourse, because that would certainly be strange – our boys were not all the brightest.
Storm is picking up. Time to close the windows I guess.
Stay cool and hot!
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74 was a good year?
Who would have thought that this blog turns out like that. Not the way it was intended but interesting nevertheless. You see, if you have read all the masterpiece from the beginning, or bits that were put up earlier, you maybe noticed I put up the email address for particular person to get in contact with me. Somehow on the way that created a bit of confusion in some peoples heads. It could be one person, it could be a few, I really don’t have sure way of knowing.
So the story is that someone in the magical wast internet figured that this email address is of Johnny Depp. On the contrary, that email address is not of JD. But someone is writing me thinking I am JD. It is, ofcourse, flattering! Grey boring chick from north Europe vs hottest ever superstar 🙂 Even tho all the blog posts are clearly written by a woman. Or, maybe my writing is so bad that the fact is somehow not obvious. I really don’t know. If you, dear reader, feel the need to vent off to JD some of the problems you have please feel free to write me. However, I confirm you I am not Johnny Depp. I also confirm I am not qualified to offer any advice nor recommendations on how to act, live, proceed in your life. Sorting out your life is up to you. I don’t mind listening (or reading that is) what you have to say until it does not include threats towards me. Please consider the fact that I have never suggested I am JD and that misunderstanding is purely your own error.
Now that’s done.
Crawled out of home today to do some flowerarrangements as a sidehustle. A few hours of smell and beauty therapy that is! On the way back driving on the coastline it was a pure magical view. Sea was calm and it was slightly foggy, sky was pinkish and sunrays were playing through the fog. Calm. Freezing yet pretty. Shimmering snow, bright white, blindingly white. It will stay white until the weather gets warmer, then they have to sprinkle some sand or salts on it to keep traffic safe.
Hoping for smoother weather from now on. That would keep our costs down. We are heading for bancruptcy if this goes on…. Well, the freezing cold winters has been going on years and decades but now with the wars just few metres away takes its toll.
Gotta go now, its way past midnight.
Stay warm,
Stay cool,
And Johnny, that email is for you 🙂
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73 a lovely number
It is a dark day when conversation with meth addict makes more sense than that with your family member or co-worker. I just realised the modern world just ain’t worth the bother. It’s no point in explaining your view on anything. Just leave. They will learn by themselves if lucky. Or, they will not learn. Either way it’s none of my business and they can do as they see fit. To each to their own.
I figured I only have to hold my own hand. Nobody will hold mine. Except me. I can be perfect at wifing, but still have to cook for just me. To not waste produce. Haha, in fact, sometimes going to restaurant is, in fact cheaper. Considering the electricity, water, time and cost of wine and candles it might aswell be cheaper to have yourself a merry little evening. A date for one. I am pretty good at it except the talking part. And being alone at the table in restaurant I thing probably would be weird if I laughed out loud alone. I am good at entertaining myself and with todays mobile entertainment centres a ka phones I can fulfill hours! If you go to market and take duckbreast, today 1 kilo is roughly 25Eur. Then you get some asparagus to go with it, 10Eur a bunch. I love asparagus with bacon and drissled over with butter, real butter. Butter butter as one might say. So I take two bunches, 20Eur. Now butter, last I saw was 3Eur. Now maybe a good rose. Or two. Then you drive home. And, it could be that you fuck the duckbreast up as you were opening the bottle or something and it all got burned. Theoretically that can happen. Never happened to me but it could! So you do have only asparagus and wine 🙂 and bacon because I always have bacon in the fridge. That’s the most constant diet I have! Wine and beer (beer is mostly part of my summer diet or a must when time for sauna) bacon, butter, carrots, brokkoli and califlower, asparagus if lucky, always real farm eggs, and a lot of milk. That’s the basics in my kitchen. When in mood then I always have seafood and fish too. My favourite is real trout or salmon caught by friends on island. Really thinking of getting my fishing gear again. Last I went fishing probably some 20 years ago :).
So yesterday I went to my cottage and re-designed the cats feeding house to accomodate them during winter. It is a small kennel that I made few years back just to keep the food for them. Now I saw, obviously, they were freezing in -18C, shaking and starving. So I got the polypropylen or whatever the white stuff is called that is used for insulation and that used to be around all electrical devices. You know the white stuff which you can break into small roundy pieces and looks like snow. So I got few sheets of this, a electrical flooring mat and some nice mats. Opened up one side of the kennel, lined the walls from inside, put up a curtain for the door to keep the snow and winds off a bit more, lined the flooring and closed the wall up again. It is now officially in better living conditions than my own cottage which can be used only in summer! The kennel now keeps warmth, the cats moved in but are not liking the fact that they can not see anything because it is closed house and they are wild homeless cats. The floor is +22C at all times, which also keeps the canned food not frozen. It used to freeze within a minute or less even. Now I put food to the floor and it’s just about right. They will eat it anyway within a day. Which means I have new challenge – how to make it so that there is food all the time so I don’t have to drive there and spend minimum 2 hours every time I go there. I realise the canned food is impossible to put somehow to come out by portions. But the dry food could run from the silo-looking bottle down to the feeding bowls. The same way we used to feed our chickens, you just need to top the silo up. I need to go to the building materials shop for some inspiration :). Is it me turning into that dreaded catlady? 🙂 Or is it already “done” with no return….
I just thought about one of the best comedians ever – Carlin. I am pretty sure it was him who said: “opinion is like asshole, everyone has one”.
We here, in dark and cold bit of Europe, don’t have therapy.
We have wine, tequila, beer, vodka, rum, seaside, endless forests, blues and rock. And dark cozy nights.
With those two thoughts I shall leave you all,
Good nite to everyone
Good nite JD
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72 freezing start
It’s noon. Made second coffee now to go with the cinnamonrolls that are soon popping out of the oven. Damn, I am such an excellent housewife. Never married, never will be probably but damn good wifing :). That’s the first new word I thought out this year. I have had some good words before but this takes the cake. Wifing. Damn, I must be genius, I shall give myself a prize of some sort. Maybe an early rum! That will do!
It’s the age (my age, mind you) and the technological advancement that has finally, after decades of wild guessing and failing, brought to me the weather forecast. I now know without opening door or window how much and what I have to wear if I want to survive. Today at night I finally closed the window in my bedroom that has been open all year long. It started to feel crisp and the three covers were not enough. Got a few hiccups starting the engine in the mo, as it’s diesel engine. But as I use the fancy Finnish diesel that is designed for – 32 C it gave me a few seconds of adrenaline but then started. Coughed a few times and then ran smoothly. Waited five minutes or so and went to do the job I booked last year. You know the last year, shittiest yet. Saw -21 C today. Form my american readers thats about -6F. Had to do one hour round in freezing cold. Just one hour of work outside. And it was horrible. How could I do 18 hours shifts in this weather beats me. Outside 18 hours straight. No lunch, no toilet. I must have been crazy. The point of no food nor drinks policy that I set for myself was due to the endless layers of winterjackets and four pairs of pants. So I refused any drinks because I simply could not go to toilet. My job is to keep my eagle eyes on things happening. A watchdog. The best one. Or the only one standing. I measure the success of my nasty job by how many enemies I have made. The inborn russian mentality of theft that they have is 100% contradiction to my understanding of fair and honest play. I don’t steal, I don’t lie. They can’t live without theaft and lies. It’s actually amazing topic for social studies – russian brain and it’s quirkyness. They have tried so many times to bribe me, which is amazing because I have stated that many a times that no “russian kind of business” is never going to be accepted. I rather go poor and starving.
Went to check up on my cottage yesterday. That means feeding wild cats and birds too. Last there was just two cats, gave them fresh food, they ate it all. Then before I left I put another half kilo of canned food. This time there was seven cats! All hungry and shivering madly, because it was – 18C :(. They have no place to hide. I have to make some sort of heating system for them in the feeding house. Some sort of heating bulb that reacts and switches on with movement sensor. I have to make it fast because January and February have always been the coldest months and it’s promising – 25C in a week or so.
Off to neverland now, took sleeping pill to get into proper schedule. I have to get to bed much earlier in order to wake up as common people. Meaning I would need to wake up way before noon 🙂
Stay warm and cool
Happy New Year!
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2024
So it came. No head aches tho, so no need for that t-shirt :).
Some say it only comes in spring because many moons back the counting of months and days got all messed up and the real start of the new year is in the end of March. Hence the first sodiac sign is Aries. Start of new. End of long winters sleep, everything is starting up, waking up. That’s why winter feels like dead end. In northern bits of the world at least. It’s just dark and cold. Nothing starts in dark and cold. Even batter for bread will not start in cold. Apart of baby bears nothing starts in winter. But that again, only valid in the deep north where I am. I guess. Wild guesses.
In winter part of us or within us just comes to a standstill. For many years it was, as I now know, fatal depression. Sometime in November I become a monster. I was just so beyond angry, gray skin peeling off, hair falling off, bitching on everything. Years and years of surviving this monster that I became. All up until March or April, clearly depending on the weather. In spring I became me again. My friends noticed it much better than me. But they were polite and I was fun when I had company. The unwritten rule is all your worst shite is shown to your closest ones. Family. Which I had none. So everyone was safe. I learned to handle the now-google-diagnosed-depression by occasional heavy drinking and partying, which meant disco on Friday night and pub-crawl on Thursdays. The Thursdays became a thing due to Irish pubs being open and offering, for the first time in our life, the happy hour and game watching on big screens. It was unseen until that! This meant I was regular in my two favourite joints right after my work finished at five in the eve. Went straight to pub, glans already drooling from the dream soon to become true – huge cold beer from the tab! Oh, and spicy chickenwings!!! I usually had some two pints in first pub called “No name” and then dragged myself to the one closer to home called Molly Malones. Ofcourse! At Mollys I had another two pints and then headed home. Four pints was the exact thing that kept me sober yet pleased and capable to wake up at seven in the mo for the last workday in the dreadful and boring office. Dreadful because on Fridays they bosses always opened some vodkas. Right at 17.01 the pens dropped, table got set with “sakuska” and the distinctive sound of ckrk-ckrk-ckrk for eight times was the notice that bottle is now open. I could never excuse myself from that slightly odd tradition they had established long before I got the job there. The office was small, just nine people. And me being the only local “aborigen” and the only female. I was pampered just about the right amount, no harassement, no hassle, no weird suggestions. I loved it there mainly because I was certainly useful with my language skills and there was no tensions between girls as I was the only girl. Before that job I worked in all female setting which was true torture, I get chills just thinking about those intriguers there. So Friday vodka testing was a thing in office. I first was a bit shocked because I was, in addition to being only female, also the youngest at 18. The others were 30 or so up to 50. And they all were russian speaking, not russian, but russianspeaking. That means they were the kids of occupants that were sent here after WWII to keep us safe :). And bring culture. The same old same old they now do in Ukraine. Being 30 or 50 years old occupant meant and still means that they spoke not a word of local language. In Lithuania and Ukraine the soviet occupiers forbid speaking their language. Some countries kind of got away with it partially. We got away with it probably because they killed the rebels or sent them to Siberia. Short calculus shows we were the smallest occupied country that time so they must have figured we will die out soon anyway. In 1960 and 1970 in our capital I hear half of the kindergardens and schools were fully in Russian so they had no intention learning our language in the first place. We had to learn Russian. Imagine chief of firedepartment in my home island being 100% obtuse, only able to speak in Kyrgys or Russian. He lived here for 35 years and was unable to learn more than three words! And he was proud to know: hello, goodbye, closed. The last one was for the restaurants and bars he went to kill his sadness every evening. He was sad because he was promised a good life building up soviet union in this weird little land full of pagans. He was given huge house out of which the local owners were kicked out. You see, they built a house. We too did. Many did. Private property was unheard of in soviet union. They just came, strolled around and chose the one house they liked. Knocked on the door and told the owners that they have two to four days to get the fuck out of the house.
So I ended up working in the small company with all those sad soviets who still tried to rescue us. They liked the capitalism but after half litre of vodka they all started to sob and tell me how ungrateful I and all my people were. To some extent I was able to convince they were wrong and they should learn our language, especially if they were born here. Some of them understood. By the time I quit five years later two of them were fluent.
So. New year first round done. In spring second round. I took on writing courses to keep me busy. It is American based writing courses so it’s a bit of off for me because it focuses on fiction. I am writing authobiography-like things. So some of the rules don’t really apply but it’s still fascinating. For instance the bit the teacher tells to edit out all sorts of useless words or so in order to keep the reader alert and continue reading because it’s impossible to put down the book. All of it makes sense really. I just have to focus and ruthlessly edit what I have written so far. Yes, all the draft I have sent you JD some time ago, I am editing now. And adding on few chapters to get some decent lenght to it. It’s really hard to get to work because it is terrible story. Yet I have to make it so captivating that readers don’t stop before the book is finished. I know I have to prepare with my setting, timing, everything. In case I have anxiety attack from reading it times and times over.
Today is my Moms Birthday. She was born into war. Her mother died when she was two weeks old. It was one of the coldest winters. My grandfather was the biggest cunt on earth, shagged a new chick or ten right when wife was on labour. That resulted in birth of the mother of all evil on earth, my stepmother. All he wanted was to get some pussy, dropped all the kids to his sisters place and fucked around a bit more. From this side of my genes are tunisian, maltese and italian, that’s the bits of family history we know of. One day I will do the magic of the saliva tests. Probably will end up being scandi and italian 50/50. Hm, or maybe german from my fathers side :).
Listening to Harry Belafonte “Island in the sun”. I know all of his songs by heart! Damn he is gorgeous! I need to take a trip to Tenerife or someting, to get over the blues. Care to join, JD? Patatas bravas (I think it’s Brave potatoes in English) and coctails are waiting! The have killer menu in Rock Cafe, and well, tapas is to die for in every joint on the coastline.
Love and all,
Stay cool and warm
XOXOX
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70 time to tally!
Year 2023. Dreadful, straight horrible. That’s the few things that come to my mind first. Unfortunately. It’s mainly about the re-start of war in occupied Palestine. And ongoing war in Ukraine. Occupied I say? Yes, they were unfortunately too kind in 1947 and let the ungrateful jews in. That was a mistake. Horrible mistake. We knew it here, in a faraway country immediately. We had no jews here that would be remarkable amount. We had handful. Apparently it was even for them too far away and too awkward of a place. End of the world really. They did not come here. They were not here. During Second World War they executed mainly our people, with a handful of jews. Really a handful. So, what I am trying to say is we had nothing much to do with jews. We are in the end of world, a poor countrly where nobody really wants to live. Except russians perhaps, I don’t know. It’s pretty here but in order to survive one has to be a filthy rich. Had to be and has to be. Even though jews were rich they did not like it here. That says a loads! One would say it’s godforsaken land. I say, as I am not religious, it’s a land behind gods back. Hidden. A true gem!
I know it’s difficult. To live here seems like 19th century sometimes. No toilets, no running water, no electricity! That’s ofcourse, mainly in deep forests. But also in some villages. Like the one where my summer cottage is. I have had every blody day the sms messages coming in from the energy provider: We know you are without electricity, we try to fix it as fast as we can. Halleluja! And I only sigh in amazement as I don’t have any means of heating there apart of electricity. That literally means I would freeze to death in case I lived there!! It’s fucking 21st century or 22 already? Or, are we back in 19!? I lost the track when all the wars started over Ukraine and Palestine. If there is one thing I know about it’s the occupation. Not the work kind of occupation. But bullying, killing, harassement occupation. Yes, there are fancy rules. One must not kill children nor old people, nor women. Jews apparently are illiterate. Or, I must add, the jews are beyond illiterate. Yet they are proud about it all and claiming to be the chosen ones. I am sorry to say but I have seen the lululand nutters before. The jews sure have lost all their marbles, literally. No doubt there. But, common people are not blind. Common people of the world are not blind…. Yet the talking heads either are just plain stupid or pretending to be due to exceptionally high cash given to them by jews. I put my bet on the latter one. I am not blind. For a few millions I have seen people sold before. Whats a 12.000+ palestinian kids below 5 years old, – whole yearly birthrate here in our country! – to be killed for self defence. Because you see – they are better when dead as if not they will grow up and kill some jews. Yes, you say not all the jews are bad. Sure not. I am well aware there are decent jews and, hold and behold! decent russians! The problem is, the decent ones are either quiet, imprisoned, killed or just silent in order to survive. For us, bystanders, it is called collective guilt. You are guilty of genocide because you do not do ANYTHING to stop it. You, with your silence, SUPPORT killing babies. Fuck you. In this case the world is black and white. I see black and white. Hey, jew, don’t be afraid! Take a sad song and make it better. You are not the victim here. You are the bully. For the last 75 years you are. So, don’t you wonder why the whole world hates you. You are the demon. You create hell on earth. It’s YOU who must be destroyed. Soon. I hope. The whole world hopes.
When I was a child we had a tale. A tale to scare the kids to go to bed on time or just behave. You know, the one where parents threat you with something coming up unless you go to be immediately. Boogie man, clown or hairy black hand that is fixed on dragging you under the bed. For us it was a boogieman or a jew. Well, the boogieman thing is clear, right. The tale of a jew goes like that. It was made clear to children NEVER to let a jew in to your home. Because jews were like squatters. Your home would be taken over and you would be kicked out. That was the story. And that has now become apparent. After palestinians welcomed the runaway jews that came from concentration camps in Europe in 1947 the palestinians have been tortured, killed, occupied. And killed again. No good deed gets by unpunished. Harry Belafonte. Another love of my life. I don’t think I have ever cried over a person that I never knew personally. But when he died I cried days. Just look at him. Just gorgeous! Being this handsome should be criminal :). Listening him singing now. Had a few dances around too. Angelina, Angelina, bring down the concertina and play! Banana boat song, another favourite of mine from the times I was homeless. Who could ever see that coming that I grow up with Harry Belafonte, Tom Waits, Leoard Cohen and Richie Sambora.
Ribbons for her hair. Never had ribbons for me hair. Just severe beating every day. Every day. By my stepmother and her husband. When I was three years old, all the way up until I was four and a half years old. Rotting alive. Starving for months on. Only food was onion or paprica, a bell pepper. Occasionally a whole sandwich with sardine. Or three spoonfulls of cottage cheese.
Work all night on a drink of rum!
Stack banana til the morning come!
Come mister tallyman and tally me banana!
Daylight come and we wanna go home!
Down at the market you can hear
ladies cry out while on their heads they bear
acee, rice, saltfish are nice
and the rum is fine any time year
Sad to say, I am on me way
won’t be back for many a day
my heart is down
my head is turning around
I have to leave a little girl in Kingston town
Matilda! She took me money and run Venezuela!
Well, the money was just inside me bed,
Stuck up in the pillow beneathe me head!
Dont’t you know,
Matilda she found me money!
Oh, island, in the sun! Willed to me by my fathers hand,
all my days I will sing in praise
of your forest, waters
your shining sand
Well, that’s certainly my island. I will take you there and hide at my place, sauna, beaches. Home was where I hung me hat! Was.
Today is the last day of the year.
Last day as if, by some magic, just when the number on the calendar turn, everything else will turn good, better, excellent. Or all the bad would end.
I hope that would be the way. But I know it does not work that way.
I dream of the CD JD and I would create. Perhaps a few even. One for Xmas for sure. Fore Shane memory. And some mix of fantastic songs from Harry Belafonte, Leonard Cohen, perhaps even Tom Waits and Richie Sambora.
But anyhow.
We can only wish for better. Better everything. Better job, better weather, no war, no hunger, no illness.
Daylight come and me wanna go home
Love to all
Stay cool and warm
JD, Happy New Year, all the blessings, hope to see you here soon!
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69 just a number 🙂
Dave Allen on religion, and on everything else on Earth, has everything sorted out and clear. He is (or was) just like me but more articulate perhaps. At least in English. English is my fifth language, so I pardon for mistakes in advance…. for those who find themselves here reading. Enjoy!
It still amazes me that on this day, year 2023, people still believe in some strange mighty bearded creature on cloud. I mean adults. Kids believe in Santa Claus, princesses, teenage ninja turtles and whatnot. But adults? Adults, who, expectedly, have completed some sort of formal education to some degree. These adults believe in “god”. Brainwashed. I understand wild ones who still catch food by poisonous spears and arrows and live in huts in the deepest rainforests and loneliest islands. But see, even they don’t believe in god but nature powers and mix it up with a bit of hope. Their hope comes from the fact that they have been observing their whole life that once the humidity changes then the feeling changes. Or, when praying for game they, just in case there is “god”, make a sacrifice. Just in case. Their wise man has observed long years and carries on the stories of the last wise man who before that did just the same. Or medicineman. Or just village witch. When the witch-hunt in Europe commenced all “enlightened christians” figured the strange ladies living with black cats and knew how to mend some diseases were witches. Today we know they were just learning and knowing about natures healing properties. Herbs, you know! The tea you drink today has close to no healing properties unless its pure herb tea. I wonder, if baristas are in danger of witch-craft…. The “enlightened christians” saw just one: the plague devastated whole countries. Everyone died but the strange ladies with black cats. You know why they survived? The plague was carried by rats. The witches kept the rats away by having cats close by. Magic, right. All good up until the “witches” were set to burn alive. They survived the plague only to be killed by idiots. Enlightened idiots. Those kinds are still living today.
Today the wild people that live in secluded places, I can understand them. They have no books, no libraries, no (formal) education, no Google. However, the people that wear clothes, have phones, go to school, speak several languages, build skyscrapers and fly planes – how they can be so stupid to believe there is god. That I don’t understand. And what do the people from today want from so called god? Let me tell you. They want their sins forgiven. And let me tell you. Their sins were forgiven, as per their magic book, already 2000+ years ago. So literally, they can rape, kill, beat, torture all they want because they are forgiven already long ago. Merry fuckaround!
My dad had only 6 years of formal education. He had to work when he turned 13. But he learned a lot while working. Observing, understanding how nature works, when its allowed to hunt deer, when you have to prepare fields for crops, what happens if the sky is purple, when its safe to go to the sea. Things like that. He was very smart and wise. Maybe its because he had all the time in the world to think. He was doing physically challenging jobs all his life – be it sailing around world or being forester. He read a lot. Probably could be said that he was selfeducated and with wide view on life in general. Why else would he know about world politics in 1960 to 1980, all the way up to 1990. He knew things in Middle East, US, Japan, Europe even though we were stuck behind iron curtain and not much leaked through.
When Jeff Beck died the whole world came to stand still. Maybe it just looked so to me but it sure was devasteting. I am not easy to be shaken or taken aback but when the news came that he had passed away that day…. It felt like parallel universe, I don’t think I realised anything going on around me for a week. Some people have that effect on you. Rare people…. To think we have medical aid in such level that they grow you new face, maybe even new limbs any day now but they can’t fix what seems rather well-known illness. I mean, once you know the problem you just need to fix it.
And now Shane. Imagine being sent back home as if all is going well. I feel he knew when he made a video at home saying goodbye. He knew its time. He was released because everyone realised there is nothing to do. And he wanted to leave in peace at home. I hope that what it was. Which doesn’t make it any easier considering how young he was. I mean 65 is when people start to rock around, no? Until then it’s just surviving, fighting, working your arse off to pay bills. Don’t feel good about the incredibly disgraceful speech his wife gave during his funeral. It really felt out of place to mention if Johnny D has forgiven his ex for the horrors of the courtcase. What a disrespectful tirade. Could be that I am delulu but it really was of really bad taste. Let’s put this awkward situation on the difficulties of losing significant other. She must have been a wreck. Condolences for everyone.
Just realised we too are very welcoming country as we don’t have chinatown. We are true welcoming country, not like US! You see we don’t have chinatown because we let them live with us! Just kidding. We probably have some five to ten chinese living here. It’s not interesting for them. No factories, no jobs. Just a random thought that was….
Will close for now. Soon Xmas. I have tree ready for some time. I guess I got it up and decorated on 1st of December. That’s late for me 🙂 but I will survive. For this year I invented “ombre” look on the tree. It means its decorations smoothly go from one colour to other. Mine is now from dark blue to light blue to white. These three colours smoothly emerge from one another. Welcome to take a look! Especially when you leave a present under there.
Working on Xmas album. One of these days! Johnny, if you care to join let me know. Fairytale of New York suits you just fine.
Stay warm
Stay cool
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The Mad Hatter 