Sarbatori linistite

Mi-am tras din nou cuvintele aproape de mine. Dupa ce am jumulit mii de pagini, probabil ca miercuri voi rasuflata usurata ca am terminat cu operatiunea ”hirtoaga”. Am schimbat fotoliul in care imi string picioarele, m-am rasucit iar turceste sub mine. M-am rupt de lume. Uneori vorbesc, dar numai cu cei care nu ma scot din sarite. Nu uneori, ci de fiecare data. Indiferenta in aceste cazuri devine sanatate curata. Poate sint mizantropa, in compensatie, ii iubesc violent pe ceilalti.

Multe luni de aici incolo m-am programat afectiv doar sa iubesc, satula fiind de povestile pizdo-pulo-sufletesti ale altora din ultimii doi ani, ba chiar si de-ale mele on and off. Si numai din cind in cind sa scriu. Asa ca pun iar la cale un plan de escape. La astea sint experta, asa cum altele sint experte la distrus vieti, cersit atentii si inselat barbati.

Nu suport lumina, asta mi se trage de acum citiva ani, dar, de fapt, cred ca asa a fost dintotdeauna stiu ca mereu si prin copilarie ma retrageam prin cele mai ascunse cotloane, ca si cum as fi vrut sa ma ascund de lume, bine, nu ma cauta nici dracu atunci, dar prin pod descopeream praful cartilor si linistea necesara lecturii. Imi facusem culcus acolo, o mana de paie, o luminare pentru cind se insera, si o patura. Nu chiar de plush, si mai mult roasa pe la margini, dar e cea mai sentimentala patura a mea. Mai erau si niste porumbei care hulubaiau, unul gri si altul alb, nu-i deranja prezenta mea absolut deloc, se obisnuisera cu mine. Si eu cu zgomotul pe care il faceau. Daca nu reuseam sa-mi respect planul de lectura impus de mine, ma enervam, si oricine intra peste timpul acordat lecturii devenea inamicul meu numero uno si avea parte de un circ superb de crize de furie de-o intreceam pe Sarah Bernhardt.

De ce imi amintesc de toate astea?
Daca am regretat ceva in toti cei 6 ani de Bucuresti a fost exact acest lucru, programul sustinut de citit. Ma chinuiam de fiecare data sa recreez atmosfera din pod. Dar nu mai era acelasi lucru.

Ma enervau toti cei care abuzau prea mult de timpul pe care il petreceam impreuna, iar acum, dupa o saptamina de stat in casa, fara sa vad pe nimeni, fara sa vb cu cineva, printre luminari si prajituri, companie doar motanul Pasha, si iesit in curte doar ca sa hranesc cei trei ciini ai casei, ma roade napraznica soricareala de a face liste, un lucru ce ma relaxeaza, ma amuza, un tabiet ciudat inventat cu verisoarele mele just for fun… de la un fel de guiness book al relatiilor esuate din cauza plictiselii, sau a celor mai stupide motive pentru care ne desparteam de un barbat inca inainte de a fi cu el pina la… de ce cred femeile ca daca sterg praful sint minunate cind, de fapt, ar trebui sa stearga praful ca sa nu fie imputite. ce atita tam-tam… e ca si cum as face eu filosofii de doi bani ca ma spal pe dinti. e necesar, e igienic, e sanatate curata, asa ca… a se scuti…

Uite o lista cu lucrurile de pe biroul meu:
O lumanare parfumata galbena si alte doua simple, dar ascunse in niste felinare de decor (ambele caramizii, unu cadou de la Mayra)
arome de rom si vanilie de la prajiturile lasate de mama inainte de a pleca acum trei zile sa-si viziteze cuscrii de Craciun;
trei suporturi de pixuri si creioane, multe creioane cu virful sulita, nici un pix bun;
gauritorul de hirtii;
pasaportul si legitimatia de presa;
doua foarfece identice;
o bucata de cascaval (rontaita de mine mai devreme);
o cana in culori naspa (de mi se strepezesc dintii numai cind ma uit la ea) in care am suc;
alta cana in care am cafea (asta e rosie, simpla);
lipici, scoci si stickuri;
cleme, un penar gol (achizitie de la Cambridge);
jumatate de ciocolata primola de doua zile pe care nu ma hotaresc s-o termin;
un ghid cu Spania (necesar pt a verifica vechi trasee);
sucrazit (sa nu dau in diabet);
o lista cu trei titluri de desene animate (unu dintre ele trimis azi de zan pe mess, cica Persepolis nu e pt copii);
si… Ken Follet ”the Pillares of the Earth” (ca mi-au facut capul calendar unii de pe Camino… trebuie s-o citesti, trebuie s-o citesti).

Peste toate astea mai am parte asa:
luna atirnata prin geamurile mele,
luciul zapezii mai nou,
gotan project in winump combinat cu placebo (doar ”in the cold light of morning” si “protect me”)…

hibernare, nu pentru ca e iarna, ci pentru ca am redescoperit bucuria si linistea lecturii. Nimic, dar nimic nu se compara cu asta.
Cu iubitul e alta poveste… adica nu poti sta chiar in poala oricui sa citesti o carte buna…

Peaceful Holidays

I pulled over the words near me. After I have threw away thousands of pages, I will be probably relieved Wednesday when I planned to finish operation “paper-work”. I changed the armchair where I string my legs, twisting them in a turkey manner under me. I broked my world in thousands and thousands pieces of paper. Sometimes I talk with people, but only with those who do not get me out of control with their stupid stuff. Not sometimes, every time. Indifference in such cases becomes clear health. Maybe I am just misanthrope, in compensation, I love with violence the other ones.

Many months from here I just programmed myself to be in love, tired of listening all kind of sick cunt-dick-emotional fucking bulshits of others heard in the last two years especially, and even mine twisted love-sick stories happened on and off. And only from time to time to write. Meanwhile I`m organising another plan to escape. I am becomming an expert of vanishing myself, like others are expert to ruin lives, begging attention and cheating men. They said cheating men makes you more desireble, maybe it`s true.

I can`t stand the light, and actually I think it has always been like this, me finding a shelter in shadows… as I remember me in childhood drawn through the hidden corners, like I wanted dissapear into the world, well, even nobody was looking for me then, but in the attic I was descovering that time the dust of books and the serenity required for reading my stuff. I created my shelter there, a handful of straw, a candle when the sun went down, and a blanket to cover myself. The most sentimental one, very soft and very old. There were some pigeons in the attic, one grey and one white, and thier noise didn`t bother me at all, the sound of peace…. I think they were also used to me. And with the noise of my leaves. If I wasn`t able to respect my plan required reading, I get nervous, and everyone who interfere my reading over time became my enemy numero uno and have a wonderful circus crisis fury that overtake Sarah Bernhardt`s ones.

Why am I remembering all these? If I regret something in all those 6 years of Bucharest was exactly this kind of program claimed to read. I was tried every day to recreate the atmosphere of the attic. But it wasn`t the same thing.

I get nervous all those who encroach too much of the time spend together, and now, after a week staying in house, without anyone to see, without anyone speaking loud, just me with my candles and cookies, only Pasha the cat having company, and just going out in the yard to feed the three dogs of the house, I nibble some funny rush to make lists, one thing that relaxes me, tickles me, a strange habit invented with my cousins for fun … from a sort of Guinness book of relationships failed because boredom, or the most stupid reasons for which separate us from a man before actually being with him … to why women think that if they are dusting are so wonderful when, in fact, they should erase the dust not be stinking. so why they make such a fuss … ii`s like I`ll become suddenly more wiser just because I wash my teeth. Come on… it`s nothing to do with ”so wonderful”… it`s just healthier, hygienic, so… give us a break…

Here’s a list of things on my desk:

A scented yellow candle and two simple ones, but hidden in some decor cressets (both brick-red coloured, one – gift from Mayra)
flavors of rum and vanilla cookies left from my mother before leaving three days ago to visit her parents of her doughter-in-law (Christmas stuff);
three carriers of pens and pencils, crayons with many top spear, not even a good pen;
passport and press identification;
two identical scissors;
a piece of cheese (crunching it earlier);
a cup in bad pinky colors (hurting my eyes everytime I look at it) in which I have some juice;
another red cup in which I have coffee;
glue, gutter and sticks;
an empty box-pencils (acquisition from Cambridge);
half Primola chocolate two days old that I’m not done it;
a guide to Spain (required for checking my old routes);
sucrazit (not to give in diabetes);
a list with three cartoons` titles (one of them sent today by Zan on messenger, saying Persepolis is not for children);
and … Ken Follet`s “the Pillares of the Earth” (a lot of pilgrims this some summer gave me some headache on Camino … oh, you must read, must read, must read!!, well, I`m reading it now).

Over all I have a moon balancing through my windows, glossy snow glittering and Gotan Project in winump player combined with Placebo (only „In the cold light of morning” and “Protect me “) …

Soft hibernation, not because it is winter, but because I rediscovered the joy of reading in silence. Nothing, but nothing compares with this.
With loving someone is another story … I mean… you can`t sit in anyone`s lap and reading a good book …