The saddest day of my life.

One of the saddest days of my life, the hot sunny day of 28th of August, when the air was filled with crisp smell of tomatoes and dill, and my mum brought me to a room where my ageing father was sitting, so tiny and pale, his face almost empty of colour, as greyish as his beard.
The last time I saw him with a beard was about 20 years ago, when he came back from a two-weeks long hunting trip in depth of Siberia, carrying his hunting trophy – body of a moose, roughly cut (surely, for dramatic effect), in those huge bags that made his muscles budge under the thick woollen jumper, smiling eyes in deeply tanned skin, those eyes, I’ve been complimented numerous times about, they are sapphire blue and striking, and those blue eyes were looking back at me now, not recognising me.
He asked my Mother a few times, in a soft whisper, the sound dry leaves produce when the light breeze catches them and carries them across the asphalt, who I wad, and never really cared for the answer.
Once left in the room with him, I was scared to even look at him, and when his head was turned away, I glanced at him several times, I do not know if it was the shock I felt at how my father looked, or just enormous, enormous sadness. His once salt and pepper hair turned snow white and thin. The trembling hand on his cane looked skeleton like, with knuckle deformity protruding scarily. He was shrivelled. He appeared to have no flesh left, just fragile bones, sticking out from the oversized checked shirt, which he was wearing, and which one was a right size for him. And worst of all, he did not have all his teeth in, only the front ones. The hollows in his cheeks were deep, deathly.
I guess the blow wouldn’t be so hard if I were not a single child. But that was it, the saddest moment of my life. When I realised, that there was no father left for me. Or the old fragile man in front of me no longer had a daughter. He had my mother, and a dog, that was already dead for a year, but about who he never failed to ask my mother, if she fed her, she was still alive in his memory, and hungry, just like she always was; he had his favourite food, and his favourite radio station on, constantly humming some old jazz tunes. But no longer did he have a child. I was no longer exceptional or unique or rare in his eyes. Iw as just a stranger. Or maybe he had, the young child in his head, the little girl in checked dress and ponytails, the one I can only recognise from the old photographs.
And me, so independent and free, and suddenly, I so wanted to be recognised, somewhere inside me, I choked and cried, but outside, I just kept asking polite questions, to which he would give lonely answers, his voice a raspy sound, the only thing uniting us was the colour of our irises, the blank blue of his eyes, still beautiful, like water.
And, hopefully, the strong heart, which would go on and on even when the brain refuses to work. The saddest day of my life, when I realised that this is not the heart that loves, but the brain.

Less than a month later, on September Monday, my father died.

TGIW*

*w is for Winter! I can start hoping again.

LP

I nearly hurt myself thinking about LP last night, while vigorously masturbating. I just could not get off. I blame the child in my life, the one who is not my issue. I tried so hard and I came, and I fell asleep.

(Also, I finally finished "Cherries in the snow" by Emma Forrest. What a wonderful book! I wish I could express my emotions as raw and truthful, as Emma Forrest.)

This world, this world.

This feeling of jealousy is killing me, it's eating me from inside, I can feel it's burning inside me. Why he has everything and he has not had to work for it? Why everything he has, with travelling, private education, green house upbringing. Today I refused his visit, he wanted to come in January, and I said no (even though I used to say yes before). He said he was upset because he was really looking forward to coming, and I said, and what, you always get what you want? Pretty much, was his answer. Well, to even it out, you are not going to get this.
Even though I want him to come. I want to punish him. Obviously, more than I want him to come. I want to punish him for that £30,000 per year school, for all the latest technology gadgets he wants and he gets the moment he wants them. I want to punish him for never having trouble with money, for never wanting stuff so bad and yet not having it, for never thinking that tomorrow you might not have no money at all, for having his mum not working and for his dad who supports the family of wife and four children and who is employed, employed full time, and the most repetitive word on his dad's CV is CEO. I want to punish him for being young and not having a mortgage and a child. I want to punish him for 3 snowboards he has. And I want to punish him for the fact that he does not have the latest iphone just because he does not fancy it. He just does not want it. I want to punish him for my stolen Blackberry and for the fact that those £300 that I had to pay for an early upgrade set me off big time and I am in trouble with my rent. I want to punish him for the fact that he wants and might go to university full time to study civil engineering.

i want to punish him punish him punish him i want to hurt him.

And most of all, I want to stop hurting, I want to banish the tears that I feel right now, right this second, behind my eyes, pushing pushing pushing their way outside. I want to not exist in the place where people do nothing and have everything, and where people work hard to get crambs, and don't give me the bullshit about love that cannot be bought and everybody is equal in the face of love - does he have it? He claims to be in love with me. Do I have it? Do I have it? For what I have, I had to fight. I had to go for it, I had to chase and conquue. So, no rest for me, not here not there. And don't bullshit me with that health can't be bought or sold mantra. Good health insurance can be bought. And his dad is paying, in case he spent his money on designer shoes that cost more than my monthly mortgage.

WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY

Why, when I thought that typing all this will make me fell better, it still hurts like hell??????????????????????????????????????????

This world, this world.

Words of wisdom according to JT.

Me: Jess, tell me, when I am going to become high-paid solicitor who will jet-set across the world and have weekends in New York just for fun and a bit of shopping.
JT: Some other time…

3 things I want.

1. To have long hair.
2. To be a famous author. Show me on TV.

I shall be happy with the above two.

Relationships. So real.

For the last couple of weeks I have been having some uncomfortable thoughts: I have been “seeing” this guy for nearly 2 months now (first encounter happened on the 27th May) and gradually it became obvious to both of us that we were more than just work friends, thrown in one pot to deal with one client, although, one pot here does not have a literate meaning, more so because I am living in the centre of the world (i.e. London) and he is living in the little closed country in the middle of Europe, that probably holds the cleanest laundered money in the world (and I am not even going to mention the basement vaults filled with Nazi gold and other treasures).

So, the story is, our meetings are short and intense and happen, literally on average 1 and a half times a month (for a few days, I give you that). We verbally rape Skype every single night and I don’t even know how he survives the next day at work, he is having on average 3 hours of sleep a night and then goes to work, and I am surprised this has not led to global financial crisis yet.

The bottom line is, with all our talks and discussions and laughs and jokes and sincere silences and glances thrown at each other, and hours and hours and hours of time devoted to thinking about one another, we still have not even kissed yet.

And until yesterday, I was wondering about this simple fact. The fact that once you kissed (and had sex) the relationship is somewhat sealed, you are, then, in a relationship, as if the little physical act proves more than time and money spent by one person on the other. What happened to the classical concept of courting? The sad thing is, this concept never even crossed my mind. I, scarily enough, find myself smirking while listening to the story of my colleague’s daughter (15 years old) who has “a boyfriend”, with whom she holds hands and goes to the zoo. Note the inverted commas, put here by me, as if I don’t believe that the concept of boyfriend and relationship could be applied to a teenager, most certainly in love (and oh, probably experiencing something far away and nearly forgotten by most of us, something called the first love!), just because the said teenager has not (I hope so!) consummated the relationship by simple act of sex… Simple and average for most of us, yet, think about it, merely a hundred years ago women had to wait till marriage to have it, and marriage sometimes happened in thirties for some unfortunate women. Imagine living till your thirties to have a taste of that unknown and scary act of sex.

My previous encounter with this untamed beast that is sex happened in March, and it was oh so wonderful. Just a mere weekend of sex with a man I barely knew, but with whom we had that “connection”. You know how it is, when you fit together like puzzle pieces, when you spend 24 hours a day kissing and cooking, and eating, and kissing, and hugging, and playing silly games, and kissing some more, our bodies coiled around each other like shoelaces. Yet we did not know each others’s middle names and favourite colours, favourite places to holiday and plans to travel, family stories and career ambitions. All we did was having wild fun and wild (sorry for being repetitive) sex, with wild withdrawal symptoms lasting for nearly two weeks after. Was that a relationship? Was I in a relationship? No, of course not, this is not even a funny question and cannot be used for a joke. I wish I were, but I was not. Although all of the required acts of consummation were done and immensely enjoyed.

So what does fill the gap between meeting a person you like and being in a relationship with him? The getting to know each other. The talks, the time spent together and time spent apart thinking about each other, discovery of common sense of humour and enjoying each other’s company without having sex. Because sometimes, you do have an unforgettable night talking to a man, compared to unforgettable night having sex with a man, with who you don’t have anything to say to each other before (hopefully, you are not that desperate!) or after (always a sad thing). Sex is not a bridge from being single to being in a relationship, although this truth is hard to prove in today’s world. I don’t say don’t have sex until the marriage, I say, why not wait a little bit longer? Because the getting to know each other and the wait will make you uninhabited with desire and you will end up having amazing sex in the end anyway, but with someone special.

I can imagine some people will wonder, and what if this person I like wants to have sex, like, immediately, on our second date, and not spend the night talking about rubbish like ambitions and dreams and the dog you had as a child? Then, go for it. But then again, does he just want to have sex with you, or be with you? They say truth never hurts the teller, but once you truthfully answer the question, then maybe you will be a little bit hurt.

On, and one other thing. You can completely disregard this article if you are free and single and actually enjoying it and doing whatever you desire. Most of us experience these periods and then I say once again, go for it! ;)

love.

They teach us not to break up by text message, or on facebook, or by email. But what to do when somebody you like, and maybe more than just like, says the L word for the first time in email? Do you say it back? Or do you hold back, because, really, email is not really a place to say it, even because you are not actually saying it by email, you are typing it, and you don't know when the person you are addressing it to will check his or her emails, and will read the crimson word.
It was even worser. I checked my emails on the phone. Just when I woke up. God, that was a punch.

Unsettling. Should I write back? What should I say? Should I joke? Should I even take it seriously?

Oh why, why did you do it by email?!

[yet again]

[yet again]

I’m lost I’m lost I’m lost
within ominous waves
and purple clouds
foretelling evil
and wind,
that blows tears down my cheeks.

I cry because I thought I found you.
but I was mistaken.

Renewal.

There are 7 billion people on this planet. Within 100 years these people will be renewed by the next 7 billion.

Hairdressers.

I hate it when people talk non-stop at hairdresser's. I pay you to cut my hair, not to fake interest in my life.

Memory 12.

I was in that area of East London where I spent a few years of my life, young and unexperienced, in a relationship that I don't even remember now. I don't remember how I got so profoundly involved and how I got out of it, but every time I find myself in East London, in that particular God-forsaken area, I feel immensely happy with the fact that I escaped that relationship that could had been still dragging. I was walking down the street, passed the big supermarket where I used to shop on my way back to the one bedroom flat we used to share, passed the clinic, where I begged for some antibiotics when I had chickenpox one hot summer and had to spend two weeks away from work, alone in the flat, and passed the hairdresser, Evolution, where I went only once, to have my hair done before the wedding. He then said that my hairdo looked like a "pineapple". I don't think I cared much about his opinion even then.
God, I am so glad this all now is nothing but a blurry past. Different world. Different universe. I don't even feel sad when I am in East London anymore. It's like it never happened.

A note about the type.

I have just finished "Generation A" by Douglas Coupland and I am disappointed. It's sad to admit to myself that the book for me did nothing. It's like "Player One" - full of Coupland's cliches yet leaves you unfulfilled and longing for something more.

And then, like at the end of any decent book, there is a note about the type. Who gives a damn? Who cares?

The best moments of my life.

Bring me a horse and I'm gonna ride it like when I was 13 and my weekends riding horses were filled in with the best moments of my life.

Memory 11.

I only can play “Rape Me” on guitar, I am bad at that. He played “Desire” by U2. Quite badly, too. I thought I finally met my match.

Memory 10.

How he lifted me on his legs, and I was flying.

We were messing around on the bed and at some point I was sitting on his knee. Can I ride it? “No, but I can lift you up high on my feet”, he said. And he did, holding my hands in his hands, with his legs raised at a 90-degrees angle, and my stomach resting on the soles of his risen feet. It was scary and hilarious at the same time. Scilarious.

That’s what I am looking for. The fun. The trust. The unique moments to remember.

Memory 9.

Before we started to arm wrestle, I said, give me some leverage, because I am a girl. Being left-handed, he was wrestling with his right arm and I was winning, until I said, c’mon, be serious, and nearly fell off the chair the next second when my arm was flatted against the kitchen table. We ate grapefruit after.

Memory 8.

Yesterday, around 9 am, when we were lying in bed doing nothing, breathing in the fresh air from the wide open window, suddenly, he pulled me across his chest and turned my head towards the window, so the big bright sun blinded me for a moment and all I could see was the white on the deep blue but I could not close my eyes, I just stared and stared, until it became almost unbearable. The hotness of the spring sun got us all horny.

Cruel world.

Words of wisdom according to JT: "A hot married guy is better than no-one". Cruel world.