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wordless #230 chateau la coste, provence



wordless #229






the one week a year when it's totally ok to unabashedly celebrate myself  :)


happy birthday to me




the one week a year when it's totally ok to unabashedly celebrate myself  :)






It all started last Sunday. I met up with a couple of friends I had seen individually but not together for a while, but instead of having the picnic we had been looking forward to for what feels like the whole of last winter plus some, we ended up squeezed together around a tiny table outside a restaurant in a little inspiring street off Odeon. With our eyes closed, thanks to the heat lamps right above us, it felt almost like summer. Almost. Until the heat started to fry our brains and had all of us edge more and more into the middle of the already narrow sidewalk and into the rain that had started falling earlier. Trapped between infernal heat on one and torrential rain on the other side, and enveloped by the particularly vile stink of a cigar, or so I’ve been told, because the cold I had caught a few days before kept me blissfully unaware of any and all smells, in return for a head-splitting migraine and general miserableness, but who am I to complain, anyhow, trapped between heat, rain and I’m sure a bunch of other unpleasant things that I simply can’t be asked to recollect, we should have just called it a day, given up and gotten drunk, or whatever counts as drunk these days, enough to have us happily swaying in different directions after the last glass is finished and to cause slight discomfort the next day and repeated promises and exclamations of I will never ever drink again and I’m too old for this, but no, we stayed reasonable, gossiped a little about the cigar-smoking David Lynch lookalike, the David Lynch lookalikeness by the way did not make up for the vileness of his cigar, had two glasses of wine and called it an afternoon. Two! An afternoon! All of us had had a bad week already, and an unsuccessful attempt of cheering each other up backfired and left us worse off than before. I slept poorly. Woke up to the sound of rain and with a messed up and stiff shoulder. My mood dark enough to shoot a horror movie in it. Monday went by in a literal blur, wind continuously blowing heavy sheets of rain against the window. Sleep eluded me that night. Which is a very poetic way of saying I slept fuck all, only dosing off at eight in the morning, half an hour after my alarm had unnecessarily gone off. Needless to say, Tuesday was even more of a blur than Monday. Sick, sleep deprived and inexplicably thin-skinned and moody, I had to fight hard not to snap at monsieur’s good morning messages from sunny Hungary. 30 degrees and bright blue skies? Really? Gofuckyourselfthankyouverymuch! I lost it when a friend told me to meditate or watch some Oprah soul sessions. Oprah! OPRAH! Who sets me off on the best of days (not her personally, but the self-fulfilment-happiness-inspiration-whatnot monstrosity she most likely unwittingly helped to create). So I gave up. Which is not a way of saying I embraced my bad mood, leaned in, felt it, let go, moved through it. This is not a story of adversity and how it helped me learn a fundamental truth about myself, humankind, life or the universe. It actually got a lot worse and I’m just not sure yet if I should tell you everything or not. Because there will be nothing redeeming in the end. It all started last Sunday and got worse from there. Today, France declared a state of natural disaster. Which is kind of what I did last Tuesday already. I declared a state of mental disaster. I evacuated the worst affected parts of my life, called in the national guard, and freed up emergency funds. I minimised outside contact to all but the necessary, got in touch with friends who have mastered the art of ranting better than me, opened a bottle of wine, and made myself as comfortable as possible in my bad mood. Because sometimes there really isn’t anything else you can do. Same with the rain. Most of the time, an umbrella is enough. Sometimes it isn’t. The Louvre is emptying its basements. Tunnels under and quais along the Seine are closing. Mostly as a precaution. Until the rain stops and the water ebbs. Then we clean up.

And before I forget, Donald Trump is a despicable human being. A xenophobic, racist, misogynist pig. Scum. You thinking that I don’t have a right to an opinion on him because I am not American, or that me [anyone?] voicing an opinion you don’t like gives you the right to attack not just said opinion but to insult and dismiss me [everyone?] as a person, just proves that you too are xenophobic, racist and yes, misogynist. Unfortunately, like Trump, you won’t even try to understand any of this, try to see someone else’s point of view, or try to agree to disagree. Which almost made me not post this. Because really, what’s the point. But then I thought differently. I won’t let the seemingly unassailable stupidity of people like you silence me. I will always speak up against bullies like you. Because that’s all you are.

doom & gloom





It all started last Sunday. I met up with a couple of friends I had seen individually but not together for a while, but instead of having the picnic we had been looking forward to for what feels like the whole of last winter plus some, we ended up squeezed together around a tiny table outside a restaurant in a little inspiring street off Odeon. With our eyes closed, thanks to the heat lamps right above us, it felt almost like summer. Almost. Until the heat started to fry our brains and had all of us edge more and more into the middle of the already narrow sidewalk and into the rain that had started falling earlier. Trapped between infernal heat on one and torrential rain on the other side, and enveloped by the particularly vile stink of a cigar, or so I’ve been told, because the cold I had caught a few days before kept me blissfully unaware of any and all smells, in return for a head-splitting migraine and general miserableness, but who am I to complain, anyhow, trapped between heat, rain and I’m sure a bunch of other unpleasant things that I simply can’t be asked to recollect, we should have just called it a day, given up and gotten drunk, or whatever counts as drunk these days, enough to have us happily swaying in different directions after the last glass is finished and to cause slight discomfort the next day and repeated promises and exclamations of I will never ever drink again and I’m too old for this, but no, we stayed reasonable, gossiped a little about the cigar-smoking David Lynch lookalike, the David Lynch lookalikeness by the way did not make up for the vileness of his cigar, had two glasses of wine and called it an afternoon. Two! An afternoon! All of us had had a bad week already, and an unsuccessful attempt of cheering each other up backfired and left us worse off than before. I slept poorly. Woke up to the sound of rain and with a messed up and stiff shoulder. My mood dark enough to shoot a horror movie in it. Monday went by in a literal blur, wind continuously blowing heavy sheets of rain against the window. Sleep eluded me that night. Which is a very poetic way of saying I slept fuck all, only dosing off at eight in the morning, half an hour after my alarm had unnecessarily gone off. Needless to say, Tuesday was even more of a blur than Monday. Sick, sleep deprived and inexplicably thin-skinned and moody, I had to fight hard not to snap at monsieur’s good morning messages from sunny Hungary. 30 degrees and bright blue skies? Really? Gofuckyourselfthankyouverymuch! I lost it when a friend told me to meditate or watch some Oprah soul sessions. Oprah! OPRAH! Who sets me off on the best of days (not her personally, but the self-fulfilment-happiness-inspiration-whatnot monstrosity she most likely unwittingly helped to create). So I gave up. Which is not a way of saying I embraced my bad mood, leaned in, felt it, let go, moved through it. This is not a story of adversity and how it helped me learn a fundamental truth about myself, humankind, life or the universe. It actually got a lot worse and I’m just not sure yet if I should tell you everything or not. Because there will be nothing redeeming in the end. It all started last Sunday and got worse from there. Today, France declared a state of natural disaster. Which is kind of what I did last Tuesday already. I declared a state of mental disaster. I evacuated the worst affected parts of my life, called in the national guard, and freed up emergency funds. I minimised outside contact to all but the necessary, got in touch with friends who have mastered the art of ranting better than me, opened a bottle of wine, and made myself as comfortable as possible in my bad mood. Because sometimes there really isn’t anything else you can do. Same with the rain. Most of the time, an umbrella is enough. Sometimes it isn’t. The Louvre is emptying its basements. Tunnels under and quais along the Seine are closing. Mostly as a precaution. Until the rain stops and the water ebbs. Then we clean up.

And before I forget, Donald Trump is a despicable human being. A xenophobic, racist, misogynist pig. Scum. You thinking that I don’t have a right to an opinion on him because I am not American, or that me [anyone?] voicing an opinion you don’t like gives you the right to attack not just said opinion but to insult and dismiss me [everyone?] as a person, just proves that you too are xenophobic, racist and yes, misogynist. Unfortunately, like Trump, you won’t even try to understand any of this, try to see someone else’s point of view, or try to agree to disagree. Which almost made me not post this. Because really, what’s the point. But then I thought differently. I won’t let the seemingly unassailable stupidity of people like you silence me. I will always speak up against bullies like you. Because that’s all you are.

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