... are hell spawn...

I've never liked kids, which is why I don't want any. And I can 'tolerate' them if I have to, for example a family dinner where four of them are running around like monkeys and screaming like banshees (even though I feel like grabbing them and telling them to calm down). But when one of them comes up to me and tells me I'm fat, with a huge grin on her face... And when the parents aren't even shocked and claim that "she doesn't realize what she said"... Well, let's just say it didn't improve my mood. I couldn't wait to get out of there, away from the hell spawn, before I said something I'd regret to the parents.

A year older, a year closer to wisdom? Maybe not wisdom, but at least a semblance of maturity and adulthood At 29 years, I'm not sure it's time to look back and see what I've accomplished. Especially since I don't feel it's much... at least not in things that matter.

Things other people would consider my accomplishments:
a steady relationship, a house, a successful career.

It's not that what is mentioned above is bad, but it's not at the 'heart' of what life is all about (with the exception of love).

So what am I particularly satisfied about?
That I have realized what I want to do with my life and (more importantly) that I've taken steps towards it:
Today I had my first creative writing class! It's only a small group (7 people +teacher) but the epiphany of meeting like-minded (yet different) people, the info and experiences shared... I don't easily use this word, but it truly was 'awesome'. The fact that it was in an English speaking context made it all the more fun.

First lesson learned: don't fear calling yourself a writer.
So there, I confess, I am a writer. Not a famous one, not a published one, but a writer nevertheless.

The phone rings. You hear bf pick up the phone in the other room and from the way he answers, you know it's not his parents but yours. You hear him say "what hospital?" and you get a sinking feeling in your stomach. Your bf passes you the phone. From the confused rambling of your mother, you deduce that your grandfather had a cerebral hemorrhage and is in the hospital. That he's very confused, but not paralyzed. That he will have to stay in in the intensive care unit for at least three days. That he was only admitted into hospital a full day after it happened, the doctor first thinking it was a concussion from falling with his bike, only to realize afterwards that it was the cerebral hemorrhage that made him fall. That your grandmother, suffering from the beginnings of Alzheimers and often making derogatory comments about your grandfather, is suddenly being incredibly nice to him. That your grandfather, who is 79 but very fit and active, is human and vulnerable after all.

I would call my music taste pretty diverse: from metal and rock to jazz and classical music. Unfortunately, I don't really know that much about classical music, just some pieces I 'stumbled upon' by accident. For example, Handel's Messiah (a CD I got for free when I bought some health supplements) is one of my favorite pieces at work when I need to focus.

Last week I went to a literary conference (Quignard, a French author and musician), where I discovered this beautiful piece (the good part starts at 4min35sec):
Beautifully restrained...

If it were up to me, the person who invented 'coaching' and 'team building' deserves a one-way ticket to eternal damnation...
A full day of group coaching, being 'honest' and 'open' and 'constructive' while nothing useful comes of it, it's REALLY not my cup of tea.
And it gave me a splitting headache...
And my period started today...
And when I came home, I realised that I had forgotten that my in-laws were coming to visit tonight...

One of those days

*soothes herself* Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better.

I've been told I don't know what I want. Which isn't exactly true: I know exactly what I want, but different parts of me want different things...

In the meantime, I'm getting more and more stir crazy at work. What I wouldn't give to be on holiday again... Or not even on holiday, even a few weeks at home would do me a world of good I've got a few days off here and there till the end of the year (for my creative writing course mostly), but I'm looking forward especially to my week off at the beginning of November: Champagne region, here we come

I can't remember the last time I had an actual fit of laughter. But yesterday, with three colleagues, I completely lost it And as I tried to stop laughing, it only made it worse, I actually had to hide behind a cupboard to calm myself down, I was making the weirdest noises, lol. Felt so good though, even if the joke I laughed at didn't seem so very funny afterwards

On a tangent, I sent an e-mail today that I probably shouldn't have sent. But I follow my feelings, I'll worry about consequences later...

I've been doing some organising in our study. Is it wrong to be impressed by your own creative creations? Most of my old poems are crap, as can be expected from a puberty stricken 'emo' girl. But I found a few older pieces that I had entirely forgotten, and they were actually quite good. I might incorporate them into my humble beginnings of a novel.

Yes, that's right, the beginnings of a novel! Well, I'm not sure where it will lead, but after years of thinking about writing, I decided it was time to put pen to paper instead of daydreaming and being lazy.

"Blinking her eyes, she strains to see the room around her. The light is harsh, bluish and cold, but muted. The window is ajar, birds singing in the trees, their light songs shivering through the curtains like an old life polished.
Good morning Miss Phoenix. How are we today?
Distractedly she gazes at the window, closes her eyes. Better.
Let’s take a stroll together through the park today. It’s a lovely summer morning.
As the sun clears the cold cobwebs in her mind, they walk arm in arm in silence. The warm breeze, glowing with drops of sunshine, carries her back to her childhood.
Her mother is cleaning the house. She stands behind the vacuum cleaner to catch the hot air blowing at her, glowing through her.
When did she start to imagine her life?"

Or not Just surprised to see how long it has been since I blogged here, and wondering if I still have reasons to blog here

My boyfriend could tell you how little of a sex life we have. I could tell you how much my work is stressing me out, and how I don't have the energy/time/discipline to work out. The scales can tell you how disastrous that's turning out.

But none of this is to be taken as an expression of negativity. Sometimes you get a 'moment of clarity' where you see how some things in life aren't going as wanted, and what should change.

Ever since my holiday last September, I feel I've been playing catch-up at work, which in its turn has completely destroyed the work-out routine I had built up. It's not a good sign when you can't even afford to take a few weeks off work. Strangely, despite my boss giving me someone to help me with my work (yay, I now have two people working for me) it doesn't seem to have improved my predicament much.

But there's something more important that the amount of hours I spend at work. And that is the question that first reared its head when I visited my French lit professor last summer: "Is this really what I want to do with my life?"
Don't get me wrong, my job challenges me in the ways I love, otherwise I would not have stayed three years and have no plans for changing jobs. But it's still a job, not a dream, not a life project.

So am I going to nag and moan about this (which is in my character, unfortunately) or am I going to do something about it? I decided to take a first step in following my dream. I am taking a creative writing course in a few months.
Where it will lead? Not a clue, but at least it's a step in the right/write direction.

Okay, I know a lot of people are currently thinking "yay, summer at last". All I'm thinking is "crap, this heat is annoying". I don't feel like doing anything, which isn't great considering that I should/want to exercise on a regular basis. I'm not going running outside with 25°C

I'm halfway into my two weeks off work, and so far I've been abroad three days, of which one day sick (nausea, the whole works), and the rest of the week lazy at home because of this heat. I haven't even put on any clothes, just walking around in my nightgown (long T-shirt)... Next weeks weather forecast doesn't look very encouraging either

This is the point where I should convince myself to get up early in the morning, when it's still cool, to do my running, right? Could somebody force me to go to bed two hours earlier than usual, please?