Thursday, May 23, 2013

Sick leave.

This post could probably win the dullest entry title of the blog, but that's one upside of being sick: one no longer gives a damn about what one writes. Also, one starts to refer to herself in the third person. About the only entertainment one gets, while yawning and feeling crap.

Another upside of being sick is that one has a lot of time on one's hand, so naturally one wonders what to do. First, one watches the second episode of Game of Thrones, which is an attempt to wear the fantasy hat and join the mass. This is the second time within a week that one tries this, and one gets much further into the episode (12 minutes) than the first time one tried (2 minutes), so one considers this as a victory. At this rate, one needs to try only four more times before one completes the damn episode. Surely no brotherly incest could be worth it. 

Then, one irons with Midnight on Paris running on the background (or, spatially speaking, the foreground). After the movie finishes, one thinks that looking at a collection of Paris photographs might have been a better time investment. The movie is very Woody Allen, which means that it has a diverse cast, Valium, intrapersonal communication, love affairs, and practically no plot. One is hard-pressed to find the purpose of the movie, besides showing that Woody Allen has more faith in Owen Wilson's acting than anyone ever should. 

(interrupted by a long Skype conversation) 

About two hours ago, I started writing this entry because I was bored, and because I was annoyed at the fact that I was bored. Contrary to what Bertrand Russell advocates, I don't think boredom is necessary. One can be bored for an hour or two, but when boredom goes on for six hours, it gets a little, well, boring. Whenever I think of Brussels---a single word that encompasses the cozy city, the exciting and independent life, the intercontinental wandering and the friends I love dearly---it makes my current life a little less colorful, and this is not a healthy view. Keep up being a nostalgic soul like this, and before I know it I will be 40, wondering how the fuck I let my late 20s and 30s pass by in nostalgic feelings for a time and a place I would never get back. 

So I thought I would reuse the old trick, which is to write down three moments I appreciate each day in life. This is not Brussels; I do not have a set date for leaving Adelaide so no need for counting down the moments. But, doesn't the very fact that there is no departure date mean I should even more learn to value what I have?

1. It's five o'clock in the afternoon. So far today I have neither cleaned my teeth nor washed my face once, and I have spent a considerably large amount of time in bed, especially when you consider that it is a work day. Nothing I did so far seemed terribly exciting. I complain to a friend that I was bored. "I am not really sad, I'm just bored, and unmotivated," I write on Skype. Then, I am told the news. There are moments that mark clearly the before and the after; the moments that, once happened, change a lot of things irreversibly. Dying, is one of them. Having a baby, is another. The unexpected news takes a little bit of time to digest, and I'm not sure whether I have fully understood its implication. One thing for sure, is that my friend's life will change forever. Time and again, like right now, I am reminded that I should be thankful for what I am blessed with. 

2. Sitting on the couch with Zebra, me singing loudly to Édith Piaf songs while he tries to concentrate on his study. 

3. Breakfast in the garden, with frozen grapes, frozen berries, fresh strawberries, yoghurt and my favorite cereals. "Are you cold?" asks LM, as the sun disappears behind the clouds. "No, I'm OK..." I say, slightly shilvering. "Are you sure you are not cold?" "I'm OK..." "Let me get you my jacket..."