Breathe Me

Like a time lord, I am lost in time. I forget dates, days, my friends' birthdays. Every night, after work, I am working on one goddamn thing or another. Clean dishes never leave the dishwasher – they are gradually replaced by dirty ones. Unfolded laundry clutters every chair. My cat constantly purrs and tries to steal my attention by sitting on my laptop, but I am bigger, and stronger, so I just grab her and move her, like an inanimate object.

Mu husband retreats to our study. He has his shit to do. We all have shit to do. Thank god, we have no children. We couldn’t just grab them and move them.

Last night I drafted a sample project for my job interview. Here was my chance to write anything, anything I wanted to do in my field of work. I sat stuck and wrote banalities, until I erased it all and wrote something new 1 hour before going to work.

I woke up and stared at the ceiling today. I have an interview in 3 hours. I need to present this project.

Stuff to do at work, but my motivation is so low, inertia moves me to finish things I’ve started, but mostly I just want to be alone.

Last week, I finished watching “6 feet under” – a film about mortuary, death, grief, brief lives…and I have been thinking, for so many days, what can I do, how can I ensure that I am buried the way I want to? I am thinking, do I have any legal rights after I am dead, can I force people to do what I want?

Basically, I want to be cremated. That’s a problem, because such service is unavailable in Tbilisi. Then, I either don’t want to have a place of burial, or I want to be buried somewhere I love and not in the cemetery ground. Thirdly, I absolutely refuse to have three-day crying gatherings which burden the family. One day is enough. If people can’t make it, well, it’s fine, we won’t hold that against them. How many times have I gone to somebody’s grandmother’s panashvidi, just to be polite, barely knowing the person I was supposed to comfort, let alone his dead grandmother.

And finally, and most importantly, no kelekhi. Husband’s relative died last year and we had to organize the whole restaurant -grieving-party. It is costly, no one really wants to be there and basically, we are keeping this old and meaningless zombie of a tradition alive for no logical or emotional reason. At times when people travelled on horses and it took them 3 days to get to a burial site, they had to be fed. Those times are long gone with the wind. Let them be. I have absolutely no desire to force people awkwardly eat and drink for my memory, just because mustached chokha-wearing crowd used to.

 So that’s that. I can’t die yet – they won’t burry me the way I want to. I need to find energy and keep going on and maybe I will locate myself back on Earth again. Because I am very, very far right now.

P.S. Poster for one of the best TV series I’ve seen

P.S.S. Soundtrack for final Scenes in 6 Feet Under:

Sia Breathe Me 

Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today
And the worst part is there's no one else to blame

Be my friend, hold me
Wrap me up, unfold me
I am small, and needy
Warm me up and breathe me

Ouch, I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found
Yeah, I think that I might break
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe