A Sad Retreat

This is my last week at this job. I am leaving for two months and maybe – forever.

Looking back, this job came along in a perfect time: I was tired of bureaucracy, I wanted to get back into the field, hubby had lost his job and my salary kept us afloat. I’ve had opportunity to return to my profession, practice my craft – I appreciate it.

I liked working with a team of my friends and I will miss it very much. 

Still, I think it is time for me to move on, to look for new opportunities and to develop new skills necessary for my career.

Both strength and weakness of small organization is that it is like a family. The strength is that family supports you, understands you, lets you go to the medical appointments, gives you days off, and treats you to family dinners. However, the stress of having a personal conflict with family members transcends just the family setting.  You have hard time distancing from it and you take many things personally. You take work home and carry it on you. After a year of being so closely intertwined in personal and business issues, I would like to leave work at work.

Strange cataclysms are happening around me simultaneously. Here I am sorting issues at work and boom, my grandmother (dying of cancer) gets significantly worse. So, I have to leave everything and hurry to Denver to support my real family, watch my grandmother doze off on morphine and stay close to my mother. My uterus keeps resisting our attempts to domesticate it, make it ready for the baby, so tired of all this bullshit, I am just going for the In Vitro fertilization in January. Additionally, I have a second job and other responsibilities, meaning that I have no free weekend, literally, no free weekend till December 23d. I am traveling to the regions and giving trainings on weekends. Every Thursday I pack and every Monday I unpack. I don’t remember the last time I woke up on my own, without an alarm.

Thus, as sad as I am to leave mostly comfortable job, with an OK pay and wonderful coworkers, I need to cast off at least one source of stress in my life.  These are my four last days here. I feel melancholy. I feel relieved. I feel confused. I am bothered by the thought of job-seeking, again. Though mostly, I feel like I escaped the storm and I am ready to clean up the ruins in peace and quiet.

Hey Denver, this is my sad retreat. I am flying to you, too soon, this time

The pic: part of my job involves working with special needs kids. I will miss it.

The Sex Shelter Scandal

“Don’t defend yourself, you have nothing to prove, the truth is on your side. State the facts. Let the viewers see how ridiculous the church is. There is no way for you to loose this argument”, I said to Identity’s director yesterday, as he was getting ready for a live TV show. I was sure that he could just sit back and relax, while priests made clowns of themselves, proving that providing 15 people with a place to live in the winter is immoral.

And clowns they were.  Last night, two priests tried to prove that:

1.       There are unassisted homeless people

2.       NGO Identity, along with several other organizations, schools, theatres, poets, writers, etc is raising money to equip an empty apartment charitably provided for shelter purposes

3.       Thus, it is immoral to help this group of people. Let’s leaving the homeless, well, homeless.

4.       Oh, and they also said it is better to give charity money to church. You know, because millions they get from my taxes are not enough to provide several families with a roof over their heads.

That is what happened. Of course, you may believe in conspiracy theories, you may think that Identity (along with others NGOs, schools, theaters, poets, writers, just charitable people, me) really wants to open a shelter for THE CHILDREN for a sole purpose of beating the shit out of 15 lost souls until they go gay. God knows, an NGO supported by several embassies, staffed with lawyers, psychologists and social workers might even attempt to rape THE CHILDREN, or shoot child pornography films or force them to spit on crosses and piss on icons.  Some of THE CHILDREN may even get crucified upside down on a full moon and orgies will be held on their dead corpses. It all makes sense now, you see, we just have to, must think of THE CHILDREN!

So while I was happy that Identity’s director explained that charity is good because it actually provides home for several families during the winter (he even mentioned other NGOs taking over for professional training and psychological counseling), the whole country caught a stupid virus. Raging over the non-existing CHILDREN (see, everyone just misheard that the shelter was for families, and yes, families do include adults too), zombies started congregating and contemplating of ways to stop this evil-doing, money-donating charity freaks. The Minister of Health declared that letting several families into a privately-owned renovated house is against two (not one, mind you) international conventions. Stupid politicians opposed this initiative, though they admitted that they did not know much about the shelter, since they “did not go into this issue deeper”. Today, Identity got threats from all kinds of people, promising trouble not only for the NGO, but for the inhabitants of the shelter (!)

And thus, while I was blissfully thinking that the church actually helped promote the cause and that we have nothing to prove, I mean literally we are collecting money to prepare an apartment for homeless people, while I was telling my colleagues to check out yesterday’s TV show and laugh at the clowns, Identity issued a statement that it will refrain from further activity, since it is not safe for them or for the future shelter.

Fuck this country. For real, fuck it. I feel like the Dark Lord has risen and death eaters apparate everywhere, jinxing good deeds, destroying Turkish restaurants and strip clubs, offending people of different races, putting spells on people and feeding them lies. And as I desperately cling to my Hermionies, Rons, Dumbledores and others, unicorns are slaughtered all over the dark forest.

Thank you, dear secretary of the patriarchy for killing my last hope. I have nothing left to offer this county. Nothing. It does not deserve me, my friends at the Identity, or anyone who wants to make a difference in this stinking mess of a country. I am leaving. Your loss, not mine.

P.S. Click on the logo to see the statement.

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

Why I Skipped this Election

Once, I wrote a paper on political apathy in college. Using lengthy words and complex sentences I analyzed why Americans are reluctant to vote.

Many years later, here I sit, paralyzed with work and responsibilities, unable to move my butt to the voting center. Political apathy washed over me.

It’s learned helplessness, you know. How many times have I gone, standing in line, crossing out everybody and for what? Some asshole gets elected anyway.

I am tired of having no position and no preference. I am tired of voting against everybody. I don’t know who is worse, Margvelashvili or Bakradze. As a matter of fact, if I didn't know who Misha is, if he were to appear for the first time, I would vote for him. We need a talking, energetic and travelling person. The position is supposed to be symbolic. He would do nice. Though I wouldn't vote for current Misha, after all the prison scandals, raped and nose-broken lovers, money-spending, partying, city “reconstruction” and media-controlling. Bye-bye, this is the end of our uneven, bumpy relationship. I have never voted for you, but others have, so you were my president regardless.

The only thing I know for sure is that Burjanadze is pure evil and Targamadze is a two-faced so-and-so. The only thing I care for is their loss. Please loose! Loose, I said!

I hate this situation so much that I am trying to avoid it. I skipped the debates. I watched the ads only this Friday – they were horrendous. I’ve seen better campaign in my high school in Utah. Low-quality footage, stupid slogans, hell, even the posters in the street are ugly!

The same speeches about unity, gay marriage (like that is even an issue), who did what and where, blaming each other, Burjanadze claiming men should resemble men and women should resemble women, this endless shit of meaningless words, god help us all!

And really, none of it matters, they won’t be able to fulfill half of their promises, since they do not hold such constitutional power! But nobody cares, since constitution is for sissies, and god knows, it all may change tomorrow and we will be stuck with Margvelshvili as an actual decision-maker and our military leader. Then what are we going to do?!

Honestly, I don't have time for their games. Where's my sand, I need to stick my head in it!

Giant facepalm.

Chasing Ghosts of the Ancient: Part 2

 I am in love with Turkey. I like the views, the people, the ruins, the food, I like relative comfort. The second day of our trip included all of that, as we rushed out of Erzurum (nothing too interesting) and continued our quest for ancient stuff.

Passing gorgeous mountains, we reached the Hahuli monastery, erected in the 10^th century, now serving as a mosque. The monastery is in the middle of Turkish village and  local teenagers rudely pestered us to buy candles. We refused, joined a group of French tourists, walked in, looked at the wall ornaments. We found a stream of water and I was so thirsty I drank it, despite the threat of becoming a lamb (familiar with Russian fairy tales? Anyone?). I am still alive.

We climbed down to more civilized roads, to a water dam, for a picnic of olives and Turkish bread. Life was good. Adventures all around. Afterwards, we toured Oshki, a spectacular basilica, the first one of four great Georgian churches: Oshki, Svetistskhoveli, Bagrati and Alaverdi. The three ones that stand on Georgian ground have been changed and remodeled several times, but Oshki pretty much looks like it did – except, it is on a verge of a collapse. The 11-century-old icons are exposed to wind and rain, the roof has caved in and one of the hollowed-out pillars is supported by a wood log. It is big, it is beautiful and it is devastated. Once more, our extreme nationalism and intolerance is harming us; Turkey and Georgia negotiated about reconstruction of three historical monuments – including Oshki – in exchange for reconstruction of an old mosque in Batumi. This was followed by national outrage…a mosque in Batumi, what for (maybe for all the Muslims that do not have enough space in existing one)?!…and as a result, Oshki stands orphaned and sad. Villagers build houses using its walls. Tragic.

Our next destination involved massive canyon, were rocks seemed to inhale us, crush us and eat us alive. Cliffs hanging over our car, brown, scary, looking like a crumpled cardboard, like old man’s skin…we took a long, unpaved, one-car wide serpentine road in the sunset, hoping to make it alive. As we reached the top of a very remote village, we discovered that the final point of our destination – the Ishkhani monastery- was closed for reconstruction. On one hand, we were glad that Turkish government decided to take care of the monument. Even in the dusk, workers kept busy. On the other hand, Ishkani has interesting 11-th century icons that we wanted to see. Thus, we risked our lives for no reason. We turned around and raced the remains of daylight to get off that scary, but thrilling road.

By the end of the day, tired and sweaty, we opted out of planned camping and crashed in a hotel in a small town of Usufeli. The room was cheap but clean. It was placed on a cliff and our windows directly overlooked the river that lulled us to sleep. Our journey was almost over. 

Pic: the lake where we had our picnic

Chasing Ghosts of the Ancient: Part 1

Officer at the Georgian border asked us if our tank was full. “It costs twice as much on the other side, you know”. We knew. We were equipped with personal and Google knowledge and maps and guides and GPS. The day 1 of our Turkish adventure, we left Akhaltsikhe behind us and ventured into Anatolia.

We soon learned that visiting every church, castle and ruins makes no sense. Too many of them. So we chose ones of historical significance. The first day we drove all the way up to Kars, looking at the fields of hay, mountains, horses and enjoying the wonderfully paved road.

Based on Pamuk’s “Snow”, we expected to find a town where depressed hotel owners don’t dare to walk the poverty-struck streets and scarf-covered women commit inexplicable suicides; instead, we discovered a cute little town, with its share of comfort.

The city was under Russian siege in late 19^th century and thus contains beautiful Russian/Baltic style buildings. As my hubby took out a tripod to take a pic of the governor’s house, secret police materialized and started inquiring about the nature of our pics.  I guess tripod meant spying, since no one minded our picture-taking before. Anyway, we promised to leave governmental buildings alone and resumed circling the old town.

The next morning we toured Kars Kale, a pretty impressive castle, looked over the city and old Armenian church of 10^th century, now turned into a mosque. We consumed a breakfast of baklavas and other carb-loaded Turkish yummies, replenished our supply of Turkish tea and drove towards Ani.

Ani was much more impressive than its descriptions. We just stood in amazement in front of the city walls for a while. We had hard time reconciling the ancient city with cows grazing at its gates, local children playing with dogs and our car in the parking lot.

Ani was established in 5^th century and by 9^th century it was a capital of Armenia.  It was big and prosperous, and according to Wikitravel, was known as City of Forty Gates and the City of a Thousand Churches.

No wander it was attacked by everyone with a functioning army, including our own Queen Tamar, who rebuilt it and made it nice and ready for the never-ending Mongolian attacks. Finally, the area was conquered by Ottomans and now their descendants charge 5 Lira for the entrance.

We walked around almost all day, looking at all the magnificent ruins, breathing in the 10,15,20 century-old sand. As we finally rested on the floor of an ancient church, one of the workers (the complex is being reconstructed) gave us some of his tea. This kind of hospitality followed us everywhere in Anatolia.

We drank tea, found a prehistoric Zoroastrian temple ruins, photographed tourist scribblings made in 1903, marveled and awed and picked up a hitchhiker. Cool and nice-looking (ahem), a teacher from Istambul, he talked about Turkey and we compared our countries. Turns out he just came back from Batumi and showed us a Borjomi bottle in his backpack as a proof. We parted ways - he was going to see some sultan’s castle by the sea. We were headed towards Erzurum. We still had a shitload of ancient churches to behold.

To be continued…

P.S. the pic: Me stomping the ancient ruins

Summer's Almost Gone

We came back to work and we got immersed into pending issues and I so don’t want to do it. The feeling of vacation and freedom lingers on.

This is like a fresh start and a billion of issues surround my head. Stuff at work. Trainings I am taking in Gestalt therapy. Trainings I am supposed to do for the Ministry. In Vitro fertilization on the horizon. Some translations I took on. Selling our apartment. Buying a new apartment. Taking care of my country house documentation. So many things rained on my head. Decisions to be made. Energy to be spent.

Doctor’s visits, apartment excursions, the billion challenges at the Ministry job. This poor blog just hanging in the air, nobody touching it.

I am anticipating several months of chaos and non-stop work, including every weekend for the 2 next months. This is what happens when you open an Inbox account and get a fever of depositing money. Can’t decline additional jobs now.

This August, I have to write about my August, I need to tell you about the unusually nice weather in Batumi, about bike trips, about all-night clubbing, I need to tell you about the prettiest McDonald’s, I need to tell you about a lemon tart in Fan Fan…

I need to tell you about our 5-day road trip, how I lay in the car with my pillow and my blanket, looking out the window, reaching out to the mountains, eating Turkish desserts, drinking Turkish tea. I need to tell you about magnificent Georgian and Armenian monuments of 10^th-12^th centuries. I need to tell you about billion little castles peppering Anatolia.

I need to confess my love for Turkey once more.

 Visions of Kars, Erzurum, Usufeli… Ani, Artanudji, Oshki…my hubby at wheel…our loyal green Honda…the miracle of straight, paved roads…

I need to tell you about last weekend that we went with a telescope, moon and herbal treatment by the campfire. We made smores! Smores!

The hormones I am taking. The drowsiness and stupidity overtaking my body and my mind.

Hi, friends and lovers, hi everybody who is still with me! Thanks for coming back! Thanks for reading again! I will be back, hanging out my posts for your observation, every weekend or every Monday morning, complaining about my life that I secretly like…

Hey, hang in there, New Year’s vacation will come sooner than you think.

Back to life. Back to reality.

Where will we be, when the summer’s gone?  

The pic: oh, sunny days on the green cape.