A Study in Marshmallow

It is white and snowy. Thanks weather god! You’re a bit too late, Christmas was last month! Snowy and mushy and squishy and just regular Tbilisi mud-covered, crumpled marshmallow world. And I reside in it, in my new reincarnation.  

I’m a chicken. I carry eggs with (in) me. I have precisely 9 eggs nestled in my ovaries. They require constant care.

Every morning I swallow bunch of pills and vitamins and hunch over my computer, translating textbooks and reports and reading materials for the class I’ll teach next semester. Then, I visit my aunt’s friend to get pocked with three ouchy needles. I can observe no behavioral-hormonal changes yet. No yelling or crying or listening to Celine Dion. Meanwhile the eggs keep growing, some faster, some slower. We’ll harvest something. Yep, the farmer lingo is definitely the new sexy in this family J

I don’t complain. Mostly. Just to friends. Or on FB. Or to my poor co-partner in crime (wait till they harvest your specimen, honey!) or about anywhere I can. Not to the doctors though. Not during my frequent clinic visits. I don’t want them to stop or pity me or do anything but measure the eggs. I think I’ll just set a tent out there. Travelling to Digomi every other day seems too bothersome.

Hello, is there anybody out there? It’s just a little pin prick…not entirely comfortably numb, but not panicking either. Actually, I rarely panic. Last time I panicked, I was in a pot-induced terror in Prague, believing my legs lost their walking capabilities. Every time I closed my eyes, either someone stabbed me, or burned me, or police arrested us, or my legs never regained consciousness…that was a fun trip, man, did I ever write about our Prague trip? Yes, cheap pun intended. So many good things happend last year and never made it to the blog!

That’s basically it though. Printing, cooking, cleaning, poked, ultrasounded and refusing to dismantle the Christmas tree. Honestly though, it is way overdue. Some decorations just fall of the branches on their own accord, crying out in despair.

I guess this season of turmoil has gone, done, evaporated. Depression – suppressed, numbness – out of the window, Sherlock – Season 3 behind us, hubby – married to work, Christmas tree – rotting in the living room.  I missed me, you know, just me, just happy, just regularly joyful, joking. I get this small window of calmness, before the never-ending 10 days of ye-shall-not-know-the-results, not knowing if the IVF worked.  It’s good to be back.

Meanwhile, I let in the fresh snow-smelling air, grow my eggs, poke my belly and type my reports. Pick up snake-coiled black socks that infest our apartment (seriously, how hard is it to throw the socks in the laundry bin?! You know who you are!). Pet my cat. Think of a possible new home. Look through Italian country décor online.

This a squishy new life of mine. A study in marshmallow.

P.S. OK so I am too lazy to throw it out, but doesn't the Christmas tree look awesome against the snow background?

War in Ukraine

Kiev has always been a very special place for me. It was 3 A.M. the first time I walked its streets. Hubby and I pranced around, trying to hide from rain, spending our last money on Mcdonald’s…He was coming back from Budapest, educated, full of hopes. We were re-united after years of long-distance relationship. We were naïve and happy.

A month after I got married, I had to attend a TOT right outside Kiev. We had a spare day, we spent walking around Kiev, went to the Bulgakov Museum, stayed in a hotel right on Maidan…I went to St. Sophia’s church for the Easter service, along with a new Serbian friends. I bought a traditional wooden egg. I still display this egg for Easter. It is all red and flower-covered and very Ukrainian.

Some friends showed me around that time, they took me to a park that had over 2000 blooming lilac trees. It was May and spring just came to Kiev. Tbilisi was way ahead into summer. I lived 2 springs that year.

Oh, and that time when we were flying back to Budapest for hubby’s university reunion, we stopped in Kiev for a day and stayed with my college friend who was teaching Ukrainian kids at that time. We loved its streets, we loved its coffee shops, bakeries and sushi – all that seemed so luxurious, so coveted, so European.

And, there was this other time, when hubby had to go to Kiev for work (he does that regularly, he is in Kiev approximately once every 1.5 months) and I came along and it was fall and all was yellow and I met this cool girl on a plane and she walked me to the famous monastery with the famous mummified monks and took me out to eat and led me to a modern art museum…a complete stranger giving me a tour, spending whole day with me.

God, that time when we went to Thailand in February and on our way back, we stopped in Kiev and dared to go outside! Everything was frozen, cold, we just flew from tropics into an ice kingdom. The contrast was too much for our bodies so we hid in the mall most of the day, tanned and rested, on the brisk of returning to our regular lives.

And last time I was there, for a wedding of hubby’s friends, such a beautiful little wedding, outside Kiev, in a cute country-house hotel. We spent some time in the capital afterwards, visiting our favorite places.

I’ve been in Kiev at different time in my life; I’ve seen it try on all 4 seasons. I have always loved it when I was there and I have always resented it for taking my hubby away for several days at a time. And now, that wonderful girl whose wedding I attended, the one with big fluffy cat, she’s there, at the Maidan, and I am sure most of your Ukrainian friends are there too.  Brave people.

I love Kiev, my own personal Kiev. Can you imagine how much it means for her? To have 3 people killed, violence, practically being in a war over there! Still standing at Maidan?

There’s a protest rally today in front of the old parliament building in Tbilisi. Come join. We all have friends in Kiev. It won’t change anything, but neither will sitting home and reading news.

Sherlock 3: Here Be Dragons

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS ON ALL THREE EPISODES

All this shit going on and I completely submerge into a fictional world. If they only knew, bastard trolls (Moffat and Gatiss), how much they mean to me and how they help me…escape?

January 1^st, BBC one launches 3d season of Sherlock. I am shutting down FB for several days, saving myself from spoilers. A year ago I have planned a Sherlock party for the long-awaited return and finally, the party is scheduled on January 3d. I've waited for 2 years, I could wait 2 days.

New Year goes by in general apathy, I just hang there, carefully chewing my depression.

January 3d a group of my friends, most of which started watching Sherlock based on my recommendations, gather in my apartment, everyone dressed as a character from the series. I am wrapped in a white sheet, hair curled, just like Sherlock in Buckingham Palace. Several Irenes grace our party, pretty and dangerous, two Moriarties, 1 Molly, my hubby as Mycroft.

It never feels right after 2 years of waiting. James Bond Sherlock flies into the window, fluffs up his god-given curls and kisses Molly. My living room explodes, only to be topped by Moriarty-Sherlock induced orgasm. Hubby leaves the room for some drink. His ears hurt.  We never get the real story.  I don’t believe that Anderson saw him at all.

We are disappointed. We did not get what we expected. We were made fun of. Though after viewing that episode again and again, watching different lights and color during different scenes, looking for clues, registering soundtrack and editing, I conclude that is was a wonderful, wonderful episode.  All that was done was done on purpose, including our dissatisfaction. After all, Sherlock Holmes could not be predictable, could he?

January 8^th, we come back from Lagodekhi, we go to sleep, I watch the episode. Slow in the beginning, funny in the middle, really cool at the end. My least favorite of the season. But I gotta say, 2^nd episodes are never the best ones. Arguably, “The Blind Banker” of the 1^st season is the worst episode of all 9, and “Hounds of Baskerville” is probably the weakest of Season 2, IMHO (since the 1^st episode had The woman and the 3d episode fucked us up for two years).

January 12th,   I already have a watching date on January 14^th.  I want to wait, so that the season is not over yet. I make a human mistake. I check my FB. People  writing all sorts of exclamation points. My fellow Cumberbitch threatening to break her comp…need to watch it...how can I watch it...live streaming in the middle of the film... torrents  blind and deaf to my suffering. Desperately, I read the Conan Doyle story, thus learning beforehand about the blackmail, the fake engagement, and some fishy murder. My friend keeps yelling over the messages. Piratebay finally caves in. I download it. I devour it. My breath is racing, my sweat glands – overworking, dragons, east wind, bullets, drugs, kisses, curls, coats and cruelty merging into a tornado of excellent camera work and a musical score that rips my heart out, walks all over it, presses it into the ground and burns the hell out of it. For 90 minutes I dare not to fix my pillow.

Red Beard moment kills me like no other moment, the dog, it was the dog, oh my poor, tortured heart, it was such a “Citizen Kane” Rosebud scenario.  And oh, Mr. Holmes, oh, you in the plane, in the lights of a setting sun…it is the best episode so far. In all aspects.

And we are left with the dilemma of the same fucking roof to ponder over for two more years. And the bloody Musketeers. WTF????!!!!

Sherlock 3 - here be trolls. Two trolls. Trolls like gods. 

Farewell Sherlock and John, Steven and Mark. See you in season 4.

The pic: Mr. Holms is mistaken: those are just glasses. Pic stolen from Tumlr

This Orthodox Christmas

liberali.ge

Another protest is taking place today, as I am cooped up in my apartment, stinky and showerless, translating stuff for living and sticking Sherlock pics into FB during rest sessions. 

I guess it is never good to say “I told you so”. But man, I told you so! I told you that in their quest for power, they will start pressing hard on women, children, other vulnerable groups. And just as I told you, the Christmas message, you know, the one that is supposed to be full of hope and happy new beginnings, turned out to be vile and evil.

I quote: “Can a family that has a child by surrogate mother be happy?” “Children that are born through artificial insemination will have problems and their lives will be based on deaths of many embryos” “Whoever does this will be punished”!

Now, in the midst of protest a group of people is being attacked by religious fanatics for standing up for me.

For I have sinned and deserve all kinds of punishment. For I have chosen to use protection and wait for a stable salary, a home, a room of one’s own before becoming a parent. For after these years of making a nest, when hubby and I finally decided that we are ready, that we want one, nothing happened for a year, a two.

And then, those endless trips to different doctors began. The new “research phase” set in, beginning with a small surgery and continuing to this day. And month after month for almost two years now hubby and I keep planning our lives according to my cycle, keep our emotions, our finances, our patience and our stability revolving around follicles, endometrium, injections, hormones, the clinic, the pills.  I am googling and asking and reading and fighting against this treacherous body of mine, that just won’t surrender, won’t respond to treatments and this summer I said – enough! I am tired of this bullshit I need to act and act now, or else I will loose my sanity, and I demanded artificial insemination, which by the way is a different procedure, it is not an In Vitro fertilization, but we can’t ask church to know exact medical terms, can we? Anyway, we never got there, as my eggs never grow big enough or stuff that should hold the embryo is too thin, or one shit after another…In Vitro it is.

I was at the clinic just last week. All the final test done. Preparing my body for the next month. Looking forward to another bank loan. Healthy eating.  Quitting my job to lead a stress-free life. Talking about my uterus non-stop. I was just going to write about it too. “Divine intervention” beat me to it. Cursed me and told me that my kid will have problems. Said that if I fail to have 4 kids and if I fail to teach him number of things from the list, I will be punished (direct quote). Said that I work for my comfort instead of staying home and doing my womanly duties. Said that everything they taught me in college, about no absolute truth, about relativity of life, about different philosophies,  is a lie spread by international organizations.  

 I am worried sick as it is, thinking of probabilities, percentages, success rate, preparing myself for another failure.  And right at this time, according to the patriarch, all of my aspirations, everything I have been working towards for this past year is a sin and I will be condemned.  I always knew that one day they will walk into my personal space.  And just like I stood for my friends, empathizing and sharing their pain, my friends stand today for me, literally for me, while I am cooped in my apartment, making more money to buy more pills.

Indifferent,  got to be indifferent. Got to stop them from getting into my head. No stress. No stress. Apples and dairy and focus on work. No stress. No curses. Just stay away. Away.  Away from this evil.

P.S.protest in front of the patriarchy. Click on the pic for the original source. Not my pic.

Dear 2013, You Suck!

This is my traditional annual notes on past year. In general, it was a horrible year for me, as I went through times of anxiety, fear, loss of faith in humanity, depression, resulting in a total apathy that is plaguing me as we speak, evidenced by lack of recent posts on this here blog.

And as I look back, May 17th is the sore thumb of 2013. That is the day when something broke irreparably and I realized that this world that I liked, disliked, but generally chewed with a grain of humor (irony, sarcasm) was scary, unsafe, unpredictable and uncontrollable. All this was news to me. Before May 17th, I believed that in general, people are more kind than evil, more compassionate than hateful, more better than worse. I believed that I could build a life in this country, that I could safely raise kids in this country, I believed that I owe some kind of loyalty to this country. And I became hateful. I hated priests, I hated church, I hated monks walking in the street. Took me a while to learn how to stay neutral, how to stop them getting into my head. Stop giving them power to shake me emotionally, in their long black robes, tangled beards and judgmental stares. Freedom came with that, freedom of finally not caring about this institution, of not feeling guilty or sinful while making fun of them...I took my icons down. 

So here's what happened in 2013:

 - I burned myself with hot water and spent two weeks wearing hubby's loose shirts

- I attended TEDx Tbilisi

 - Hubby and I celebrated 5 years of living together by crawling into Batumi Sheraton spa for 2 days

 - We traveled to Armenia, road-tripped through Turkey and celebrated hubby's 30th birthday by flying to Prague; I also had an emergency flight to Denver

- I did a little "blog re-branding", meaning I put pair of my legs instead of my back on the cover

 - A legion of swearing priests chased my friends, my aunt and me on May 17th to prevent us from making a rainbow flag

- My brother visited Geo after 5 years of abstinence

 - I took part in famous Vagina Monologues and performed wonderfully painful  monologue "My Vagina Was My Village"

- Deep Purple came to town

- I started a gestalt therapy course

- We ended up with a new combo of president/premier minister

- I spent a nice vacation in Batumi, crowned by a spectacular event organised by my hubby

- I was paired up with my best friend to conduct trainings on inclusive education in vocational education institutions

 - I quit my job 

-  I experienced my first unsuccessful job interview

- My grandmother died from a stomach cancer, starved and thin, like a concentration camp prisoner

- My treacherous body refuses any attempts to domesticate it and as a final punishment, I am forcing it to accept embryos made in a petri dish

- Benedict Cumberbatch starred in Star Trek, Hobbit, 5th Estate, August Osage County, 12 Year a Slave, and filmed in season 3 of Sherlock

- Breaking Bad proved to be the best TV series ever made

And so, while not all of the year was beatings and woes, and highlights include travelling, parties, my new course in gestalt therapy (now that was an unexpected surprise), and spending weekends away with my college friend turned colleague, and most importantly, discovering tons of support that my poor tortured husband provides, year 2013 has been heavy and ugly and I am glad it is over.   

P.S. the pic: raindeer parked on our glasses