I am running, I am running

Do you ever feel, like you have no time to stop? Do you ever feel overwhelmed?

Thinking of the next month, I feel like I will loose it soon.  Next 4 weekends, I am out of town. On one side, I will be doing fun things, I will spend time with my hubby and my friends, though on the other side, if all of my weekends are spent “abroad”, who will do the cleaning, grocery shopping, laundry?

Most of the time, my apartment is a mess. I clean it up during the weekends and feel disappointed that my precious time goes into vacuuming, when I’d rather be doing something, anything, more productive.

And what if I have a kid? How will I manage all this, and take care of a baby?

Thus, I either do not sleep, do not clean the house, do not spend time with hubby, do not see friends, or do not see my family.

Do you guys also feel like there’s not enough time in a day? Do you sometimes write your personal blog during work hours?

Well, at least I will have plenty of stuff to write about every weekend now. And though we’ll be out of fresh underwear, we will be full of new experiences.

So long friends, till the next week, get ready for the stories of Dilijan and Bakuriani.

I am running, I am running, catch up with me life.

Birthday Existentialism

A wise friend told me tonight: twenty-eight is the worst. Twenty-seven, you’re still in the young category. Twenty-eight, you understand that you are headed towards thirty. But when you’re thirty, the fun starts. Cause you can begin an another decade countdown. I shrugged my shoulders. He said:”call me when you’re thirty”.  

These benchmarks are so artificial, but at the same time, they do have a meaning. We ritualize them and celebrate them. So this goddamn time, gathered folks I call friends, put on that dress that is too fancy to wear anywhere and thus has been sitting in the closet for a while, piled on make-up and as, my friend likes to say, I aimed at McQueen and resulted a drag queen.

Actually, I’ve lost weight and looked fabulous.

Now, I am snuggled in new pj’s, thinking about what I thought I’d be by now, and what I’m not and what I’ve left out and what I’ll never get. Of course, at times like this, one is bound to remember the days long passed and shake one’s head and regret that the time has stolen one’s youth. Actually, I kind of regret my youth. I regret being so rule-abiding, so normal, so well-adapted. I should’ve had red hair, I should’ve sneaked out of school, I should’ve had more boyfriends. I should’ve kissed more. I should’ve broken more rules.

In the end, in the real, honest end, I am still ordinary, I have an ordinary job, an ordinary apartment, ordinary hobbies, ordinary looks, everything is well, but nothing is outstanding. I have no special talent, I look cute but not beautiful, I have not achieved any distinctive career position, I have not made a difference, I read, but just enough to qualify for an educated person, but not enough to actually know literature, I watch films, but I am an amateur film-lover, I know little about everything and in the end, I know nothing. There’s nothing I’ve done that differentiates me from others.

When I was twenty, everything seemed possible. College was exiting, I thought I’d graduate to do great things, but I never got to them.

Sometimes I wonder if my life makes any difference, since I am important only to one person and one cat. Which is an achievement. I can’t deny that. Those two mean a lot.

Anyway, done with the blues. Tomorrow, I’m gone to Armenia, to compete with my team in What When Where tournament, I’ve been looking forward to that. God, I wish I could stop being good at this game, and start being outstanding. I miss the time, when I was in ninth grade and won the title of the best speaker in debates, among the whole country. I was such a boring, but such a successful teenager.

Maybe we have rituals to make us look back, to evaluate, even to feel bad for ourselves for one night, feel some sadness, feel some remorse, so that we can improve our life in the next decade countdown. Or what’s the point of sitting around long narrow table, gathering people that barely know each other, participating in this communal eating?

Or maybe, we need these rituals to keep us from sulking too much and to remind us that we actually have a lot of friends that like to give us gifts to keep us happy.

Thanks friends. God knows, without you, I’d be long swept by my imaginary misery. 

An Epic Beating

Our political life continues to amuse us. Just when we thought that life got boring, townsfolk found some dusty forks and damp torches, marched to the national library and beat the crap out of our city Mayor.  Yes, that’s right, this Friday, sane citizens of our fine city physically stomped all over the Mayor.

Not that I like the Mayor. I've been saying that he’s an ass for a long time. Few people doubt that he’s an ass. It is a common knowledge that he's an ass.

But Holy Mother Georgia, does that mean that we should rush and beat up the asses among us (that came out wrong, didn’t it?).

Let’s recap the beating-up event. Saakashvili and friends were to give a speech at the library. Crowd of newly-freed prisoners gathered by the library. They hate Saakashvili for placing them in the prison. They love the new government for taking them out of prison. And as their hate stores up and as their anger erects, Ugulava the Mayor and other similar asses scattered among the masses yell and scream at each other. The ex-prisoners and now proud freemen of the great city Tbilisi grab his majesty the Mayor and shower him with “love”.

If this was a movie about repressed classes bravely revolting against the usurping ruling class, I would be moved to tears. The movie had to be set in the beginning of 20s. Maybe even earlier than that. Maybe it could be of the French revolution time. Then, we would all cheer for the crowd.

We could even make a balck and white film out of it. The sailors find maggots in the meat! Down with the ship’s captain! Let’s push the stroller down the stairs in Odessa park!

However, dear friends, the times of Patomkin have passed. We live in the time of national and international courts, contracts and agreements, I don’t know, civil society, rules, laws and regulations, we live in the time when people pretend to be respectful towards each other.  People pretend not hate each other to the point where inner instincts take over and they physically beat other people. We have passed the time of yelling and stoning and fire-burning at a stake. Alas, not here, not yet!

My salary is late and I am broke. My wounds are healing and they itch. I don’t get enough sleep ever. Maybe, some other time I would've written how uncivilized and horrible it is to actually physically beat the Mayor, no matter how much of an ass he is. But right now, I feel cynical. Beat along, my dear citizens, beat away. Whatever works for you.

And that’s what happens when asses like those harassed politicians don’t legalize peace-inducing substances.

“Everybody needs to get stoned”, sang the great philosopher Bob Dylan.

Burn

As I was complaining about minor shit on fb, a grelka, this hollow rubber vessel one fills with hot water for warmth, burst and sprayed me with hot, just-boiled water.

Life is all about the priorities.  Thus, my first reaction was to save my computer from the water. God knows this keyboard has suffered enough. The second reaction was: holy shit, I am covered in burning liquid! I promptly leaped out of my nighty and my bed, ran to the mirror and saw that half of my face, my neck and my upper body was alarmingly red. Part of my face, on the other hand, seemed that nice blue color of the walking dead hue. Looking like a giant red lobster, I ran out of the room to a computer with a better keyboard and googled further instructions. I kept thinking of that girl in the Girl Interrupted, the one who burned her face after her parents took the puppy away. Anyway, the search engine vomited tons of advices and the giant red lobster dislocated to the bathroom, unwilling to hop into the cold water, as advised by the wise internet. I did put my hands and face under the faucet and took the clean towel, wet it with cold water and put it to various parts of my body, according to the pain signals it sent. I also called and yelled at my hubby to bring me an antiseptic and anti-burn cream.

So, imagine you’re frantic. You rush into the pharmacy and demand antiseptic, anti-burn stuff, quick. And the elderly lady there goes to the back and looks for the medicine forever. And then she comes back with two different tubes of cream and claims that one is antiseptic and one is anti-burn, but you need those two together in one tube, a concept beyond her cognitive abilities. What would you do? Instead of mentioning her mother in a bad way, hubby ran out to the other pharmacy, where another person couldn’t get it that some creams actually carry anti-infection and analgesic effect together, until hubby lost all his patience and explained that when a person with crazy eyes rushes into a pharmacy asking for a burn relief cream, well that means that someone got burned, goddamnit. So move.

He came home after all the pharmacy tours and scared the shit out of me; I was pretty calm before that, planning my own rescue and all. Finally, we went to a center for burn treatment. The wise internet said I couldn’t put clothes on the burn before the doctor dressed the wounds, so I had to wear shirt that is even big for my big-enough hubby, and it kinda looked like a trench coat, which I opened widely, for all the interested medical staff at the hospital and felt like an exhibitionist scaring the kids and old ladies.

The next morning I came back to the hospital, where under all the gauzes a broil size of my breast formed atop of my real breast. I considered the exiting possibility of walking three-breasted, a bit of a bra problem, but the doctors punctured it mercilessly and I will spare you the details.

Anyway, my extremely loyal hubby has been disinfecting and medicating my wound for several days now, and I predict that it would be a long time before he decides to see me naked just for the fun of it. That’s what love is. In about three weeks my skin will return to  its prior state.

Also, I have to wear his shirts now, cause my tops are pretty tight and I can’t stand the touch of a material against my body. I’ve decided to embrace this fashion challenge and pair hubby’s oversized shirts with torn jeans and colorful bandanas. After all, beauty is just skin–deep; in this case, a burned one too.

p.s. gauzes and bandages, my new friends.

Christmas in Gremi

This post is way overdue, but seems like there was always tons of stuff to write about and our Gremi charity event always got pushed behind.

Anyway, if you still care for the Christmas spirit and all that, here's a nice story.

Once upon a time three psychologists spent some time in the Gremi community, preaching bases of inclusive education, as evidenced by this post. It was then and there that they decided to contribute something material and hence, a month later, I started a Candy and Cleaning drive. Basically, we asked the kind people of Tbilisi to bring desserts or detergents, etc. for the Gremi. God bless the FB!

Initially, I planned a low-key, not-too-much-fuss event. Wanted to exploit my hubby, ask him to drive us to Gremi, store several packages of candy in my apartment. But man, the news exploded and candy was raining upon our exaltated heads (I know that's not a word...but that's the feeling). For one week, people kept coming and coming, bringing all sorts of things, I barely had time to run back and forth, locking donations in our office's storage room, involving every co-worker, making it an official work activity. We sat down and actually counted how many Barambos, Milky Ways and Barnies we collected. Fairies, Bertas and Domestos     were fully accounted for too. We smelled like Alpine freshness extra white meets dark chocolate with whole hazelnuts...and people kept coming and coming. The list grew quite large.

On the 25th, our office driver took me to Gremi, the goods were distributed, accounted lists signed by both parties and love exchanged (getting sappy).

The Gremi inhabitants had a little Christmas concert prepared and we watched participants sing, dance and recite poems. We felt so happy. As we watched them, we realized that all of that candy, that multitude of sweetness was now locked in the storage and we did not actually have anything to give the kids right now! So, one of us obtained a miser portion of the desserts and distributed it. Planning ahead would be useful. Sigh.

Anyway, I know it is super late, but I would like to thank everyone who donated those things and everyone who collected and transported them and everyone who thought this was a good idea. Of course, it was just one time and did not make a lasting impact and did not change the world or even Gremi's life for more than several months, but we have to start with little things, maybe we could make it a regular activity, donate to some other place next year?

And so, the kids received lost of laundry detergent and kilos of candy for clean clothing and positive reinforcement. And we felt like we did a good deed.  The End.

P.S. Candy we gave out during the concert.

Activism in the City

We’re marching like lonely soldiers, with our posters up, our heads even higher; we march against violation of privacy and we demand respect and we feel oh, so righteous, and so full of wisdom and then we look around and there’s ten of us and we realize that this country is full of shit.

I’ll make things clear. Last government used to blackmail folks by filming them having sex with men, because they used to use humans as means,then this government aired the footage, hiding the faces but homo-sex-having folks and their co-habitants still got recognized, because, goshdarnit, how could  have anyone guessed that airing human figures, no voice alteration, just faces blurred, will cause anyone discomfort in such a tight, closed society as Tbilisi?

So, a bunch of activists planned a march to the president’s residency and then to the prosecutor’s office—the filming and the airing party, respectively. That morning, I woke up around two in the afternoon and could not get my head off the pillow. The night before I consumed a whole bottle of sparkling wine and here I was, unable to cope with the effects.

I don’t drink. I don’t know what to do when I drink. I don’t know what to do the morning after I drink. I just wanted to lay still and pretend I didn't exist. Or pretend that I were a unicorn…it is always cool to think of yourself being innocent and with long eyelashes and pooping rainbows in the sky…

And then, I thought of the last night, how we all gathered to watch a film and we discussed it with much fervor, and decided that we had to make a stand and  put our foot down and yell--enough!enough!enough! Though I still preferred to be a unicorn, I finally got up, found my pants on the floor and dragged my ass to the president’s residency. I wanted to show my support to some of my friends. I believe this is what my activism comes down to. I want to show friends that I care for them. Every time I argue about human rights, I try to think of the humans whose rights I am defending. Sounds stupid, but so often, we get caught up in the rhetoric and forget that real people suffer. Every day. What is argument for me, is life as usual for them.

Thus we stood, ten or fifteen of us, outnumbered by the journalists around us,giving interviews or just holding posters. Then we went over to prosecutor’s office, stood some more, pranced around for the cameras, packed our belongings and went to eat khinkali.  

We lamented a bit about lazy-ass people who would rather spend their Saturday otherwise, but honestly, if it just about making a stand, who cares how many of us where there? Popularity is for mainstream, man, the less we are, the cooler we feel, man. We’re like hipster activists. We’re proud and lonely.

But hey, we were on all the news, so I guess the goal is achieved.

 Here’s to bright future and citizens who can live in dignity. Here’s to life without blackmail. Here’s to life without headaches and here’s to unicorns and rainbows. Here’s to our country being a country and not prison…dreamers of Tbilisi unite.

p.s. the pic--the activists in front of the cameras. that poster actually shows a person being squeezed between two governments.

Rocking Around the Christmas Tree

As I steer my hot chocolate with a fork (there are no clean spoons left), I am looking at the remnants of the party and making mental notes: need to unstick damp potato chips from the floor, need to sort out clean and used glasses, or better just wash them all anyway, need to fish the cigarette butts out of the salad. The dishwasher is working on max capacity and the vacuum refused to work on New Year’s Day – I guess everybody needs a holiday…

My house look like a Christmas explosion, I have way too much stuff hanging on every wall of every room, and the sophisticated interior decorator (ahem) in me screams “it’s too much, it’s too much”, but hey, friends, when you have to endure three speeches minutes before the clock hits the twelve (two boring and one spiteful), when They do not let you forget about your worries and your strife, overdecorate and overindulge and party like animals.

Which we did.

Let’s see, last New Year’s Eve I was standing in the Museum Square in Amsterdam, high as a kite, the year before that, my friends and I got infused with Batumi cold rain down to our underwear, the year before that penniless hubby and I waited for the freakin ball in Times square to freakin fall for 8 hours, and the year before that we party hopped around Tbilisi. This was the first time we were going to celebrate New Year’s Eve in our apartment.

Which we did.

Several education-seeking friends from abroad graced us with their presence and brought stories from Stanford, Holland, Germany…beware our “foreign” friends, we will visit and trash your respectable places. One friend is leaving for Finland for three months (in the winter! In Finland! She will die!) and declared that she wanted to get fucked up drunk before she left our sunny country. My new co-workers showed up. Hubby’s co-workers showed up. Also, my girls. And the team. Well, I already wrote a love ode to the team, so I won’t go into more details now.

So we sang karaoke and drank and danced and went out in the freezing night to shoot the fireworks and it was fun and we forgot about all the bullshit around us.

We did.

This is a new year now. Last year I did cliff's notes of my annual existence and here’s the 2012 version:

• I quit the Ministry. No, I QUIT THE MINISTRY!!!!
• Got a new job at a disability NGO.
• Visited Baku and Yerevan and Colorado and New Orleans and Netherlands and Belgium.
• Co-organized a huge-ass conference on inclusive education.
• Got stabbed and poked with hormones and received other procedures. If I don’t visit gynecologist three times a month now, I feel like something’s missing in my life. Gotta procreate.
• Had a minor surgery.
• Learned my family member had a cancer.
• Organized a candy-gathering fundraiser (more on that later).
• Gained two freakin permanent kilos.
• Met cool new people.

  I guess that’s it. The year is over.

Funny, I hate cleaning after supras, but I’m fne with the after-party chaos. It reminds me of the last night.

The pic: the best Christmas tree in the world:-)