Summer in the Ministry

This nice and hot summer afternoon I am sitting in my office, alone. Half of the Ministry is gone on a vacation and I am enjoying the empty hallways, being my own boss, maybe coming to work 20 minutes later than I am supposed to…and though I still have to run around with all kinds of papers, I feel like a tide of calmness has swept through here. I am finally content. I have tons to do, I’ve agreed to write some paper about topics I have to research deeply, I need to paint the door at my house and mend my shoes, but still, life is fine.
A bit exited. A bit scared. On the verge of new beginnings. I am leaving the Ministry! I am leaving this stress! God help me, I am quitting my job and diving into unknown future!
In 22 days, I will be out of here. Probably forever. I can still return in January, but that’s just a backup plan, something that makes me feel like I am not a total looser. However, I really don’t want to leave, make such a big deal out of it, start new life, just to come back in 6 months. But how stupid is it to leave when I finally get a promotion?
 In 22 days, I will be in Denver! Yes!Yes!Yes! I miss it, oh how I miss it, I will go camping, storm the Rocky mountains, get lost in University of Boulder library (my school, my campus, my cafeteria, my youth…was it really that long ago?), do all the clichés I am supposed to do in the states—Starbucks, Wall Mart, Burger King—let me embrace you, capitalist, money-making, evil franchises I would never touch in college, now that you’re far away, I miss you. Victoria’s Secret! Target! Malls! Hamburgers! Pizzas! Mint chocolate ice-creams! Maple syrup! Lucky Charms cereal! F*n Dr. Pepper!!!!!!!
 Colorado! I am so exited! Let me come back to you and hug you!
 So, last days here. Then, a month off. And after that, I am stepping into a horrible in-between-jobs limbo. I am looking for a job…anyone? Help? I will send you my CV…
How often we feel frustrated, threatening to leave, but never leaving, complaining about lack of development, progress, inner growth, now I smile to myself and I think: “I did it! I broke free! I dared and broke free!” I am an idiot.
 Colorado, time to take bunch of online classes, read some books, improve my qualification a bit, come back, start internship with a clinician, go broke…I am starting over. Like I have just graduated from college. It gives me feeling of freedom though. Feeling of power. Like I am controlling my life again. Like I am making my own decisions again. I know that I will regret it later, when lost and frustrated, I will complain about how horrible it feels to sit home, do nothing. But for now, I am enjoying it. Changes…it has been so long. Changes. And this last month here? Doesn’t seem that bad.
pic:bunny hubby gave me. expresses my current emotions.

Bookworm

Thank you Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for reminding me of what it felt like to read without putting the book down! This weekend, I read “the Good Omens” and felt young again.

The last time I was actually reading (versus staring absent-mindedly in my Nook, in a marshrutka, while on my way home from work), was in college in the US; I had an access to the huge library and I decided to take full advantage of it. Rather than doing research and making my own list, I just went ahead and followed one already approved by smarter people—I decided to read all of the authors that have received a Nobel Prize in literature. So I started with prize-winners from 1905 and finished with 2006. I skipped poets (reading poetry in translation makes no sense) and the university library lacked few authors, or had their work only in original language, but other than that I made my way through a century of literature, some of them better than others, some clearly chosen for political reasons, others being overrated, or underrated, some I liked, some –I didn’t, but basically they were all good books. It gave me material for talking with strangers on planes for years. See, everyone knows their native authors who had won a Nobel Prize.  Thus, I talked about Isaak Bashevis Singer with Jews and Grazia Deledda with Italians.

How sad, out of these 100 books, I can probably name 10 now.  Others were interesting to read, but I barely remember the plot…or the authors…damn.

Additionally, I took classes in American literature, world literature, women writers and Jung in film and literature. Main reasons for choosing those classes were that grades were based on participation and essays, rather than tests, so each semester I had at least one class which required last effort and was actually more fun than hard work. Another reason is that I did not have to buy books for those classes. Again, I took advantage of the library.

Back then, I was commuting for 2 hours (one-way, making 4 hours roundtrip) each day to get to college; when you spend so much time on bus and train, you read, read, read…oh, happy times.

My intellectual development was at its peak in college; I have been degrading since then. I think I have not read as much books in all the years since I’ve graduated, as I did in one year back then! See, I can’t even write in complete sentences that make sense. If this was my college paper, I would get C.

I sense changes in my life. I am thinking of leaving work. I am thinking of developing, learning, growing.  I am planning to take a month off and fly to Denver. And I have discovered that I have to catch up with my Nobel authors—I am 4 authors behind!

God bless the Nook and Torrent system. Truly, this is the best marriage of two cultures: an E-book from abroad and opportunity to download free books at home. I am toying with the idea of conquering the Pulitzer’s prize…

the pic: my purple nook

Arriving to Armenia: Getting Lost and Found

some posts, you write them and you like them. and then they get like 15 views and that's it.
this is one of those posts. i enjoyed writing it. we'll see about the views.
here's the beginning:

As I look back, we just wanted to escape the reality, to stop thinking about my impending surgery and myriad of problems hanging over my head and just run the hell out of Tbilisi.

We left later than usual. That always happens, doesn’t it? You plan to leave at 8 A.M. and end up on the road at 12. Poor hubby had to fight plethora of fellow employers to get out for two days; however,  they relentlessly flowed him through phone, internet and other means of communication, causing us to stop along the way so that he could send data to his execs.  Lately, our life has been one big Trump’s Apprentice and my hubby won the title without any doubt (and if you don’t know what I am talking about, you need to get updated on reality competition shows ASAP).

We crossed Geo border without hustle--did not even get out of the car. Geo customs were nice, took our pics with their webcams, scanned our passports and let us through in several seconds, despite the fact that oneof my friends kept giggling like crazy and I thought they would check her alcohol intoxication level, which they did not and she was not drunk anyway. Lesson number 1: if you feel like crossing Georgian border drunk--go ahead, they don’t care.

for more, please visit my other blog at :

http://pik.tv/en/blogs/barabadze/43488-arriving-to-armenia-getting-lost-and-found

come on, just click on it, don't be lazy!

When I was 17

Yesterday, I was showing my friend pics of my exchange year in the states; I realized how much I missed it. Ten years ago, I spent a year in Utah as a foreign exchange student. Yes.  I was FES.

I went back to visit my host family later, while being student of one of the most liberal colleges in America. It’s interesting how perspective changes when you go back and look at the places you’ve lived in, compare it to your present life and see the changes that took place within. Because when I was 16, I felt very comfortable in American high school, following the rules of that given society (and trust me, there were lot of rules, from omnipresent dress code and to no tea or coffee) and later, I complete  re-evaluated my  attitudes towards politics, popularity, people, human rights, sex, drugs, everything.

As much as I think I’ve retained my core inner self-- I still value friendship, romance, humor, I like big crowds, new people and new places--intellectually I am a completely different entity.  Look at me now, marching with gays in Tbilisi, pushing for legalization of certain plants, bashing established religion, and look at me 10 years ago, religious, making such a big deal of getting kissed that  I dragged it till I was seventeen, too scared to discuss sex, judgmental, just plain tacky, what else? And of course, I had to go to states to first find myself as a good girl Utah high school and then as a rebel in college. Cause nothing  in Georgia stimulates one to reflect on own values, understand what do we  like, want, believe, we  just go with the flow. Or maybe, everything is too familiar.

 How do we change so much but still same? Why do people claim that most of our morals are formed during our teenage years, when we grow up and retain almost nothing of that time? And if we do, we look immature and retarded. What are we really, how stable are we and will I be laughing at my current beliefs 10 years from now? Does it mean that everything I stand for now is arbitrary?

Along with all the questions, I was swept with nostalgia. I started thinking about my host family,  my host sister, my friends, my first crush and my first boy and I just felt so grateful that I’ve met this people, that they allowed me to be part of their lives, that they supported me when everything seemed so much more important than it was…like will he call me, do I look nice in these jeans,  what happens if I say this? Do I fit in, am I unique? Will I go to prom? I mean, do you remember how important it was to go to prom?

Funny huh? Don’t make fun of it though. It hurt then.

When I was seventeen, it was a very good year. It was a very good year of confronting to the society, being overly emotional and constantly establishing myself. But damn it, it was a very good year. And I miss it.

p.s. pic: engaging in what seemed like a very American activity: gathering leaves with my host family.

Reality Crisis

The other day I found myself walking in a park, coming to terms with reality.

Am I in some stupid melodrama?

Welcome to an episode of House M.D.: my grandmother has stage 4 cancer. Thank you the deity up above, that she is in U.S. What if she was here, how could we help her, with no decent medical help, no insurance, no expertise?

She’s starting a curse of chemo, as soon as she recovers from her unsuccessful surgery (they couldn’t cut the tumor out).

Should I write about this?  Some things are too private. Especially, when they concern others.

So, let’s come back to me then. I can write about me, right? Right?! I have cyst growing in my ovaries and we’re cutting it out next week. Hopefully, I will start ovulating after that. Or I won’t. I don’t care anymore. Some people don’t have legs, some people don’t have hair, and some don’t have well-developed eggs.  Fuck it.

Remember Sex and City, Charlotte couldn’t have kids because she was “reproductionally challenged”? Doesn’t seem so funny anymore. Are you crying yet? Oh, this is such a pity-me post!

I am over crabby stage. I laugh and generally try to be in good mood, but I can’t fall asleep. I should look for some night reading material, instead of staring into the darkness. Oh, and these mood swings.  In the beginning of the post I was sad, then I started laughing at all the pathos and now I am getting angry. Sometimes I walk around in the street and sing aloud. I am trying to bring my temper up with tacky music. ..“oh, my darling, I hunger for you touch…are you still miiiiiiiiiiiiine?”

How do I deal with my Anxiety? Non-stop watching of the latest Celebrity Apprentice. I come home from work, crawl into my bed and watch Donald Trump. What would I do without my reality TV? Please don’t take it away from me. Ever.   Unfortunately, Celebrity Apprentice is over and now I am spending evenings reading about my favorite contestants and watching their appearances on different comedy shows.  Oh, and I discovered some interesting new stars, for example, since I am anti-American Idol (me, the queen of reality TV! I just don’t like music contests), I don’t know any of the Idol people, and all the sudden some guy named Clay Aiken from season 2 of the Idol almost won the Apprentice (he should’ve, should’ve won! F u Trump!). Here’s to new era of endlessly reading his bios and listening to his songs (ick. cheesy pop songs. great voice though)!

When stressed, some people drink, some smoke, some eat. I have stopped eating, sleeping and never found consolation in alcohol.  So I watch rich white old man ask bunch of have-been-celebrities lead projects and scratch each other’s eyes out, while listening to Unchained Melody sang by cute pasty southern gay guy, who was robbed of his reality TV winner regalia twice. What, is this obsession unhealthy?! Damn right! Who is healthy anyway?!

Oh, I know, I know, my life is not a melodrama. It is one big sappy reality TV show. Cause it is too stupid for anything more interesting.

When Ur Husband is Smarter than U

when your husband is smarter than you...you either turn into a jealous bitch or support him and his team and become their groupie. Or you can just be irrelevant bu that sucks. Let me explain. We're playing quiz game team called "what when where". We actually have a wonderful team. Additionally to our team, hubby is on another team that plays this game on TV.
 So now we have two celebrities in my house-hubby and Gaia the cat. Hubby-cause he is on Tv, Gaia--cause she is cool.
 After endless assembling in my house to practice answering questions, eating potato chips and scaring the hell out of Gaia with their arguing, the TV team got on screen for the first time. The dress code for the TV game is formal evening wear and guys looked ridiculous in tuxes. I rented a black lace dress and for the first time ever used red lipstick. Turned out-you can draw fuller lips with red lipstick, and lie that your mouth looks prettier than in real life!
 The almost lost (the score was 3:5 and the game is over after 6 points), but finally, correctly answered three questions, making it 4:5 , then 5:5 and finally winning with the score of 6:5! Damn it, it was painful to watch!

 So, all those evening of cleaning up crumbs from my carpet after their practices paid off! They won and last Wednesday, we all gathered to watch the show air and made fun of their faces.
 We have another practice today, not with the celebrity TV people, but our real team, cause tomorrow is tournament of Georgia, and we should end up in top 5 teams, damn it, no matter how many kilos of potato chips it takes!
 When your husband is smarter than you, you stuff him with carbs and hope he gets fat.
 the pic: hubby celebrating his win after the show

Sairme Getaway

Summer time and the living is easy, or so we want to think, and I forced my husband to work less last Saturday (to make him quit working is impossible; damn you cell phones with internet).  After finding out that Lake Lopota resort in Kakheti costs more than staying in the center of Istambul, I called reasonably-priced Sairme resort and booked a room with a balcony—it’s always nice to have a balcony.

Under rampant sounds of Gogol Bordello, we made a detour to Kutaisi, to visit my favorite road-side restoraunt, Khutorok. It is owned and operated by local Ukrainians. Everything I’ve tasted there is delicious and cheap. Salads cost up to 5 Lari and the most expensive meat entrée is around 10-15 lari. If you are order lunch for two, it will cost probably 15 Lari for both appetizers and entrees.  “Khutorok” is the king of my favorite restoraunts – hole in the wall places that look cheap, but serve  tasty food made form natural ingredients…the sour cream they brought us, itwas so dense, twe stuck a spoon in the middle and it did not fall...yum.

We left Kutaisi full and happy and went back to Bagdadi, where we saw poet Mayakovski’s house, and hubby even read his poem on the deck.  Mayakovski was cool. Once, he was talking to his readers and stated : “I feel Russian among Russian people and Georgian among Georgian people”, someone from the audience yelled: “and among stupid people?”, to which he replied “and among the stupid people, I find myself for the first time”.

Back on the road, which suddenly got so pretty. Trees were trying to hold branches and extended over the road, reaching towards each other, this one river criss-crossed bridges beneath us, every turn seemed curvier than the one before, our stomachs were desprate, our eyes—content; The lords of the road, brown and Dzen cows, chillaxed in the middle of the way, calmly looking at cars honking at them, probably thinking: “only fools hurry, why are these people in cars upsetting the perfect peace of the universe?” and refusing to move; someone spread white sheets to dry between the pines in the forest, like some commercial of Tide Alpine Freshness... Once we got to Sairme, I made it my priority to breathe deep and breathe a lot, cause the air smelled like trees. It just did. 

Doorman opened doors for us and brought our backpacks upstairs and I tipped him 2 Lari, feeling very uncomfortable and proud at the same time--I did something I’ve only seen in movies. The room was O.K., remodeled soviet hotel, with two beds apart  ( I broke one of them trying to put two beds together and we had to fix it and sleep separately). We walked in the park, we sat on the benches, hubby drank healthy mineral water, we went to the spa, hubby had  massage, then we dipped ourselves in the tub of mineral water, then we ate the most boring, dietary dinner provided by the hotel (it is actually a sanatorium, meaning  people stay there to improve their health so we were fed carrots and oatmeal), then we kissed in the forest like we were still teenagers that can’t find a place to make out, since they do not have room of their own, and we remembered how we met and got all sentimental.  Cue to hurried exit to our hotel (because, now we had a room of our own), and afterwards hubby lounging himself on the balcony (see, balconies are cool!), and smoking a cigar, ruining the effect of tree air and healthy dinner. 

We left the next morning and headed to this city full of smoke and of cars and of work and of all things boring and usual and un-Sairmean.

P.S. pic: forest in sairme