6:40. Toca o alarme. Só me levanto 5 minutos depois. Dá pra ver o dia claro. Às vezes, dá pra sentir a chuva, mas nunca a intensidade do sol. Às 7, I feel the sunlight on my face. Meu primeiro contato com o mundo exterior é essa hora de exercícios físicos ao ar livre. O parque é meu quintal de casa... E me tem sido vital.
Às 8 estou de volta. Assisto Gilmore Girls enquanto me arrumo para o trabalho. Às vezes choro, muitas vezes, sorrio. Enquanto isso, tomo banho, passo creme, me visto penteio, maquio, preparo o café e curto o último bloco sentada no sofá.
Esse mês, meu programa matinal tem sido a fisioterapia. Uma tendinite no quadril, conseqüência de um tombo na escada conjugado com uma série "killer" de coxa. Resultado: minha corrida matinal virou uma caminhada. Not too bad. Tenho tido tempo pra pensar enquanto caminho. Colocar os últimos acontecimentos da minha vida em perspectivas diferentes, fazer uma releitura...
E a fisio demora mais ou menos uma hora. Calor, alongamento, exercícios para fortalecer a musculatura e, pra finalizar, gelo. It’s easy. Plus, I have time to catch up on my reading of the weekly magazine I subscribe, Carta Capital.
Then, I head to work. São 30 minutos dirigindo, quando não há trânsito. Às vezes, escuto um cd. Muitas vezes escuto rádio. E penso. Muito.
Penso muito no sentido de tudo isso, no acordar, malhar, trabalhar, comer, dormir e voltar a acordar. Nunca cheguei a uma conclusão. Sempre chego primeiro ao trabalho. E o trabalho não tem me ajudado a me sentir melhor comigo mesma. Trouble with a co-worker. Plus the general feeling that I’m not doing anything substantial or even useful. A sensação de mediocridade e desperdício...
At 7 my shift is over. Usually I head home. Às segundas, procuro chegar em casa antes das 8, pra assistir Medium. Isso é um sinal do quanto minha vida anda vazia: nunca gostei de televisão. Mas às quartas tem Men in Tress, às 10:00. Meio tarde pra mim, mas tem sido um bom paliativo. Terças e quintas tenho francês. Não ligo a TV quando chego em casa. Às vezes ligo o computador. Muitas vezes, leio. Leio coisas avulsas, literatura, história. Não tenho tido ânimo para estudar. I don’t see the point...
Tenish, and I’m feeling sleepy already. My day has gone.
What have I done?
Apr 24, 2007
Apr 18, 2007
Apr 16, 2007
Last week...
I thought that one of us would be happy...
Oh, an, yeah... it’s just that... I’ve made plans, cos I thought you’d be away.
Oh. Ok. Can’t you fit me in? Like one afternoon, we go to the movies, or so...
No. (Yes, plain No was what I heard...)
After that there was a long pause in time. Nothing happened in the story of these two as a duo. Inward each, just each can say.
There was anger, I can say, and a bit of relieve. There was a message and a call. And a "maybe I call you latter." There was whisky, too. And friends. And insomnia. And a lot of questions. But a good night sleep and another day.
Another day, another message. Modern way of communicating to others. Safe. Excusable. Easy. Practical.
Those were good moments, I think. He is worth it. I’ll call. Release his affliction, the weight on his chest (my guess, since I cannot really tell what is going on on the other side...)
So I call. Yes, I’m still a bit annoyed and I’m not very good at hiding this. But the conversation ends fine. Friendly tone. Still, my guess... He even mentions a movie or something. Maybe lunch one of these days. I reassure him that there are no hard feelings. After all, if there is something in this life I’ve already learned and apprehended is that there is no way to make a person like you. And what goes on in others’ hearts is their matter only. So, I take care of mine. I do what it tells me to. I called. I opened up again. Not wide open, but I told him it was not locked. And also that it would take his will to enter.
Pause.
I’m bored. (door slightly opens...)
I have to iron.
Ok. I’m going out.
I catch up if I finish. But I really, must have to oughta do that.
(Who wears more than five shirts a week? Anyway. His life, his time. Who am I to say anything? I just thought, as he is so fond of saying, that my companion was worth more than 10 extra shirts hanging on somebody’s closet. I feel I’m not worth more than that. But it goes away. I make it go away, as I have some other times. For if he decides to show up, I want to have a smile for him. Not a crummy feeling.)
I finished (ninish at night I guess) But I’m really tired. (well, I’d be too...)
(My bad, I didn’t know that that line required an answer. I should have sensed that one would have made him fell better about himself...God. I’m an awful person...)
Awful person. I myself rise my expectations above the brim, and when people fail to come up to them, I blame people. I get mad at them. After all, they have to do what I expect them to do. They have to act my way. Yes. I’m awful. (there’s no sarcasm in this mea culpa. I do believe that)
Pause.
(Well, that is it. I’m no long waiting. And no long believing. When he says that, he doesn’t mean that. I’ve learned the lesson, hence, my sarcasm:
I really miss our conversations.
yeah, yeah, yeah...
Boa Noite. Bye, bye.
I didn’t lose my sleep over it this time. But my morning walk was filled with thoughts about whether I should let it out or not. Apparently, my guts decided it was better to do so.
What I feel, babe (allow me to use this word, for I fell closer and tender at the sound of it) is that you are hiding behind the anger you assume I have of you.
I assure you, yet there are no hard feelings. Although I feel they are starting to build, along with a bunch of ifs...
I’ll give some of them to you:
If you are expecting me to go up to you, I won’t. I’ve showed you (I guess) that I think you are worth it more that once, with my moves.
If you really want to have me around, don’t expect me to go to you. The times I’ve done that, I failed. Disastrously.
If you are holding on just to feel better about yourself, babe, sorry to tell you but I do not have this power. (I can’t change the way you feel, but I can put my arms around you)
If you think this is becoming bigger that it should, than we found a point of agreement.
Just let it go and life will take its course again. Soon, you’ll forget, I’ll forget. And we will both survive. I’m sure of that.
And if you do think I’m worth the move, you know where to find me. But just don’t say things if you don’t mean them. And think of the ones you do mean. Because they might hurt somebody not worth hurting.
I want to keep the good vibes and feelings you brought along. Don’t take them away from me.
I don’t think time is a good healer. I just feel it helps us get used to things. Absences and presences.
Oh, an, yeah... it’s just that... I’ve made plans, cos I thought you’d be away.
Oh. Ok. Can’t you fit me in? Like one afternoon, we go to the movies, or so...
No. (Yes, plain No was what I heard...)
After that there was a long pause in time. Nothing happened in the story of these two as a duo. Inward each, just each can say.
There was anger, I can say, and a bit of relieve. There was a message and a call. And a "maybe I call you latter." There was whisky, too. And friends. And insomnia. And a lot of questions. But a good night sleep and another day.
Another day, another message. Modern way of communicating to others. Safe. Excusable. Easy. Practical.
Those were good moments, I think. He is worth it. I’ll call. Release his affliction, the weight on his chest (my guess, since I cannot really tell what is going on on the other side...)
So I call. Yes, I’m still a bit annoyed and I’m not very good at hiding this. But the conversation ends fine. Friendly tone. Still, my guess... He even mentions a movie or something. Maybe lunch one of these days. I reassure him that there are no hard feelings. After all, if there is something in this life I’ve already learned and apprehended is that there is no way to make a person like you. And what goes on in others’ hearts is their matter only. So, I take care of mine. I do what it tells me to. I called. I opened up again. Not wide open, but I told him it was not locked. And also that it would take his will to enter.
Pause.
I’m bored. (door slightly opens...)
I have to iron.
Ok. I’m going out.
I catch up if I finish. But I really, must have to oughta do that.
(Who wears more than five shirts a week? Anyway. His life, his time. Who am I to say anything? I just thought, as he is so fond of saying, that my companion was worth more than 10 extra shirts hanging on somebody’s closet. I feel I’m not worth more than that. But it goes away. I make it go away, as I have some other times. For if he decides to show up, I want to have a smile for him. Not a crummy feeling.)
I finished (ninish at night I guess) But I’m really tired. (well, I’d be too...)
(My bad, I didn’t know that that line required an answer. I should have sensed that one would have made him fell better about himself...God. I’m an awful person...)
Awful person. I myself rise my expectations above the brim, and when people fail to come up to them, I blame people. I get mad at them. After all, they have to do what I expect them to do. They have to act my way. Yes. I’m awful. (there’s no sarcasm in this mea culpa. I do believe that)
Pause.
(Well, that is it. I’m no long waiting. And no long believing. When he says that, he doesn’t mean that. I’ve learned the lesson, hence, my sarcasm:
I really miss our conversations.
yeah, yeah, yeah...
Boa Noite. Bye, bye.
I didn’t lose my sleep over it this time. But my morning walk was filled with thoughts about whether I should let it out or not. Apparently, my guts decided it was better to do so.
What I feel, babe (allow me to use this word, for I fell closer and tender at the sound of it) is that you are hiding behind the anger you assume I have of you.
I assure you, yet there are no hard feelings. Although I feel they are starting to build, along with a bunch of ifs...
I’ll give some of them to you:
If you are expecting me to go up to you, I won’t. I’ve showed you (I guess) that I think you are worth it more that once, with my moves.
If you really want to have me around, don’t expect me to go to you. The times I’ve done that, I failed. Disastrously.
If you are holding on just to feel better about yourself, babe, sorry to tell you but I do not have this power. (I can’t change the way you feel, but I can put my arms around you)
If you think this is becoming bigger that it should, than we found a point of agreement.
Just let it go and life will take its course again. Soon, you’ll forget, I’ll forget. And we will both survive. I’m sure of that.
And if you do think I’m worth the move, you know where to find me. But just don’t say things if you don’t mean them. And think of the ones you do mean. Because they might hurt somebody not worth hurting.
I want to keep the good vibes and feelings you brought along. Don’t take them away from me.
I don’t think time is a good healer. I just feel it helps us get used to things. Absences and presences.
Apr 11, 2007
UM MUNDO DE MENTIRA (ói qui lôco!)
Data estelar: Vênus faz quincunce a Plutão antes de ingressar no signo de Gêmeos, Lua mingua em Aquário.
Enquanto isso, aqui na nave Terra nossa humanidade de boa vontade tenta levar uma vida normal, mas o tempo inteiro a realidade assalta sua consciência, esbofeteando-a com informações desprovidas de maquiagem e construções de imagem. É a simples e crua realidade açoitando nossa consciência, informando-nos claramente que vivemos num mundo de mentira, sendo por isso obrigados a despender estupendos recursos vitais para sustentar a boa imagem de algo que, na verdade, só se degrada. Essa degradação só não acontece com maior velocidade porque, consensualmente, toda nossa humanidade acha melhor continuar preservando a mentira do que enfrentar o caos da degradação declarada. Entretanto, daria para aproveitar essa condição para tornar mais veloz a nossa libertação.
tirei daqui*
Enquanto isso, aqui na nave Terra nossa humanidade de boa vontade tenta levar uma vida normal, mas o tempo inteiro a realidade assalta sua consciência, esbofeteando-a com informações desprovidas de maquiagem e construções de imagem. É a simples e crua realidade açoitando nossa consciência, informando-nos claramente que vivemos num mundo de mentira, sendo por isso obrigados a despender estupendos recursos vitais para sustentar a boa imagem de algo que, na verdade, só se degrada. Essa degradação só não acontece com maior velocidade porque, consensualmente, toda nossa humanidade acha melhor continuar preservando a mentira do que enfrentar o caos da degradação declarada. Entretanto, daria para aproveitar essa condição para tornar mais veloz a nossa libertação.
tirei daqui*
Apr 10, 2007
Everybody goes to Hollywood
Ok, I got disappointed. Once more.
My bad. I still believe in fairy tales, although I cannot play the part of the princess with the merest resemblance.
Or, better, I still believe in Hollywood. How can it hurt you when it looks so good?
( I’ve been hearing to Bono tell me to Walk on...)
So, I pack what’s been unpacked, gather the bits and pieces, recompose. Heels, lipstick and that’s it. I’m gonna wait for the next Prince. (I blame it on the Music Industry, also)
I need someone to call my love again.
Maybe we’ll meet at a bar, he’ll drive a funky car
Maybe we’ll meet at a Club and fall so deeply in love...
But I’d settle for an Angel, too. Yeah, an Angel. A real one, that’s willing to give up his immortality for my love and a touch of my lips. Just like Seth did for Maggie in City of Angels.
Cos I tried best friends. More than once. It never worked. It was never A lot like love.
Nunca foi De repente é amor.
Confesso. O tipo Príncipe Encantado, em si, nunca me encantou. Leopold is just not my kind. Especialmente nos grandes burgos modernos. I leave him to Kate, without a fuss.
Outra confissão. Cansei de esperar meu momento Serendipity. Acho que as mulheres sempre fizeram as coisas acontecerem. E eu tô querendo ser mulher de verdade.
Pra ter um homem de verdade.
Now, Leônidas, oh God. Ok, qualquer um dos trezentos me faria feliz por alguns momentos. Mas é ele o homem de verdade. Dos sonhos. My real charm.
Prestem atenção; o guapo é apaixonado pela mulher, a qual ele não hesitar em chamar de Rainha. Longe, só pensa em voltar pros braços da amada. Além disso, ele pede, escuta e considera a opinião daquela com quem divide a cama. E se preocupa em satisfazê-la. 300 é definitivamente uma história de amor. Hollywood.
Séries de TV também são feitas em Hollywood?
(There’s something in the air in Hollywood...)
I’ve been watching Men in Tress. And thinking...
Last episode, a movement was launched. It’s called Menaissance, or the rebirth of real men.
I ask myself: who is this real man? Where does he live and what does he look like? And foremost, is he real at all? Or just another stereotype of a prince we will never find?
He is supposed to be fit, brainy, witty, He has to know how to cook, have a brilliant and successful career, of prestige, do the dishes and loves kids and dogs.
My point: we are spoiled by Hollywood.
Por isso são tão frequentes as desistências, disappointments e afins.
It’s an endless wait (in vain) for Prince Charm. Or Real Man. A love that will always be unrequited.
At the end of the day, we are lonely, cos we won’t settle for anything less than what the movies have promised us: Perfection.
And no sweet solace with a heart that really beats will ever cure this deception.
Go check how Hollywood works its magic...
My bad. I still believe in fairy tales, although I cannot play the part of the princess with the merest resemblance.
Or, better, I still believe in Hollywood. How can it hurt you when it looks so good?
( I’ve been hearing to Bono tell me to Walk on...)
So, I pack what’s been unpacked, gather the bits and pieces, recompose. Heels, lipstick and that’s it. I’m gonna wait for the next Prince. (I blame it on the Music Industry, also)
I need someone to call my love again.
Maybe we’ll meet at a bar, he’ll drive a funky car
Maybe we’ll meet at a Club and fall so deeply in love...
But I’d settle for an Angel, too. Yeah, an Angel. A real one, that’s willing to give up his immortality for my love and a touch of my lips. Just like Seth did for Maggie in City of Angels.
Cos I tried best friends. More than once. It never worked. It was never A lot like love.
Nunca foi De repente é amor.
Confesso. O tipo Príncipe Encantado, em si, nunca me encantou. Leopold is just not my kind. Especialmente nos grandes burgos modernos. I leave him to Kate, without a fuss.
Outra confissão. Cansei de esperar meu momento Serendipity. Acho que as mulheres sempre fizeram as coisas acontecerem. E eu tô querendo ser mulher de verdade.
Pra ter um homem de verdade.
Now, Leônidas, oh God. Ok, qualquer um dos trezentos me faria feliz por alguns momentos. Mas é ele o homem de verdade. Dos sonhos. My real charm.
Prestem atenção; o guapo é apaixonado pela mulher, a qual ele não hesitar em chamar de Rainha. Longe, só pensa em voltar pros braços da amada. Além disso, ele pede, escuta e considera a opinião daquela com quem divide a cama. E se preocupa em satisfazê-la. 300 é definitivamente uma história de amor. Hollywood.
Séries de TV também são feitas em Hollywood?
(There’s something in the air in Hollywood...)
I’ve been watching Men in Tress. And thinking...
Last episode, a movement was launched. It’s called Menaissance, or the rebirth of real men.
I ask myself: who is this real man? Where does he live and what does he look like? And foremost, is he real at all? Or just another stereotype of a prince we will never find?
He is supposed to be fit, brainy, witty, He has to know how to cook, have a brilliant and successful career, of prestige, do the dishes and loves kids and dogs.
My point: we are spoiled by Hollywood.
Por isso são tão frequentes as desistências, disappointments e afins.
It’s an endless wait (in vain) for Prince Charm. Or Real Man. A love that will always be unrequited.
At the end of the day, we are lonely, cos we won’t settle for anything less than what the movies have promised us: Perfection.
And no sweet solace with a heart that really beats will ever cure this deception.
Go check how Hollywood works its magic...
Apr 5, 2007
Apr 4, 2007
Apr 2, 2007
Live and let die.
Tarot cards once told me that my aim in this life is to learn how to relate to the other.
It’s been a struggle, I may say.
More sad than good moments, more disappointments and tears than laughter.
I have to admit, though, that I am the solely responsible for that.
I don’t look for quietude. I don’t want stability and comfort.
I like it when it is hot, burning. Or cold. Frozen.
Not warm.
Warm is somewhere in the middle. I like extremes.
I wanna be worshiped. But I don’t want to live in a pedestal.
Because Saints and Angels cannot be touched. Not by lust.
And I’m touchy.
I might say that I’ve been able to learn some things...
One of them is that I’m definitely not a nagging woman. Not one that likes to suffer. Not one that wants to live happily ever after. Because happiness is warm. And I like the heat.
Also, I’m not good at games.
Mysterious, yes. Seductive, charming and enchanting, yes. Not masquerade. I’m too manly for that.
Or better put: I’m too short of patience for that.
I like things as they are.
Maybe that’s why I don’t like promises or plans.
It’s been a struggle, I may say.
More sad than good moments, more disappointments and tears than laughter.
I have to admit, though, that I am the solely responsible for that.
I don’t look for quietude. I don’t want stability and comfort.
I like it when it is hot, burning. Or cold. Frozen.
Not warm.
Warm is somewhere in the middle. I like extremes.
I wanna be worshiped. But I don’t want to live in a pedestal.
Because Saints and Angels cannot be touched. Not by lust.
And I’m touchy.
I might say that I’ve been able to learn some things...
One of them is that I’m definitely not a nagging woman. Not one that likes to suffer. Not one that wants to live happily ever after. Because happiness is warm. And I like the heat.
Also, I’m not good at games.
Mysterious, yes. Seductive, charming and enchanting, yes. Not masquerade. I’m too manly for that.
Or better put: I’m too short of patience for that.
I like things as they are.
Maybe that’s why I don’t like promises or plans.
Sugar and spice
For the record: I'm off the sugary fase.
For the time being.
And for the record, I was wrong.
Magic doesn't simply happen.
We have to fight for it.
And I'm a bit tired at the moment.
For the time being.
And for the record, I was wrong.
Magic doesn't simply happen.
We have to fight for it.
And I'm a bit tired at the moment.
You live, you learn.
Impossível não criar expectativas. Impossível.
Impossível não achar que o novo encontro pode ser uma possibilidade.
Possibilidade?
Todos nós fazemos isso.
Todos. Acreditamos ser possível, a felicidade.
E esperamos que ela aconteça.
Esperamos.
Alguns, enquanto isso, vivem e se divertem.
É o que eu quero aprender a fazer.
Mas se eu quiser chorar, eu sei que não vou conseguir conter.
Como não contenho o riso.
Escondo, pra chorar no escuro.
E depois, alivio com sarcasmo.
Eu sinto demais. Sinto quase tudo com uma intensidade maior do que meu coração pode abarcar.
E isso dói.
Doem as escolhas e os motivos que me levam a elas.
Dói a solidão, ainda que por opção.
Dói a companhia, que não me satisfaz, não corresponde às expectativas.
Dói a falta de vontade e o excesso de zelo.
Zelo com o desimportante.
Dói a mediocridade e a falta de ânimo pra sair dela.
Sinto tanto e tão intensamente que às vezes desacredito da própria existência da tal felicidade.
E quando quero realmente acreditar, ao credita-la sou cínica.
Mas não consigo deixar de criar expectativas. E acreditar nas possibilidades.
Impossível não achar que o novo encontro pode ser uma possibilidade.
Possibilidade?
Todos nós fazemos isso.
Todos. Acreditamos ser possível, a felicidade.
E esperamos que ela aconteça.
Esperamos.
Alguns, enquanto isso, vivem e se divertem.
É o que eu quero aprender a fazer.
Mas se eu quiser chorar, eu sei que não vou conseguir conter.
Como não contenho o riso.
Escondo, pra chorar no escuro.
E depois, alivio com sarcasmo.
Eu sinto demais. Sinto quase tudo com uma intensidade maior do que meu coração pode abarcar.
E isso dói.
Doem as escolhas e os motivos que me levam a elas.
Dói a solidão, ainda que por opção.
Dói a companhia, que não me satisfaz, não corresponde às expectativas.
Dói a falta de vontade e o excesso de zelo.
Zelo com o desimportante.
Dói a mediocridade e a falta de ânimo pra sair dela.
Sinto tanto e tão intensamente que às vezes desacredito da própria existência da tal felicidade.
E quando quero realmente acreditar, ao credita-la sou cínica.
Mas não consigo deixar de criar expectativas. E acreditar nas possibilidades.
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