can I wake up tomorrow?

in case I haven't mentioned it - I am an escapologist. and I contradict myself at times. I tried out tumblr just to see that it doesn't really fit. I like my job, but don't seem to be able to be productive lately. it s so difficult to define something alive, isn't it.
oh, do I need to vent… to let the steam out. my failures to become successfully anonymous and/or anonymously successful have a reason. they must have a reason. I am bad at structure, even worse at defining my theme, my song, my colour, my favourite tv show and my fragrance. definition is so restricting and finite. after finite it becomes boring, plain and at last - untrue. because my truth will always have that “and…”, that “if…”, that “however…”. and that is not a good definition. so why define, why be good at it? why strive? 

kitty from here

because definition is required. continuity is definition, regularity is definition, consistency is definition. definition good, uncertainty - bad. that is how we operate as a society. hell, that is how I operate too. when I watch annoying episodes of SATC or GA, where people don’t define although it is all clear. I am all for clarity, clearly defined relationships, clear rules. clear. good - bad. and I cannot be good in my own book if cannot conform to this. and I never will be able to be defined, clear cut and finite. I am me. life is not tv, and life online is a buffet - I can be as finite as I wish to be. does that mean I am dishonest? yes, I am selective. selectively undefined, thus more true to myself. it makes things complicated, it makes things messy, it discourages to continue. and then I fail. again and again. but does that stop me? hasn’t stopped yet… I want to explore and try to define. define parts, put them together, take them apart and reconstruct. I want to play, still. forget the failure, forget the impossibility of definition. because how else am I supposed to go on?

via weheartit

the tricky thing is to get used to '12. a new number, a new 365 366 days to live, enjoy, succeed in or gloriously fuck up, 366 days to work hard, play harder, chill softly and just be alive in. 

frankly, I don't really understand the hype about new beginnings and resolutions. my resolutions appear and are being cancelled on each, every and any calendar day of the year. but even I can succumb to pressure, after all there are certain things you are supposed to do - watch Irony of Fate on the telly, which is briefly interrupted by President's speech and fireworks. 

This New Year, however, was a bit different for me. I had of course watches fireworks by our freedom lady, but I had never had champagne right there on the spot. I have never gone on a pub/club crawling tour afterwards either. It was fun and different. And made me revisit and re-appreciate my usual way of life.

So - no resolutions, no lists, my life is far too determined by deadlines and schedules as it is. Just some agreements that have to be kept and above all a promise to self. to be.

one woman's struggle with Dior - or - getting the executive groove on

We go way back - Copenhagen and I, we've been casual about it, infatuated, giving each other the silent treatment, falling desperately into each others arms, you know, the lot. I have always had that "butterflies in the tummy" feeling when getting ready for a date with Copenhagen, I have been obsessing and plotting agendas. this weekend date however  was all fun, no clingy thoughts, no demands "like me, want me, desire me Copenhagen, I did my make up just for you". instead I did my make up for me, for me only, and we had a date, just had some fun, some chai latte and it was good. a date when you just relax and enjoy the feeling of everything just being as it has to be. because you are destined for each other, no agendas, no checklists, just being in the moment. Copenhagen took me by the hand and smiled its wickedly charming smile.

from here

and what do you do after a good date? yes, you go berserk in the duty free shopping area at the airport. or at least I did. now I am a proud owner of Clinique "eye definition" set and a set of Dior miniatures - delightful little buggers, as on the picture. 

I do love miniature perfumes, even though you have to risk it - sometimes some of the little bottles are not meant to be opened. luckily, after some struggling, I managed to open and sniff all 5 of the little Diors, they all smell as they should (isn't that lucky). some of these will now be my executive perfumes, for times when I need all the executive attitude I can get, like tomorrow. back to work, back into the groove. groove on!

in a few hours I will get into a green car and be off to RIX. there is no agenda this time, but I know I will ache. just a little. like people who want children ache when they look at a toddler. but having no agenda makes it a bit easier, it welcomes pleasant surprises. I have just decided to be. just like that.

this, Idun, is the Internet!

two boys, an electric drill and a roll of optical cable at Idun's place? that can only mean one thing - I have entered the land of brand new, swooosh, hold on to your hats, I-cannot-believe-how-fast-this-is Internet. and treated myself to a new browser too, busy busy day. 

a still from IT Crowd, season 3 episode 4

   but wait! that's not all - I (the person who has never really gotten the point of all the tweet madness, and is still somewhat puzzled) have joined the evergrowing tweeting community. I don't know how often I will tweet and I certainly hope I'm not becoming a twit by doing that. there's a pun right there, hah! but without further ado, let me document - I am now on twitter. or rather the garden is on twitter. I have to confess - this happened because I read someplace that tweeting about your blog (or blogging about your tweets? retweeting your blog posts? posting your tweets? confused!) should make your blog better, whatever that entails. it brings your blog to the public, gives you a channel of interaction with your community etc etc. well, for someone who is reluctant to call her garden a blog in the first place this is a huge leap.
   I am not sure of most of the terms used in that blog improvement article. there's the paradox with blogging - although I do enjoy the process of writing, the pressure of definition, stats hunt and all that is just too much. and too little, curiously. why blog if you don't want anyone to read it? obviously, if you want to keep things secret you write in a notebook protected by a heart shaped padlock. some online writers have even called it hypocrisy when people say that they blog for themselves. logically enough, if you publish, you intend for your publications to be read.
I don't think writing for oneself and for others is incompatible, in fact I believe that even writing for others you write first of all for yourself. but where do I stand on this, with tweets and all? a proper blog-blog is like a drawing pinned on the board - see, I made this! I am more of a -this is what I draw, take a look if you want to- sort of person. therefore not a "proper blogger" in my understanding, just exploring my blog as I write. and you can join me if you like. tweet tweet!

keep the rhythm

Today as I was sitting in the t-bus (or troll, as I say), and it accelerated from the stop just to halt again before a red light, I gazed out of the window, aimlessly. The radio was on, quite loudly and I noticed a passer by, a young woman, whose steps coincided exactly with the beat of the rather common song on the radio. and I felt like witnessing something special, like discovering a secret that last only for a moment and then is gone. her steps were made for this song and the song was tailored and timed so perfectly to her steps. yet she didn't hear the radio. and the driver had most probably not seen her on the pavement. and it doesn't matter that all this can be calculated and demistified in a most rational way. for that little moment I felt that there is always a song that matches our footsteps, even if we don't hear it, it is playing somewhere and or feet know it. and the song knows that somewhere we walk, strut, shuffle and prance its rhythm.

fine, but I will not wear that bucket on my head!

last week, before I went to see Larry Crowne (Crowne with an "e"), I somehow knew that it would be an evening well spent. Hanks and Roberts, two of my favourite actors, despite what some critics may say, I think they're great and I completely believe them when they tell me a story. And this story was a good one too. a bit out there, yet so real and believable. cliché? maybe. like the human life itself, and therefore so recognizable and sincere. I will probably not rush out and get myself a Vespa anytime soon or start an economics course, or open a thrift store for that matter, yet I have been Mercy, I have definitely been Larry and even Talia. not so posh, but that is what I look for in films - sincerity. it is never too late to learn. and when it comes down to it, leraning to be tough but fair, watching a guy dance in front of your door and riding a scooter are really the things that count.