Ta Gueule!

Since I’ve been on the topic of disturbances, let me list another one: people who make needless noise. I’ll admit I’m a bit of a loner and used to my own (quiet) company, and I don’t mean to say that living shouldn’t require any sound. I don’t mind parties and get-togethers with music and laughter, kids playing, neighbours having a screaming match or making up. But these, for example. The guy practising the trumpet (badly!) in the building across from mine, at all hours of the day. They sell mufflers for those, by the way. Or those high school kids hanging out by the river, riding their two-stroke scooters up and down a 500 metre stretch ad infinitum, right smack in front of where I live. That one is the worst, they either disturb my work or wake me from my nap, and I’ve been vaguely aware of releasing strings of curses wild enough to make a sailor blush before regaining consciousness. Just think of the wasted fuel and pollution too, bunch of idiots. I know I’m probably overly sensitive. But they just really really….aargh.

To A Flame

Ok. There seems to be a serious moth condition in these parts. They’re big and ugly looking –whoever argues that moths are beautiful has never seen their face up close. Yuck! And with their wings and brownish colour, they look just like roaches to me (Quick, Amanda, look away! Or think pink! Or watch a Youtube or something…) Every morning I wake up to two or three stuck to the ceiling, and at night I hear them flutter around after I’ve turned off the light. I’ve put up my mosquito net recently, mozzie season is here, but it also means I don’t have to worry about them landing on my face by accident. I guess I should take it as a compliment. But I’d really rather they found another flame…

Early Birthday Present

Finding some white –not even grey, but white– hairs three months before one’s 30th is unpleasant. And that’s all I have to say about that.

Smile? Umm, No Thanks

Some random guy tried to take my picture at the fleamarket today. I noticed him out of the corner of my eye, and turned my head. I don’t like being photographed by random people, I get miffed every time it happens. Off the top of my head, I can recall a girl shooting me with a telelens in Barcelona’s Parque de la Ciudad, and an American tourist trying to be discreet (but failing miserably) on the promenade of my hometown in Spain. Mister fleamarket still got half of my face when I turned, he was waiting with his little finger poised over the button. And I noticed he was lurking about a few minutes later too, looking kind of creepy, actually. I mentioned it to my dad, who walked right up to him and treated him to the evil eye until he left. Hah.

But here’s the conundrum: I like photography. Personally, I don’t feel comfortable shooting people, but I do think people are exactly what make a picture interesting. So how does it work? What are the rules? Anyone?

The Yen Factor

The thing that’s bugging me at the moment is the state of the Yen. If conversion rates get much worse, I may have to cancel my trip to Japan. Big deal. Except that it is, actually. The idea of the trip came at yet another low point a few months back, and it makes sense in a way. I like Japan. I have friends there, people I’d like to see. I’d have a tangible goal, something to achieve while I’m there, or at least make progress in. And, this is rather vague, but it’s my place, and it’s far away. I thought being there for a while may help me make sense of things somehow. Though I realise it may just be a slight delay before the inevitable.

Which is to move to the South of France (yes, I know, boohoo. But the problem isn’t the location). No particular reason for moving there except that it’s still the South, but French culture is more suited to my own temperate nature. I know no one there and I’d be pretty much how I am now: not very able to socialise and neither married nor single, but more married than I was this time last year. We’ve gone from scanty visits with plenty of stress and few phone calls in between, to talking twice daily and more regular visits every few weeks with a different kind of stress. Moments where our alienation stares us squarely in the face follow others of such heartbreaking familiarity in rapid succession that the result is a situation that’s untenable for the both of us. And still we hang in there because we think it’s worth it. I think. It’s complicated.
Over-used a phrase as it is, “it’s complicated”, it is exactly that for a reason. It is complicated, for most of us anyway. And the trouble with any situation continuing over a long period of time is that it becomes the norm in people’s eyes –and in your own, if you’re not careful. I’m ill, and I’m in a bad marriage with a really good guy. Talking about it hardly highlights the good sides or hints at possible solutions, and it only depresses me further.

I don’t want to focus all my hope on something that won’t necessarily make a difference in the grand scheme of things anyway. But the thought of that trip has been something to keep me going, something in the future that doesn’t, to put it eloquently, completely suck. You never know what any experience may bring. Something has to change sometime. I realise that whatever happens will be for the best. But I think I’d really like to go.