of shoguns and random combustions
I have never thought that shirking duties is a matter of great skill. One has to be fully equipped with 'No, mum, I'm not watching dramas, I'm studying'-those-kind-of-stories creating appliance to properly operate during Christmas time. Actually, I'm somewhere between being mentally handicapped by the fact that I'm not cramming anything new into my head or by feeling such guilt that it prevents me from doing anything (yes, even from watchichg dramas). It truly is a pesky kind of feeling, but alas, I'm too tired to participate in any brain-utilizing activities. For the time being, I'm doing everything automtically, for example, adding eggs to flour, vacuuming all rooms, switching on the kettle, et cetera. As would our darling Tatu sing, prostye dvizheniya I indeed continue doing.
Although, fear of upcoming exams makes mincemeat of my stomach and, yes, though I feel like I'm the world's top lazyass, I concluded that I have simply become (oh, how adorable the word is) workshy.
Nevertheless, the gut munching monster has been placated recently by feeding him with some Pasternak and moving images of Hans Matheson, the charming devil that he is. In this time of confusion and atrophy of working drive, I can only get motivated by other people (not direcly, obviously, as I usually just throw some random 'get over it' at the end of much exaggerated eyerolling) or, more precisely, by their output. Right now, sitting with my back straightened up, drinking coffee from china, mind you, not from a cup of a shovel dimensions, I'm reflecting on my puzzling behavior patterns.
[The sad thing is, even music doesn't help this time, as the sound of guitar strings being pulled randomly only distracts from arranging my thoughts. I'd care for some Bach for cello and gothic sounds from the heart of Nagoya. Now, that is what I call a mind-terrorizing mix.]
I crave for Stephen Fry's Chronicles but by the time the book comes to Poland, I'll have wasted all my savings for shipping fee. I swear, the unfairness of life slaps me in the face everyday (but the slap is not a girl-slaps-a-guy-for-cheating-kind-of-slap but you-are-such-a-pansy-that-instead-of-breaking-your-nose-I-will-slap-you-kind-of-slap, or, in other words, the Humiliating Slap). I won't throw a tantrum, because being the non-explosive type, I only mutilate my insides with emotions of the combustible nature. I only fear that instead of speaking rather obnoxiously about my displeasure with Polish disinterest in foreign higher culture, one day I might find my myself in a situation in which when being asked by my female parent 'What is it, darling, hanging over there?', I will answer, 'A gut, mother'.
On the good side, I'm very much taken with my studies and those individuals who try to teach us, blockheads, anything. I would never, even in my most perverse dreams, expect to be fascinated by history and battles and politics in general. Well, I suppose that after I started tolerating olives in my food, drinking coffee with milk and buying articles of underclothing in various shades of pink, something must have undergone major changes in me. I'm in a phase of being apprehensive about it all as it's still an unknown territory. All the same, as the woman who brough me forth into this world would aptly remark, 'Child, Shogun the Buttercup is never afraid'*, I must never be afraid.
[*Refers to the story about my dethronization of the last shogun, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, when I was three years old. At that time, I was enamoured by the characters played by Richard Chamberlain and Toshirō Mifune and I would religiously follow the Shogun series on TV (not really comprehending what's going on, but still...). One day, as mother was cleaning the staircase, I locked myself up at home, smeared my hair with butter so as to have 'a samurai hairdo' and started running around screaming at the top of my lungs that 'I am the shogun now'. Yes, well, a way to take over the world, indeed. Will to fight and butter suffice.]
Although, fear of upcoming exams makes mincemeat of my stomach and, yes, though I feel like I'm the world's top lazyass, I concluded that I have simply become (oh, how adorable the word is) workshy.
Nevertheless, the gut munching monster has been placated recently by feeding him with some Pasternak and moving images of Hans Matheson, the charming devil that he is. In this time of confusion and atrophy of working drive, I can only get motivated by other people (not direcly, obviously, as I usually just throw some random 'get over it' at the end of much exaggerated eyerolling) or, more precisely, by their output. Right now, sitting with my back straightened up, drinking coffee from china, mind you, not from a cup of a shovel dimensions, I'm reflecting on my puzzling behavior patterns.
[The sad thing is, even music doesn't help this time, as the sound of guitar strings being pulled randomly only distracts from arranging my thoughts. I'd care for some Bach for cello and gothic sounds from the heart of Nagoya. Now, that is what I call a mind-terrorizing mix.]
I crave for Stephen Fry's Chronicles but by the time the book comes to Poland, I'll have wasted all my savings for shipping fee. I swear, the unfairness of life slaps me in the face everyday (but the slap is not a girl-slaps-a-guy-for-cheating-kind-of-slap but you-are-such-a-pansy-that-instead-of-breaking-your-nose-I-will-slap-you-kind-of-slap, or, in other words, the Humiliating Slap). I won't throw a tantrum, because being the non-explosive type, I only mutilate my insides with emotions of the combustible nature. I only fear that instead of speaking rather obnoxiously about my displeasure with Polish disinterest in foreign higher culture, one day I might find my myself in a situation in which when being asked by my female parent 'What is it, darling, hanging over there?', I will answer, 'A gut, mother'.
On the good side, I'm very much taken with my studies and those individuals who try to teach us, blockheads, anything. I would never, even in my most perverse dreams, expect to be fascinated by history and battles and politics in general. Well, I suppose that after I started tolerating olives in my food, drinking coffee with milk and buying articles of underclothing in various shades of pink, something must have undergone major changes in me. I'm in a phase of being apprehensive about it all as it's still an unknown territory. All the same, as the woman who brough me forth into this world would aptly remark, 'Child, Shogun the Buttercup is never afraid'*, I must never be afraid.
[*Refers to the story about my dethronization of the last shogun, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, when I was three years old. At that time, I was enamoured by the characters played by Richard Chamberlain and Toshirō Mifune and I would religiously follow the Shogun series on TV (not really comprehending what's going on, but still...). One day, as mother was cleaning the staircase, I locked myself up at home, smeared my hair with butter so as to have 'a samurai hairdo' and started running around screaming at the top of my lungs that 'I am the shogun now'. Yes, well, a way to take over the world, indeed. Will to fight and butter suffice.]