"...never to walk in anyone's shadow."
Looking the lives of others I could learn so much. It's fascinating to find yourself from an invisible lookout spot from where you can see the anatomy of, well, just any human interaction, like you'd be watching a building of which the facade has been removed and you can see the people in the rooms. Watching TV, making coffee, reading newspaper in the bath tub, putting yellow raincoats on their kids. It's a shame about the sorry state of my memory.
I handed in most of the application papers on Friday. I still have to hand in the Japanese essay by the end of next week. I asked for a personal reference from my Japanese teacher, who, the kind soul, praised me overwhelmingly. At first I was in a strangely giddy mood for being thus praised, even though I knew I didn't live up to it. An hour later I was waiting for the bus in the rain, boiling slowly in the sour thoughts that emerged when I started to see the praised person as someone else, someone I clearly wasn't, but could be if [a multitude of things]. Anyhow, now I feel that in order to redeem even some of the kind words, I should conjure up a literary work which would make Zadie Smith blush and weep... When that happens, I'll snap the photo of a flying pig and post it for you to enjoy.
I'm waiting for the Christmas holidays. French still m'empoisonne la vie, and I have yet to get used to the feeling of shame under the eyes of Lautenbacher, who teaches us written communication. Translation classes are ok, you get to use a dictionary and have all the time you need. I checked out a book from the library some time ago "Basic Vocabulary in French", opened it from A, and started copying. I'm at C now.
On a more cheerful note, we get to do some laundry tomorrow after nearly a months pause. Ever since the renovations started at our place, we haven't been able to shower or to use the washing machine. The only clean socks I have left are two pairs of striped and knee-high. The estimated time was two weeks and I must admit that around now, by week four, I'm getting rather tired of the whole business. The renovator guy is lovely, though. Tall, in his fourties, thick lenses. He sings along the songs on the radio. Nylon Beat, Ressu Redford, Bryan Adams, he's got it all. Gives the mornings a nice surreal touch. (There's just something profoundly weird in hearing a Finnish man singing at the top of his voice "I will be right here waiting for you!") Mum told he sings in a choir and hosts a humorous weekly radio show in Salo.
I'll retire to bed. After discovering that my favourite second-hand bookshop has been maimed by the new proprietor, I wandered around the town, not knowing what to do and where to go, and fell into the lap of a rebound bookshop. They only had porn magazines, tons of Sweet Valley High books and Swedish comics. From Kirjatori then I bought a Pérez-Reverte novel which is good but doesn't quite reach the spheres I had hoped. I remember that I loved his first novel, Flaamilainen taulu (too lazy to Google for the English name, it's a mix of suspense and a detective story, I suppose)... but there's something about this book that leaves me cold. It's not badly written, it's ok, and for some reason I find comfort in being in the middle of a thick book. So off to bed, I'll finish the chapter that I was half way through when buns had to be taken out of the oven.
In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.
-- Robert Frost
I handed in most of the application papers on Friday. I still have to hand in the Japanese essay by the end of next week. I asked for a personal reference from my Japanese teacher, who, the kind soul, praised me overwhelmingly. At first I was in a strangely giddy mood for being thus praised, even though I knew I didn't live up to it. An hour later I was waiting for the bus in the rain, boiling slowly in the sour thoughts that emerged when I started to see the praised person as someone else, someone I clearly wasn't, but could be if [a multitude of things]. Anyhow, now I feel that in order to redeem even some of the kind words, I should conjure up a literary work which would make Zadie Smith blush and weep... When that happens, I'll snap the photo of a flying pig and post it for you to enjoy.
I'm waiting for the Christmas holidays. French still m'empoisonne la vie, and I have yet to get used to the feeling of shame under the eyes of Lautenbacher, who teaches us written communication. Translation classes are ok, you get to use a dictionary and have all the time you need. I checked out a book from the library some time ago "Basic Vocabulary in French", opened it from A, and started copying. I'm at C now.
On a more cheerful note, we get to do some laundry tomorrow after nearly a months pause. Ever since the renovations started at our place, we haven't been able to shower or to use the washing machine. The only clean socks I have left are two pairs of striped and knee-high. The estimated time was two weeks and I must admit that around now, by week four, I'm getting rather tired of the whole business. The renovator guy is lovely, though. Tall, in his fourties, thick lenses. He sings along the songs on the radio. Nylon Beat, Ressu Redford, Bryan Adams, he's got it all. Gives the mornings a nice surreal touch. (There's just something profoundly weird in hearing a Finnish man singing at the top of his voice "I will be right here waiting for you!") Mum told he sings in a choir and hosts a humorous weekly radio show in Salo.
I'll retire to bed. After discovering that my favourite second-hand bookshop has been maimed by the new proprietor, I wandered around the town, not knowing what to do and where to go, and fell into the lap of a rebound bookshop. They only had porn magazines, tons of Sweet Valley High books and Swedish comics. From Kirjatori then I bought a Pérez-Reverte novel which is good but doesn't quite reach the spheres I had hoped. I remember that I loved his first novel, Flaamilainen taulu (too lazy to Google for the English name, it's a mix of suspense and a detective story, I suppose)... but there's something about this book that leaves me cold. It's not badly written, it's ok, and for some reason I find comfort in being in the middle of a thick book. So off to bed, I'll finish the chapter that I was half way through when buns had to be taken out of the oven.
In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.
-- Robert Frost