In a parallel reality I am a Italian librarian living in a stone house, with a pizza oven in the backyard.
Right now I am sitting in a hammock with a glass of gin, watching someone place mozzarella pizzas in the oven. The smell of wood, fire and boiling tomato fills the air.
Transferring the last e-mails that almost scares me insane, from my mailbox to my external hard drive. I have to open them, download them, transfer them, and drag them to the folder in my external hard drive.
Angels are sweeping down, stroking my hair. I remember dreaming of floating in white linen, wanting nothing more than to hide, and expand into divine light.
But am here now, and I will finish this, with my fear sitting beside me, leaning its head on my shoulder.
I have been trying to quit coffee for years and I haven't been successful at all.
But today is my fourth day without coffee, and I am actually not feeling like a werewolf!
Apart from a tiny headache, I feel pretty calm and collected.
Maybe a good compromise can be to not drink coffee during weekdays, but then have a coffee drink with whipped cream and pumpkin spice during the weekend?
It also felt cool that I was probably one of the only customers asking to reproduce a drawing they were formally allowed to use thanks to #CreativeCommons ❤️
After that course I am only one essay away from a Master, and being able to teach...
One thing that I would like to talk about, is why there are only 15 women represented in art history, from the time the sculpture Venus of Willendorf was created 28.000 years B.C., until today.
To make things worse, what I've learned about art history shows that almost all male artists had female muses, often more creative and talented than the men.
Walking from our car, my daughter stepped on a snail. Its little shell got crushed. I picked it up, the snail lifted its head, slowly moving its antennas. Bit by bit the shell fell off, my daughter was crying, saying “I am sorry” to the snail over and over.
I put the snail on green moss in a potato bucket on the balcony, hid it under moss and leaves and gave it a piece of melon.
But when I went to check on it after ca 30 min, it seemed dead. So I put it back into the garden. RIP little snail.
I am not going to let the mountain of ancient 12, 91 GB e-mails break me.
But when I am done reading and transferring the ones not deleted, I might decide never to have an e-mail ever again.
You may write to me by snail mail, preferably on scented paper, a red seal on the envelope, and handed to me by a man on a horse, that neighs while passing my balcony.
You know those days when you feel you made a very bad decision when you agreed to go to Earth school for 100 years, and you were promised “expansion of your soul”, and you thought “oh, cool, I want that”, and then it turned out to be 100 years of constant fear, pain, confusion, unrequited love, never being smart enough, never pretty enough, never funny enough, never fast enough - or just too fast, too intense, too much or too little at the wrong time.
It would never in a million years have been possible without @jan and @aral
So if anyone wants to start their own instance, but might not know where to begin, because you might have an artist brain like me, and you just want to think about colors and poetry, then I suggest you contact @jan or @aral
I couldn't be more pleased with the help I received. Thank you both 😌
Just helped my elderly neighbor with groceries, and had a chat with him on his sofa. He has a heart condition and has lost so much weight since his wife died about a year ago. He's really not feeling well.
I looked at photos of him from his youth, he was once a peace keeping soldier for the UN.
When I left he thanked me several times and gave me several hugs. I could feel his spine through his shirt. This once so strong and vibrant man, now almost like a little bird, with fear in his eyes.
Important update: I just went from actually reading my mountain of e-mails to looking at a folder going “Hm... Should I open it? Noooo!” and then deleting the whole folder with unread screaming e-mails tumbling down into my cyberspace bin.
Last night I got back from a few days of vacation at my aunts seaside house. But if I am really honest, it wasn't a vacation at all.
The sun was shining, but I was barely out. I was constantly cooking and cleaning for 4 people, and had to be social with strangers who constantly popped by unexpectedly.
I am now feeling VERY relieved sitting at my desk, in my quiet bedroom. The arguing birds are at it again in the old oak tree, and my daughter is sleeping in her room.
Me and my daughter are having our almost 90 year old neighbour over for dinner tonight.
His wife died about a year ago, and I sometimes do some grocery shopping for him. He’s so incredibly sweet, and I can tell he lost a lot of weight since he became alone.
I am making stewed macaroni and meatballs. With lots of butter.