I have to write my list of all I need to do before Christmas. It will be long, it will include all manner of chores and social activities, but it will all get done. I hope. And if not, I highly doubt that the world will stop. Now, if this were December, 2012, I might think differently, but I'm pretty sure nothing will end if I don't get my chores finished.
Curlers are fun. It's a nice passive way of doing my hair because goodness knows fussing with the brush and blowdryer or the straightening iron sure wasn't getting it done. I don't know how other women do it, but I just don't have the dexterity and I wasn't willing to put in the practice time. Rolling curlers, though? Sure, why not?
I have a headache. I am waiting for the potatoes to finish microwaving, so I can put the broccoli in and then pour grated cheese over both and call it dinner.
First term is over. It ended today. It was a bit of a slog towards the end, but I feel good about the work I've done and some of the habits I've been developing. The number of days on which one can see the surface of my desk is increasing. Hopefully, by Easter, it will be more often than not, but at least it is visible some of the time.
I've been going to bed early and getting up early and if I weren't getting so completely screwed by the TPG at the moment, I would be getting to work early as well. Instead I am just getting to work earlier than I was, but not as early in the two weeks before the schedule change.
A friend found canned black beans in the city and I know where I can buy them dried as well which I will still probably do just because they add salt to the can and why on earth did I buy a pressure cooker otherwise? But still, knowing that they are available here endears the city to me a little more which is good because the TPG has really pissed me off this year.
Another friend is leaving. I lost a good one last Christmas to the far reaches of the Ottawa Valley, and now I am losing another one to the concrete canyons of New York. Total suckitude.
Timer just went.
Once again, we have a white man savior. The noble savage can't do it himself, he needs the broken (in this case literally) white man to come along and rescue them all.
Yes, I saw Avatar today. Sigourney Weaver is awesome!! And I would go see it again, but let's be honest about the movie. It is as I said above. Women do a little better in it than some other White Man Cometh films, though of course, the human women die because there's no place for them in the indigenous society, but at least in this one, women are not stuck only in the domestic sphere.
Visually, it's beautiful. The ending seemed rushed. We only get the 2D version in English here, for the 3D, I will wait for home. Also, nicely done, we actually got the subtitles in English in this one. Normally, they just block those right out, so if you don't get French or German, you stay unenlightened.
And hey, at a running time of over two and a half hours, you definitely get your money's worth.
Hey boys and girls, it's time for misskate's annual bitch, moan and whine about the public transport in Geneva.
I would like to do this in a more constructive way than usual, you know, do the "two positives and one thing to improve", but having visited their website, that just ain't gonna happen. Instead we will do the inverse, one positive and two "you have got be fucking kidding me"s.
First, though, the positive:
The TPG has kept the price of its annual pass the same for something like the 4th year in a row. While they may be socking it to the casual user with a price of 3chf per 60 minute ticket, my annual pass (allowing me access to all boats, buses, trams and trains in the canton) has remained an affordable chf650.
And now, the negative:
Supposedly, they have extended the number 9 bus route to Balexert, restoring it, somewhat, to its former glory. When I first arrived and for a few years after, the 9 ran from beyond my house, past me, across the bridge and way the hell out the other side all the way to CERN. Then it stopped. And for a couple of weeks, I couldn't figure out how take the 9 from the station to my house, so I would walk or take another bus to the next stop and pick it up from there. THEN, last year, it stopped running through Bel-Air Cite (not to be confused with the end station of Petit Bel-Air where there isn't even a cafe, let alone other signs of civilization) up to Cornavin and instead went across the Mont Blanc bridge. A decrease in number of stops, but an increase in travel time because there is no good hour at which you can cross the bridge with no traffic. This also created a great amount of confusion and ire among the passengers. This year, they seem to have extended its run, but now, once again, I have no idea where to pick the bus up to go home tomorrow. But, hey, not really a problem because even though the schedule says that it now goes to Balexert, the TPG has not updated the maps on the website to let anyone know. SO, maybe the 9 hasn't changed at all and will continue to pick up and drop off in its same lane at Cornavin as before. (Somehow, though, I doubt it and now I'm starting to wonder if the TPG doesn't in fact have a sadistic sense of humor and actually enjoys watching the people who count on, rely on, depend upon the TPG run around on the second Monday in December (sometimes the 3rd) trying to figure out how to get to work. If ever I wanted a car...
NEXT on my list is the V bus and the Z bus. Not having a car and not being particularly inclined to walk up massive hills, I appreciate having a bus stop just forty or so meters from my school. There are two buses (V and Z) that service this stop and the convenience makes me less likely to buy a car. Until now. The V and Z start at Gare Cornavin. When I first moved here, the pick up point was behind the station. Then as the construction on tram lines picked up momentum, the stops moved to the side, then back to the back and then finally to the front where they have been for a couple of years now. I think . It's all a bit of a blur. And the TPG is really not known for its communication skills. They stick up a metal stand with a sign taped to it and call that communicated. Grrr. BUT anyways, the stop has always been relatively convenient which is good because the V and Z being the letter buses (as opposed to designating the routes with numbers) are infrequent. They serve the outer parts of the canton as opposed to the city and they just don't run that often. So, if you miss one in the morning, chances are you are screwed. And possibly late to work. Oh, yes, of course there are alternatives, but they involve schlepping.
SO, what's my beef? They have moved the stop AGAIN. And according to the paper they taped to the little metal stand by the ticket machine (which by the way none of my fellow commuting colleagues had even noticed until I pointed it out; way to communicate, TPG, yay you!) the TPG was moving the stop as of, oh, today. And they weren't just moving it. According to this sign, they were canceling the next stop on the route, and putting the stop they were calling Cornavin closer to that stop than this one. This meant increasing my commute time by a lot because now I had to arrive at Cornavin in time to factor in a 10 minute walk to the new V/Z bus stop. Pissed, livid, irked, frustrated, annoyed; I ran through the range of emotions. So, today, here I am. One day before I have to get to school somehow tomorrow. According to the TPG, they have no schedule at all for either the V or Z, the itinerary machine tells me that it's only a 3 minute walk from where the 9 drops off to where the V/Z picks up, and in fact the V bus isn't even listed in the drop-down box. What they are listing as the 9 itinerary doesn't match the map they are displaying beneath it and jiminy christmas, I have no idea where the V/Z is picking up because the map they are showing is not what the sign stuck to the little metal stand said.
And really, since at the end of the day, it's all about me, I am going to have to change out of my cosy warm clothes and go to the station to figure this out. I suggest that the TPG pulls its finger out and gets their routes, website and communication sorted! Because seriously, Nissan has a really cute four door and if I buy a car, it is ALL the TPGs fault.
As much as I adore words, playing with them, manipulating them, learning about them, and feeling them roll off my tongue, sometimes I get frustrated with the english language. When I seek a way to explain something, and the words or meaning just don't fit. Take pain for example. You see the word pain and it immediately conjures up a response...perhaps you tie it to a certain experience you personally dealt with in the past. But there are so many varieties of pain, and how to sum them all up with this one word? There is the pain of an injury: a broken bone, dislocations, torn ligaments, tendons, pulled muscles, cuts. These alone offer such an arrangement of pain. And then there is emotional pain: the agony of grief, fear, loneliness, disapproval. There is the anguish that accompanies mental illness. There is the pain that comes with extreme temperatures. There is the exquisitely torturous pain of a tattoo, as it sets your nerves dancing. There is the pain of yearning, and the pain of disappointment.
For the last month I have felt the sweet pain of being alive. I go to bed with a gentle ache in my thighs, my stomach, my arms. When I wake, I am greeted warmly by it. Each day as I push myself to work out just a little harder, to walk just a little faster, a little further, each day I long for that ache. It is a beautiful thing, this constant gnawing at my muscles. It is keeping me sane, on a calm and even steady keel. I am even willing to say that I am episode free for the first time in over a year. On the track, I am whipped by the ferocious wind as it rages against me, until I am warmed inside my layers and peel off to welcome the rush of air while I laugh into the sky. There is much laughter, these days. I marvel at the changes I see when I stand in front of the mirror. My body is changing; everything I see is new. And I feel it, this newness. I feel it stretch from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I am enveloped in its strength and wonder; I hug it tightly to me like a coat. This pain, this reminder that I am alive, this is a beautiful thing.
I am dreaming of babies. I wake with an ache deep in my womb, throbbing to remind me of the emptiness left instead.
In that sleep-wake world, I feel your lips encircle my nipple, your tiny fingers curling and uncurling in ecstasy alongside my breast, the heavy warm weight of you in my arms. I feel your body relax, your eyes gently closing. I watch you, smell you, breathe you in. All in the knowing that you are mine. You who came silent one year ago, performed miracles inside of me. I felt the stirrings of you, as you began to grow. I knew the exact moment you decided to make yourself known to me, little one. Oh how my body responded to you, and I gloried in every moment of it. And then, one day, just as silently as you came, you left. I knew the moment you let go. My heart stopped beating, my body searched for you, reaching, and found no response. I wished it away, believed that you were there still, until the blood flowed. I was bereft. I ached for you, I mourned for you, I released you.
And now you return to sleep in my dreams. To nuzzle softly at my breast, entangle my hair in your fingers, sigh contentedly. Is it because you know I loved you, right from the start? That I did, I do, I always will little one?
You are safe here, in my dreams. Sleep softly my love.
Geneva gives the perception of being a safe and peaceful city, but in actuality it's not. Since I arrived more than six years ago, there has been an incredible rise in break-ins, muggings and general violence. Not that it is given particularly good coverage in the media, but it is still happening. Add to that that Geneva is home to many multinationals as well as the UN and affiliated organizations. Since my country stopped invading other countries willy-nilly, the U.S. Mission doesn't get protested nearly as often as it did, but there are still lots of organizations pissing people off. Including the UN (see the Tamil protests of not quite a year ago). This week, it's the WTO's turn. A bunch of delegates are in town for meetings. They seem to accessorize with violent protestors. Whatever your feelings on the WTO, or globalization in general, I can't really see how torching the cars of private citizens furthers your agenda. OR breaking the windows of small, independent business owners. Starbucks, yeah being a global entity, not that I'm happy about it, but a little window breakage is not going to stop them selling coffee.
Yesterday, I went out in the morning (it was beautiful blue skies and sunny) to the Clubhouse in Paquis to see a friend for coffee and walked from Mont Blanc bridge over to the bar. Thankfully, I was home by 11:30 because I had forgotten that the protest march was starting at 12:30 (two o'clock, maybe?). I did remember by the time I got home and was glad that all my errands could be achieved within a two block radius. It was Journee de Partager (I really wish they would advertise more in advance) and they were at both Migros and Coop, so they got lots of groceries from me for the food pantries. I'm a sucker for food drives so I try really hard to stick to a budget, but I totally blew it yesterday. I stayed in the rest of the afternoon doing laundry and dishes and all that.
This morning, I talked to G and she said cars had been set on fire, the police had used gas and water cannons. My neighborhood is far enough away that I didn't hear anything, but sure enough as a friend of mine and I walked from the bus to the Clubhouse (I am not going to talk about the football match, I am too sad) we saw where the cars had burned and shop windows destroyed. After the match, the three of us (G had joined us) walked over to Starbucks, place des Bergues. Their street front windows had all been replaced by wood, many of the other shops had also sustained considerable damage.
Here is a link to the local paper's photo coverage.
Look soon as I'm not sure how long they will have the photos up. It makes me sad that if there was any legitimate agenda to be put forth yesterday, that message has gotten well and truly lost in the riots. It makes me angry that idiots think destruction of other people's things and livelihoods is a joke or a good way to spend a Saturday afternoon. I hope they are caught and well and truly punished. I'm not sure how, though, something creative for sure. Jail time isn't going to keep them from doing it again.
watch this:
Today, the Sun shone. This brilliant illuminescent orb that filled the corners of this dark space; it left the shadows retreating in defeat, those that loomed large. It pulled me from the darkness and thrust me towards it's warmth. I am looking to find the good in things I accomplished today: tonight the dogs made me laugh so hard I nearly fell over, I braved the telephone and called a good friend up for a chat, I went OUTSIDE where the sun shone. It's back to tiny steps. This week....has been amongst one of my worst. On record. As a note to my future self, should I happen to re-read this entry at a later date:
Do Not, under any circumstances, schedule an extremely triggering Doctors appointment when you are in a stage of depression where getting out of bed is impossible. Really, it is a bad idea, as much as you may want to push yourself, to prove to yourself that you are okay, and overcome the obstacles you face...don't. Just don't. Do however plan it, and set up all of the safety precautions, and then go back over the safety precautions, and re-plan, and continue to do so until you have something that is fool proof. This is vital. Only then should you proceed with caution. With much caution.
Because, if you don't, you will be doomed to repeat this week. A week where the time was swallowed up by darkness, and your feet barely touched the floor. A week where you drank yourself into an oblivion and woke to the mass destruction you created. Mass destruction. In time it will heal, and the scars will fade...but the fact that it happened? You are above that. You are. You have survived much worse. And you have been free of this ridiculous destructive coping mechanism for so long. But now you get to begin again. Deep breath's, let it go, clean slate and start fresh. Not nearly as easy as it sounds future self. But you have done it before, and you will certainly do it again. Forgive.
It is so odd to wake one morning with the knowledge that the world has been swallowed in a vast dark hole. And just the same, to wake, days, weeks, months later to find that the light has infiltrated the darkness, even with just the tiniest of rays. It only takes one of those rays to change it all. Just one. Hang on to that ray that lingers through the shadows, because just as the sun sets every night future self, it rises again in the morning. Behind all of the blackness, it is there just waiting to be discovered.
I have been putting it off for a week and a half. It shouldn't be so hard. This is something I do, for me. Ensure my health is optimum, that my reproductive health is good. But it is hard. God it is so hard. It is harder than anything else I could possibly imagine. I know the doctor. I have worked with her, literally, for 4 months. She is amazing. She has given me time, so much time. She asks me to chat quickly, just to touch base. I tell her of my concerns. Of my fears that it will spark memories of my childhood trauma's, like it has in the past. That I dont want to slip into negative coping mechanisms...it is so easy to lose yourself in negative coping skills. Too easy. I work hard at setting up precautions. I know what is going to happen. I know what might follow, afterwards. I know.
I put off the exam. First Monday, then Wednesday, then Monday. And now, here we are again. Wednesday. She catches my eye as I pass out grilled cheese sandwiches to fill hungry bellies. There is no pressure. "Whenever you are ready." she mouths across the busy clinic. My heart seizes with panic, and my pulse quickens, and I know I am going to bail again. She see's my panic, steps back...lets me breathe. She is a good Dr. She is a good Dr. And so I stop. I get my chart pulled, I breathe. And I breathe again, and again and again and again. We go into a room. My fists have clenched involuntarily. She asks me whether I want to do the exam. I have to. I have to do it now. There is no other choice. There is no other time. Time has stopped. It doesn't exist, there is only now. She leaves me in peace to undress. And somehow, I do. Somehow, I do.
When she comes back, she asks me if I want anything. She is talking Ativan, I know. I shake my head vehemently. No Ativan. There is the blood pressure check, and the breast exam. All goes well. And then we move on. She is such a good Dr. She talks me through it. Through all of it. She asks me if I am okay. Over and over she asks me if I am okay, not proceeding any farther until she hears my answer. Until she is sure. I close my eyes against the memories, against the pain. She is a good Dr. I tell myself. It is true. She really is. It is not her fault, all of this. It is not her fault that I am here with clenched jaw, and fist, fighting back the tears and nausea that overwhelms me. No, it is not her fault.
And finally it is done. She does her best to console me. Her touch on my shoulder makes me ill, and I beg her to stop. She does. She is a good Dr. She gives me privacy to dress, and I do. I am betrayed by this body. This body that I work to reintroduce as mine. It is mine. Whatever happened, it is mine. But I fight back the tears, and the bulbous of vomit that has risen in the back of my throat. She asks me to stay. To check in with her before I leave the building. She is a good Dr. She really is. I throw on my clothing, promise I will, escape the room.
And when I get home, there are the dogs. They are happy and wiggly, and smiling from ear to ear. They are present. I feed them, and pet them, and walk them hoping to drive away the demons that grin and wreak havoc in my mind. They are good dogs, I tell myself. They really are. Kodi especially, snuggles up to me, placing his head in my hand hoping to ground me. They are good dogs. But they don't stop the memories, and they don't stop the pain. And I try to push it away. It is all in the past. You are safe here. You are safe. But it is too late, and the precauions don't help. They don't help. And it is all in vain.
