Status Update

No Appetite

Normally I (try to) blog at least twice a week, but last week my mind’s just not been there. To be honest, my mind’s mostly been with the boy who killed himself in front of my eyes, and I honestly can’t blame myself for not wanting to write. Or do anything significant, for that matter.

I stayed home from work this Monday and I’m glad I did. Meanwhile, my parents have returned home from their holiday and it’s nice to be able to talk to them about what happened, and it’s a relief they understand my reluctance to cross that train crossing for the time being.

With regard to my writing here (and everything else that involves any kind of effort): I am sorry, but at this moment I can’t be bothered with putting too much energy into it. I want to, I just… can’t. It’s like being hungry without having an appetite. Everything tastes bland.

Status Update

Bizarre, Part Three

Well, I just got back from my weekly run. It’s the shortest I’ve ever had, with five minutes and one second on the clock. But I can’t say I felt like continuing my jog after I saw a thirteen year old boy throw himself in front of a train.

I am in a complete daze (is that what shock feels like?), but I can still think straight… I think. I keep seeing him throw away his bicycle and dive under the barriers to get hit by that passing train. I keep thinking how my brains convinced me, and keeps trying to do so, that he was one of those idiots that try to be funny and get train drivers upset by crossing the rails just as the train is about to pass. But when the dust cloud dissolved and the barriers went up, he was nowhere to be seen.

And I can only say thank the Universe for that! I would not be in this too calm of a state if I had seen any dismembered body parts. I would have freaked out entirely.

I wonder if I have feelings, but at the same time I know what’s coming. This is only the calm before the storm.

Aside

The Grudge (Part S)

billiedean“The dead can hold a grudge better than most Scorpios”Billie Dean Howard from American Horror Story

I’m a Scorpio. I’m not dead yet, but I will die one day (hopefully in a far future). What does this mean for the people I hold grudges against?

I hope Armageddon.

 

Dictionary

Unloved (aka The Start Of What Could, But Won’t, Be A Very Bad Week)

Pronunciation: /uh n luhvd/

“The biggest disease of this day and age is that of people feeling unloved”Princess Diana

Four. That’s the amount of people who stopped coming to the Monday body pump class while the teacher was away on holiday. Why? Because I fell in for her while she was on vacation. Four people. At least.

How do I know? For starters, I kept bumping into one of them. There’s a gym and reception area downstairs and we saw each other coming and going in and out. So I know for a fact she wasn’t away on holiday herself, like the teacher, and she just didn’t show up because of me. Also, in the past she’d sometimes show up for the Saturday classes, but stopped doing so after I took over.

Second, there’s a bunch of highly annoying women in the Monday class. Always giggling and talking, even when the teacher is trying to explain something or start the lesson. Or when I take over one or two tracks as my role as “assistant” (the main idea was that I’d join in on teaching the Monday class together with the rightful teacher, so she could teach me the ropes and I could get used to being in front of the class, although now I am already teaching full classes myself).
As soon as S (the teacher) left for her holiday, one of them stopped coming. The other popped by once, never so much as listened to my tips (she needed extra attention as she couldn’t do all the regular moves), just did her own thing and ceased to come back for the remaining two weeks of S’ holiday.

The last one gave me one chance, also appearing on a Saturday, then decided it wasn’t worth her time (especially after her friends ditched her as well) and stayed at home, too. Eagerly waiting for S to return, I imagine.

Well, S is back and so are they. It makes me feel just like I used to in high school: unloved. Unworthy. Like I am nothing.

For a while I was bummed out (both during and after the class). But as I was driving home I knew it doesn’t really matter they didn’t show up because of me. It doesn’t matter what they think of me. For two reasons:

  1. I don’t even like them. Heck, one of the gigglers has a god awful pair of leggings she insists on wearing to the class (and of which I once said I liked them, but only because I was so shocked I couldn’t do anything but comment on them – might as well try to win a soul over by lying). I swear they are so ugly, I cannot even look in her direction from fear of going blind.
    Okay, I am slightly exaggerating here, but trust me: those long leggings are downright horrendous with their Scottish print. Yuck.
    The bottom line here is that they’re not my type of people, and neither am I to them. Which is okay. You can’t like everyone and you can’t be liked by everyone. It’s natural. If only I could learn to spend half the time I spend trying to get others to like me on getting to like myself, I wouldn’t feel so bummed out by silly things like this.
  2. I am a better person than they are. And I have proof! Months ago, before I was asked to teach body pump, S was ill and they searched for a last-minute replacement. They found it in a young man who worked at the gym as a trainer in training. He had no clue what he was doing, and I felt so annoyed I even considered leaving after the third set of exercises. But I didn’t. Because I realised how difficult it had to be for him, being thrown in front of seventeen strange women who all knew the routine better than he did. I imagined being him, and instead of being annoyed I felt proud (and slightly jealous) at his bravery. Plus, it was quite endearing to see him flick through the exercise tips booklet he had.
    Anyway, this boy ended up teaching more and more body pump classes, and even if I didn’t enjoy them as much as I did the ones S teaches, I kept coming back.
    I could have done the same thing to him as the women did to me, but I chose not to. Because he needed the experience and I liked the work outs. Nobody is flawless and we all have to learn, so give us something to learn from.

It has taken me a long time to get over the idea that I am worthless. And I am still fighting, every day, for a better self-image.
I don’t need this crap. So I’m guessing it’s a good thing they avoid my lessons. I wouldn’t be having this much fun if they were there all the time. I’d feel observed, scrutinised and mostly: unloved.

Instead, I have a small class with nice, friendly people who make me feel welcome, not so stressed out, and appreciated.

Plus, none of them wears ugly leggings. Just saying…

Dictionary

Hilarious (aka The Day I Thought I’d Choke To Death From Laughter)

Pronunciation: /hi-lair-ee-uh s/

“Inappropriateness is funny to me. Rudeness is hilarious”Zach Galifianakis

My parents are away on a holiday and that means I am master of the TV remote!! 😀
I mean, of course I am always the master of the remote, but now more than ever. I flick through channels as if I was meant to do nothing else, and since I am a little peculiar I like to use my alone time to broaden my TV horizons by watching shows I normally don’t.

One of these shows is the Dutch documentary-type series From Russia With Love, which is all about Dutch men going to Russia/the Ukraine to (yep) find love. It’s terrible in all its aspects, and ever so intriguing because of that.

The type of men going there are mostly the same: a bit older, a bit more lonesome, and a bit more desperate. And also a bit more handicapped when it comes to speaking another language. Because let’s face it: the featured Russian ladies might not speak English very well, the Dutch men are even worse. And neither of the two groups speak each other’s native language, so they have to meet somewhere in the middle, using stone-cold English expressions and both hands and feet.

The clip I posted on top of this post features a scene from From Russia With Love. It’s about a man who’s on a date with a foreign beauty he wants to woo (I love that verb!). He’s desperate to impress her and after learning she has (and loves) horses, he asks her if she breeds horses as well.

What I meant was: he wants to ask her if she breeds horses. He kind of sort of very much fails at that.

You see, the Dutch verb for “to breed” is “fokken” (to fok).

I. Thought. I. Was. Going. To. Die!! :’)

I laughed so hard, tears sprang from my eyes and I nearly choked to death! It’s never a good idea to take a gulp of water just before something awkward happens, but then again: how can you tell?

I still get the giggle when I see the clip. You know what makes it so hilarious? Because it’s so misinterpreted, it’s so silly, it’s so not intended the way it comes out. It’s so innocent.

It’s so freaking hilarious!

“Do you fok the horses yourself, also?”

:’) Dear lord, I hope not!