Little Kosetta

Will power

2012-01-20T14:45:00.000-05:00

Is it an acquired thing, or something we are born with? I heard it gets better with training, so I am trying. I've also known that Trying equals to Delaying. I envy efficient people, their energy, their focus. How much easier is it to live on schedule as opposed to living by impulse? Schedules work well with me for a while, and then they oppress me with their constricted nature. I become obsessed with schedules, finding no consolation anymore in the gained minutes, or self-control. Sleep becomes an obstruction to efficiency, because it often overflows into the planned task, the next event. Strangely, the best productivity comes when I do something unexpected, beyond my obligations, when I don't OWE anything to myself. Even this just made me feel like a prisoner of my own, like there are two of me... Well, that's a different story.

I suppose, will power is a prison by nature: it takes your worst traits and suppresses them...temporarily? I know people, who pledge something to themselves and charge their will power battery for the whole life ahead. Nothing changes their drive, nothing blurs their goals. Can this be without interruption? Can someone function and keep focused the whole time, other than during their sleep? I wish I could. I feel that my life could have benefited from that. On the other hand, there must be a balance. If someone bulldozes through life like that, someone else around them suffers. There are natural distractions that take away from focus, love being the biggest. If there is no place for love, having a goal is easier. Focus becomes a distraction from feelings, will power conveniently pulls you away from pain and emotions - onto the next task in your calendar.

Whew, that didn't come out clearly, at all. I am just hoping that, in two weeks, I will be able to present my thoughts on paper better than that. Grading folks don't like swimming in someone's thoughts, it can be degrading and exhausting. I should write properly the next time here. Like a lady.

Here are a couple of pics from above. Melbourne, FL has a special atmosphere, literally.

Melbourne, FL and travel nostalgia

2012-01-12T16:38:00.001-05:00

Today is a travel day. It used to be accompanied by loads of excitement, but rarely anymore. There is something I miss, something I've never experienced (even if it's rather bizarre by itself). Sturdiness of construction. Smell of painted wood and metal. Squeaky seats. Personable service, no automated announcements blasting overhead. Manners. That's it, I miss the past. Was born in the wrong century to enjoy its arrogance, speed, standardization, shallowness, dirt... Boy, that just got grimy in no time. Hey, we can dream, so I dream to be in the 1920 - 40's. Perfect time, turbulent and challenging, yet, idealistic.
So, here is a snapshot from today. At the airport in Charlotte, there are places still called "bathroom", but this one beats the odds of being defined as one. See for yourself and have a lovely evening.

Stress...

2012-01-06T19:42:00.006-05:00

It feels nice to breathe deeply. I wonder, if anyone has as much trouble with it as I do. Lately, I've been forgetting to breathe, and that's been my new-found problem to amuse myself with. Since I treat my temple like an observation facility, nothing serious, only chest cramps and tight jaw. How do people deal with stress? Is there a good, semi-long-term solution out there? There must be, or we would eat each other alive. I guess, what I am doing right this moment is rather therapeutic, if, perhaps, whimsical.

Writing seems to work, writing has been my friend since the dawn...of my age. Um, doesn't matter, too long ago. I used to write story after story, notebook after notebook. One of my favorite things was to write out names. NAMES. For no reason. Dozens of native, foreign, translated names. I knew most versions of names in different languages. It felt good to find a juicy name like Elvira, or Gladys, or, better yet, Mildred. Perhaps, due to my fascination with the late Conan Doyle, my preferences were slightly old-fashioned. After I would write them out, yet, again, I would feel a sense of duty fulfilled, a day well-spent, a rest deserved... OCD, anyone?

I was easily entertained in my lonely upbringing. There were a couple of other strange things I used to do on paper, but I'll get back to it some other day. Anyhow, I found that doing little pleasant and immediately available things work better for stress than some planned, promised solutions. Drink a cup of nice tea. What's a nice tea for you? For me, it's black currant or chamomile, or green, or English Breakfast. Lo-oove tea! Take care, whoever you are. Here is a picker-upper for you!

Pry and Prejudice

2012-01-02T12:07:00.003-05:00

I am amazed at how knowing something affects our judgement. It's usual to pretend that it doesn't, yet, it does and crucially. Take my study experience yesterday. I was faced with a challenge of an unidentified audio file that I had to write about. The sheer task of being open to anything made the process already more honest than trying to fake the unassuming perspective. I roamed through my brain and went through a multitude of perceptive traps, trying to imagine that I know what this music is and how I would have reacted to it. Exhausted and miserable, I gave up, and my guess at the end of the day was no better than 30 years ago. Having lost the "smart pants" game, I decided to surrender and to trust my immediate associations, instead of redirecting them through a painful and embarrassing process of deduction. Suddenly, I had an answer and it felt right. Not only I guessed the composer (it was Machaut), but the actual piece (his Notre Dame Messe). It's not that the initial judgement is always right, but, in my case, it worked like a charm. I will definitely be testing this on my next assignment.

New Year's Eve in PA!

2011-12-31T16:32:00.005-05:00

Glass of apple cider and mackerel preserve with a piece of bread - an ideal way to meet the New Year with the Russian time zone! This is, by far, a much bigger festivity in my family than any other celebration. It has indescribable and homey feel to it: a mix of Elka's smell (our pine tree all dressed up in sparklies), the anticipation of the clock actually turning midnight (every year it feels new and different), and the ritual of putting up ornaments decades old (the new ones just don't do it for me, they must be from generations before, and they must run in the family, or, even simpler, they must be OUR ornaments).

The eats, oh the good eats! The special, rich salads like the Olivier, or the Herring-under-Furcoat (which is an awesome layered creation of sliced herring on the bottom, shaved beets and graded cheese on top. All of this goes very fast the next day, and the next couple of days. My favorite left-overs. The streets are empty, the public decorations - sparse even in public places, although I can't be sure this winter, and maybe my city finally gets to glow in festive lights! The president talks on TV, and we listen, or pretend to listen, because, let's face it, no one is ever happy with a president. For that matter, usually it is the upcoming year that draws all the hope, and the ending year is usually referred to as "difficult". Well, yeah, no kidding. Let's see, in my life it comes down to: no optimism, lots of unfinished thoughts, sense of guilt, and, still, no pet. Since I don't believe in any formal God, I proceed to believe in miracles, and here are my requests.

"I would like the following for my new year's, or don't even both to show up: health for everyone I love. I don't ask for more, nothing else is truly needed. Please, who ever you are up there in the clouds, help my mother."
To everyone else I wish lots of sanity, success, wealth, health, happiness - may you be luckier than ever in 2012!

I talk to myself.

2011-12-30T13:03:00.001-05:00

I talk to myself. I probably should be taken away and treated for a disorder. Which disorder? doesn't matter. People don't make up entire stories complete with dialogues, voices, characters and plots while washing dishes. The bigger the load, the better the story. Sometimes it all begins by making nonsensical noises or singing a little melody. This is nice and appropriate for a kitchen chore, however, it does not stop there.
Though I try keep track of the residents within me, someone new starts talking without my permission. It can anything, and I mean ANYTHING. From touchy success stories to gruesome murders, though they tend to evolve around a particular accident and often get cut off, because, while far from being tidy, I don't have a whole kitchen to clean every time! The strange thing is that after speaking for about twenty minutes non-stop, I feel exhausted. Yep, my own doing. And it's not that I think while talking to myself, far from it. It's like a mental stream, or a diarrhea that you can't (well, not usually) stop. There is probably a cause, an explanation, and a solution for this. Ha! I don't even want to know about it, because I suspect more people do weird stuff like that than they admit. No big deal, we are all a little disturbed to a degree, and that's just wonderful!

Today is a nice day in New York, though only a couple of hours of sunshine left...

Have a lovely day!

Where does the time go?

2011-12-28T21:02:00.001-05:00

When the day was hectic, the end of it often disappoints. There are people who thrive being hectic. They close their eyes when time slips away and pretend that many other things need to be done, because time always slips away and there is nothing we can do. Being thirty is no easy thing, you know. When I was twenty, the decade in front of me seemed somewhat previewed by other people, and I didn't terribly want to sample it myself. All will come in time, I would tell myself. Yeah, then the first gray hair came just in time for me to pluck it out. Now my hairdresser says with joy of unknown origin, "Oh, you are full of them!"

I am curious, where, in fact, does the time go? Does it exit my soul and flows into another? Does it find itself bored without me? Does it become a little butterfly on a tired python's head somewhere in Brazil and enjoys its own innocence there, after all? Hard to say. I prefer to think that it transcends into my own future. How would it work... I guess, by completing something prior to deadline, I add time to my future, like rollover minutes on AT&T. Unused time becomes used later, no hard feelings. That's my best guess. I am sure you'd do better. For now, good night.

It would be good to know, if there were specific tasks that would NOT rollover (like the unused data plans, or something).

Going to the roots

2011-12-27T14:02:00.000-05:00

It's hard to be constant, even with the best intentions.

I get excited about anything very quickly just to find myself sulking about it only days later. Why can't it last? Let's assume that excitement is just a part of hierarchy of senses that comprises each of us. Going from result to the cause: excitement is a product of anticipation which, in turn, stems from hope of some sort. Here we go. Hope is something I lack, right? But hope by itself is also a detached, thus abstract thing. Behind hope mounts faith. Faith seems like a reliable foundation to build the hierarchy of senses within us.

Wait a moment. Something must constitute faith. It does not appear from a thin air, it is either passed on or triggered by something, i.e. it does not appear from within no matter what, because we ain't born faithful. Or are we? Does something happen as we grow that strips the original faithfulness away from us? Perhaps, deceit. I can't relate to this theory, because I was spared the lies for most of my life and cannot find them formative to my character. So, I am going with the assumption that we acquire faith rather than enjoy its embedded presence.

I will continue a bit later, because, as much need to share as I obviously have, I also need to obtain new knowledge and study.

Tudalu!

There is always a first...

2011-12-26T21:57:00.000-05:00

I don't know who reads blogs. Never met a Reader of Blogs, though movies make it seem appetizing. Here I am writing one. Getting cozy with the keyboard (not the right one, though, because I usually perform on keys that make music noises). I hope that no one reads this, in all honesty - why would a stranger like me want to share thoughts with other strangers? Yummy idea it ain't. Ok, so I've decided to write about anything. Tis difficult, but not unheard of. Actually, what am I saying: posting should be easy for me, like streaming online - direct and fast. Like going to the bathroom, and, following this logic, it will feel good, too, afterwards. Too much comma stuff going on, so, whoever you are reading this, forgive my love for commas and other unnecessary grammar. I will eat now and come back promptly.

Ok, I am back. Was trying to watch Much Ado about Nothing. Well, I have this thing about movies that come at the wrong day, at the wrong time: I fall asleep. Plain and simple. And VERY embarrassing; (see, some "reject" movies make a comeback another day and, having no recollection about my own initial reaction to them, I enjoy them!) Anyhow, Shakespeare has got to come back another night, because tonight I am going to watch another movie, instead. I am hard to please. My love Bill usually guesses exactly what I want to watch. Tonight was slightly harder when I "ordered" the following in my movie of choice: action, scare, dinosaurs, tsunami and, at least, one pterodactyl. Good night to you, too.