čtvrtek 24. ledna 2019

O šikaně

Sedím si tak v práci, čekám, až nějaká přijde, a pročítám si tátův blog. Proč? Protože je mi po něm smutno. Protože píše pěkné věci, o tom, jak rád má moji mámu, o tom, jak by chtěl lepší Slovensko, o tom, co pro to dělá a jak to dělá a co se snaží a že má rád bráchu a mě a taky tam hází fotky z vesnice, kde jsem se skoro narodila.

Sedím v práci a pro jednou nemluvím. Nemluvím ani s nikým z kolegů, protože mi někdo sebral vítr z plachet. Padlo pár slov, ne příliš jiných, než obvykle, ale nějak bolely víc, než obvykle.
Bylo mi v tu chvíli do breku.

Zatím jsem se neodhodlala to googlit. Ale přemýšlím, že večer zavolám tátovi. A když se bude ptát, co se děje, protože si moc nevoláme, zeptám se: "Ako spoznám, že už je to šikana na pracovisku?"

sobota 19. ledna 2019

Bolí mě ruce

Hrozně bych chtěla psát. 
O tom, že jsem v práci.
O tom, jak nesnáším, když D. vymýšlí program na poslední chvíli. 
O tom, že chápu, že vzhledem ke kontextu to často jinak nejde.
O tom, jak nesnáším tuhle klávesnici.
O tom, Jak bych nejraději praštila do stolu.
O tom, že to neudělám jen proto, že nechci odpovídat na otázky kolegů. Protože to sem nepatří.

O tom, že mi právě v tuhle chvíli zavolal někdo, koho jsem nechtěla slyšet. Někdo, koho jsem si v létě pustila blíž než jsem měla, tak jako před lety @, a stejně jako u @ toho nekonečně lituju.
O tom, jak mě bolí ruce.
Jak jsem se spálila. 
Jak pyšná jsem na své klouby sedřené z tréninků. 
Jak strašně zoufale potřebuju objemout.
O tom, že budu mít už za pár hodin modré vlasy, tak, jako jsem si vždycky přála.
O tom, že další T. nezavolal a nedal mi možnost pracovat. 
O tom, že mi raději poslal svoje fotky do půl těla, aby mi ukázal nové tetování in progress.

O tom, že zítra nemůžu do bazénu, protože bych obarvila vodu na modro a bůh ví, co by mi to udělalo s vlasy. 
O tom, že zoufale potřebuju obejmout.
O tom, že mi chybí F.
O tom, že nemám daleko k slzám na dispečinku. 
O tom, že nemůžu po Joeyim nebo komkoliv jiném, aby mě tady zachraňoval. 
O tom, že to nechci psát D., protože toho má sám plný kecky. 
O tom, že... Jsem v koncích. 

úterý 8. ledna 2019

Who do I see when I look at my father - a poem attempt

Who do you see when you look at your father?
Why am I asking?
It's my father's birthday.
He's few years past the Answer.
His hair's white and he's slowly growing old.
How do I know he's growing old?
Simple.
He's growing wise, too.

When I look at him, I see my heroes.
Aragorn, who devoted his love to one and only woman.
Hawkeye Pierce, who hated war and only wished to help others.
My math teacher, who looks like Chuck Norris and taught me more about life than about mathematics - and he taught me hell lot of maths.

Yes, it's the beard and the fact that my father's hair has been salt and pepper ever since I can remember.
Also, it's courage.
It's wisdom.
It's the endless hope that we can change the world for the better.
It's the respect he shows me when I come home
(unless I forget to uload the dishwasher)
It's the fact he never gave up on me
It's the fact he loves me even though I made my own way to life
(and I tell you, it's nothing like what he imagined for me)

So here I am
sobbing like a three year old
preparing to leave and go to my parents' place
preparing as if it was the most important thing in my life
well it is
and he's the most important man in my life

Happy birthday, Dad
I love you

pondělí 7. ledna 2019

I miss ya

At five o'clock in the mornin'
in a wide Brad Pitt like south american accent
that I picked up from watching the story of Benjamin Button
I write ya a short message
by the short message service
sayin'

I miss ya

It's 'cause I miss ya
I caught myself imaginin'
commin' home
lettin' ya wrap me in those warm arms of yours
undressin' and you tellin' me once again that I am the mist beautiful without my clothes
bein' a little offended by that
but never tellin' you
or at least not at that particular moment
layin' in bed next to ya
listenin' to that hearbeat ofyours

I miss ya

And I guess that's a good sign

neděle 6. ledna 2019

Fucked up... To the bone

She was sitting at her desk watching To the bone, when she heard his naked feet on the carpet that was to light and full of stains already. He asked her colleague to go smoke first, then he came to her.

"You goin'?" he asked.
She nodded, grabbed her cigarettes and the green lighter with a long flame.

They were standing at the window in the relaxroom, watching lights of a big car dealership company. He complained about not being able to fall asleep in the last couple of weeks.
She remembered the time he slept over at her place. Him whispering "I have trouble going to sleep in strange places, so... Just go to sleep."

She shivered.
"Bloody cold," he said.

She stepped closer to him, he wrapped his arm around her hips.
Nothing else.

"I am fucked up," she said as she threw the cigarette butt on the ground two floors under them.
"Tell me about it."

sobota 5. ledna 2019

Zásadní zjištění z noční

Pokud se dá předpokládat, že tu pizzu budete jíst vlažnou nebo studenou, neobjednávejte si nic s lososem.

Mezi nejhezčí pocity na světě patří ten, který vás obklopí, když si na konci nekonečně se táhnoucí noční uvědomíte, že máte v ledničce jogurt z minulého týdne. A když ten jogurt je stále na svém místě, datum spotřeby má za čtyři dny a nemluví na vás.

Je to trochu hloupé, protože se to nabízí. Nicméně jsem si nikdy nemyslela, že mi poslední díl první série Teorie velkého třesku zhlédnutý v sedm ráno po probdělé noci potvrdí řešení aktuální citové situace.

TBBT silně připomíná tvůj život, Nostrae. Nezapomínej na to.

středa 2. ledna 2019

Also, what this blog became

This blog bnecame my diary. I am a bit uncapable to write an email to my therapist to figure stuff out with her, so I try to keep writing down stuff. I need to talk to someone and don't want to bother actual people. Also, I don't really want to hear any advice or oppinions, I just need to talk, get it out.

New Year's eve

Something unclicked on the New Year's Eve 2018. I was at my freinds, the two couples, three kids, and me and a guy that I agreed to date because I wasn't strong enough to say no to something I wasn't completely sure about.

So there I am, sitting at the table with a glass of vine, and he doeasn't speak much. He's an introvert and doesn't speak much, but when he does, it's embarassing humour, weird. Also, he stammers often and doesn't speak much english. And the chemistry never really worked. The only time it worked was when I was high on an idea, I wrote it down and then sat on his lap and fucked him, used him... That was a very intense thing. But othervise... I don't want to teach a guy how to fuck me right from level one.

And I never thought that being able to speak english would ever be essentional for me in otehr person... But it seems it is.

And also, I need more space. I don't want to kiss him when I don't feel like it. I don't feel like kissing him anymore.

And I think I peeked a bit on how my dear ex felt when I was around him. Gosh, I am not sorry for the fact |I made him feel this way, but |I understand whya he kept pushing me away, but never quite said "Listen, Sabriel, I don't want to be with you anymore."
It's hard to finally end something with a person you think is a bit dependent on you and you don't wanna hurt his ego and feelings and...

Well anyway.

I need to see if it's not just me being oversocialised in the last couple of days... But I am afraid not. And if I am not, there is a breakup comming. And I won't be the brokenhearted one.