At The Mercy of My Fingers

I know you are going to say this is just too much! We have better things to do than reading a blogger’s jabbering every other night! But I can’t help it, my fingers just won’t rest, they refuse to stay away from the keyboard. I have tried, I swear I did. I must have clicked on those stupid solitaire cards over twelve thousand times tonight, and yet my fingers don’t seem to have had their satiety. My pink little mouse that looks as if it is a hand-me-down from an 8 year old girly girl has been begging me to stop restlessly clicking on it for over 2 hours, and yet my fingers refuse to keep away from my broken laptop.

Something in me has woken up from its deep, long slumber this week. Something in me has shaken me up, and like a somnambulist, I found myself picking up on my reading where I had left off. The pleasure of those books must have ticked off the ink swelling in the tips of my fingers.

Something in me has realized that fantasies are just what they are, and reality must set in sometime. My feelings about this statement are ambivalent. I am not sure how much I prefer living my reality as opposed to dreaming my fancy.

I am trying to take serious steps towards fulfilling the promise I had made to myself, the one in which I swore to live more, to do more, to be more; but as the saying goes, one hand cannot clap on its own, and without a serious entourage and excellent company round the clock, I am afraid my hands not only won’t clap, they are also tied, tied to a bittersweet reality that keeps me going in vicious circles of fabulous far away friends, and omnipresent insignificant everyday companions who make me feel like a cat lady.

Tonight I can’t help but imagining myself some 30 years from now still sitting in this chair, sipping from this same hideous cup of coffee, only by then I would be ordering decaf instead; I foresee uncontrollably shaky hands in my future and a pile of heart medicine. I see glasses so thick they seriously could pass as the bottoms of coca cola bottles. I see a big house filled to its brim with books read once and only once, with rusty yellowish notebooks scattered all over the place, and with little, almost invisible insects crawling and making tiny nests inside the walls of an imagination that never knew where its door knob was.

I see neighborhood kids practicing their prank skills on me. I see myself tutoring students I wish I could spank to make a living.

I see nephews and nieces coming to check on me every once in a while. I hear them complaining about the stench of the house. I see myself cracking the windows once they have left. I see myself trying to look presentable and driving my 2005 Polo – 30 years from now – to Sassine Square. I see young waitresses puffing and rolling their eyes at my sight.

I sit here seriously wishing I knew how to change this inevitable prospect, and whilst my imagination aids me, my reality refuses to cope. Somehow I wish the world would rearrange itself to suit my lazy ass. And to end this with a somewhat less pessimistic thought, just wait and watch it do it!

Alternative Curriculum

I am sitting here, unaware of how I got here, of why I chose to be here in the first place. As I try to make my recollection, I realize that I decided to come here, I even inquired on how to get here, and drove in a daze with only one purpose in mind: being here.

I have only been here once before, and considering my poor driving skills, it is far. I believe the memory of the vibe this place had given me the first time around brought me back. It gave me the sense that this is the kind of place in which I need to be in order to clear my head, to refresh my crowded thoughts, and to try and simply, relax.

None of the above has been achieved though, and for a very simple reason: I realized thoughts cannot be organized, feelings cannot be disciplined, and the myth of the brain and the heart getting along has been deemed as such for the right reasons. As for the relaxation part, I feel even tenser than when I arrived.  

All the students surrounding me with heads buried in their books made me think back to my school days, and more precisely, to my school books. I sit here wondering what most have spent a good part of their time wondering. When will we ever use these useless equations throughout our miserable life? Why would it help to know the name of that body part and that one’s function? How is memorizing stupid outdated poems going to help with life’s entangled problems?

Tonight, here, I would like to take a shot at creating an alternative curriculum; one that I believe would help much more with life’s path, at least in the way life seems to me, here, tonight.

I propose a class that would make math look so last century, and I would like to call it “how to lower your expectations”. Take that algebra.

And how about replacing science with “the metaphysics of luck”, “the alchemy of hormones and how to control your stupid impulses” and “beauty and the beast”?

Instead of literature, I would go for “the art of winning an argument”.

Philosophy shall become “the reality of evasiveness”, and civism will go by “the one on one book for etiquette and mutual respect dummies”.

As for geography’s substitute, a special course on “how and where to cultivate the fruit of your decisions” will be conducted by the master of your being, Mr. Ego in all its splendor.

History is so easy to replace, it will become, with the blessing of – for once – both your head and your heart, “guidelines and techniques on erasing the past”.

Regarding activities, a twice a week constructive lesson will be given on “ways to tell a lie from a truth and other practical advice”.

Have I forgotten anything? Maybe. You wish to tell me to shove my curriculum and get over it? Most probably. Do I even care? Of course note. Has this helped me move on with my night? A definite no. Why have I written all of the above? Not so sure.

The lesson: None.

The teacher: An idiot who will never learn by himself.

The one to blame: A system that has probably taught me everything but from which I have learned nothing, and yet, it is still the one to take the blame.

The objective: Filling the blanks in life with elusive meager literature.

The result: Time killed, the acquisition of an illusively mended heart and of course, continuum boredom and loneliness. 

The All Smiles Chapter

As usual, I have nothing in particular to talk about. This is mainly because I have so much energy right now and I am terribly unsure of what to do with it; I figured maybe the urge would leave me once I typed, and typed, and typed. I shall update you at the end of this post.

Till then, let us yap a bit.

What a fabulous month it has been! The only month I could link this one to would probably be February 2009. A lot, and I mean a lot has changed since then; but the vibe this December is generating reminds me of 09, of that particular month. I think what I am feeling is called happiness. I don’t believe I have ever been able to fully grasp that feeling, but February 09 and December 2012 may be the closest I have come to experience it on any scale.

I can’t even begin to describe what tremendous warmth it gives me to be surrounded by my friends. Life tends to separate us often, to send us each to a different corner of the world in pursuit of a future so hazy that it makes us sometimes wonder, what are we really after? But then comes the rare reunion, the ever so far apart get-togethers, and something suddenly makes sense, even if it is just for a fleeting moment. Maybe what we so harshly deem as unfair is deep down the only thing that will ever make sense.

Maybe I am being too optimistic - I know I am being a lot more optimistic than usual at any rate – but maybe I am simply being realistic – which I rarely am. Too philosophical? perhaps. In any case, I am having a rare moment of clarity, the kind of moment one wishes would never go away, would be forever encrusted in one’s psyche. It has something to do with understanding why one shouldn’t party every night or else it wouldn’t make one merrier every time. It has something to do with swallowing the fact that we only get paid once every month. It perfectly explains why I can’t listen to music every day, why I can’t watch a movie every night, why I am ever so rarely happy – or close to experiencing the feeling. It is about the wait, about the anticipation, and about the downsizing of expectations before becoming completely apt and totally ready to savor a moment.

I have come to realize that I cannot enjoy anything unless I had previously been deprived of it one way or another. One way or another… that is a song, one of many that need to be enjoyed every now and then.  Enough with parentheses though. One of the many things pacing my little brain tonight is how to apply my oh-so-deep theories to my actual life. Abstract relationships aside, I suck at applying any of the above. I am the champion of failure when it comes to depriving myself of dinner once every 12 months, let alone depriving myself of a cigarette or a drink even.

When does one reach some level of perfection, or equilibrium to be more down to earth? The word I am looking for here might be harmony. It feels as if I will never get anywhere unless I achieve harmony, one way or another. That is a song by the way, or did I mention that already?

I could be wrong though, I keep contradicting myself tonight. Because if I were to be correct with all of the above yapping, it can only mean one thing and one thing only: I have been preaching nothing but crap for the past 26 years.

And what if I was? And who really cares? And who cares about the new theory? Not me that is for sure. I am just writing for the sake of typing, of releasing mixed energies.

Will I ever look back at this article and wonder? Will you? Perhaps yes. Probably not.

Part of me feels like wrapping this up, getting dressed, joining the party, getting filthy drunk and losing my job tomorrow. The other part feels like…Well let us just say I still have a rational part left in my silly little brain. I am not sure which part I hate the most and which I hold the dearest to my heart. And since we are at it, what I despise above all is the fact that one part always wins and the balance is never achieved.

Is it obvious how happy I was when I started this and how miserable I became afterwards? It wasn’t intentional. It was influential. Call me nuts but I think I just managed to absorb some of a pretty boy’s melancholic vibes. Maybe I am hoping he will reciprocate one day, some day, under the stars of a silky raining sky, overlooking the lights of an ever so luring city, when the wait is over, when the anticipation has reached its peak, and when the expectations have simply ceased to exist.

A Slave of Complaint

It has been an ultra redefining week on so many levels. Well I haven’t exactly discovered anything I wasn’t previously aware of, but everything that had been happening with me or around me has reconfirmed some old theories and feelings.

I am a slave of my routine. Anything that interferes with my daily habits one way or another automatically tends to go on a blacklist that ranges between dislike, discomfort and disassociation altogether.

For those of you who don’t know me in person, here is a concise summary: I am your basic heavy smoker/insomniac with no car. That being said, it is quite understandable how a 24/7 coffee shop near home with an indoor smoking section can work perfectly well for me.

I have been almost living in the same spot for the past 10 years or so. The coffee shop itself changed, the people changed, the cab drivers even changed, but I am still the same. I come here religiously, every night, for the same experience, the same enjoyments, with the odd twist here and there of course.

So could somebody please tell me why am I having to undergo a relatively massive change in the space of less than a week? It simply isn’t conceivable in my mind; having to go from devotedly smoking indoors 24/7 to shamefully smoking outdoors 21/7 is just NOT fair!!!! Not to mention that I have lost the place as a depot as well! I know an explanation is due now and it goes – or used to go to be more precise – like this: The fact that I have no car and that I feel lost without my huge laptop makes me carry it with me wherever I go, and since on some rare occasions I actually have plans elsewhere, but must – and I mean MUST! – come to the coffee shop before AND after the night out, I would usually keep the laptop with the staff for the duration of my plans, and then come back, retrieve it, use it and go home with it. Now what do you suggest I do with my humongous laptop when I need to go out?? And how am I to use it before leaving and dispose of it then? And why oh why don’t I get the chance to use after all my boring plans anymore??

Rant, rant, ranting I do best! I know. But in this case, I have earned the right to do it, haven’t I? I mean come on, after all those years, you chose this week of all weeks to start closing at 3:00 a.m.? What does it even denote to close for 3 meager hours when you need an hour to close down and another to open up? Isn’t it enough that I now have to sweat in the heat and shiver in the cold just because I have been dubbed as an uncivilized smoker? I ask you, isn’t that a sufficiently undeserved and uncalled for punishment?

On another note, I may have become slightly superstitious this week as well. It all started when I caught the bouquet my friend threw on her first wedding anniversary. Does catching the bouquet really mean I am going to meet someone and be the next to walk the isle? And what exactly could it mean that I caught it one year too late?

On yet another note, there has been a lot of dreaming going on. Between the dreams of my relatives, those of my friends and my own, I have been stealing cars, secretly buying cars, and attending some very fishy gatherings. I have also been misplacing my clothes and walking on red sand.

Now link the dreams to the rotting flowers, deprive me of smoking altogether, send me to bed at midnight, and drive me off tomorrow to the nut house in a stolen green Renault. How about that?

Nope, Can't Shut Up About It After All

I thought I could, I really did. I had promised myself this was going to be a battle I will refuse to take part in. But I’ve had it! I feel provoked! And damn it, I should be!

Stop trying to deny me every little pleasure I have left in this godforsaken country. Stop trying to deprive me from one of the few - and I mean few when I say it - things I still get to enjoy in the grimmest of the so called green nations.

Do you remember how I kept silent when you tore down the beautiful old buildings in my neighborhood and built your ugly centers instead? Do you remember the way I kept my mouth shut when you sealed the bad meat file as if nothing had ever happened? Can you recall the way I didn’t utter a word the day you decided to just forget about the civil marriage file?

I didn’t choose the above cases randomly. Those happen to be three of the many, many cases which were, in my opinion, used by our devious government to distract a predisposed people from much more important and relevant issues that were eating our country up, and still are.

Those subjects were magnified in the public’s eye for a given period before they lost their value. I love my memory of the few months during which you all religiously wore your seat-belts while dodging a ticket instead of an accident, just love it. I still quite enjoy myself and snicker a bit every time you pass a roadblock and buckle up 2 feet away from it, only to free yourselves again just 2 other feet ahead of the checkpoint. Sensational for a nation; hypocrites roaming the streets and pretending they want a European lifestyle, pretending their aim is to bring this country forward, claiming they are sick with the situation as it is. Shame on people who wouldn’t dare as much as flick their cigarette’s ashes from the car’s window in any other country while they take some sort of pride throwing whole garbage bags out of their houses’ windows in Lebanon. I pity my motherland when I know for a fact that only the poor and the weak will be suffering from nicotine withdrawal symptoms while the rich and the powerful will terrorize any policeman who would think of attempting to get his ticket book out in order to write them up for smoking their luscious cigarettes. Isn’t it just merely funny when you think about it?

You know I am 100% right when I predict that almost every individual involved in the matter will be on the take from bar and restaurant owners to let them run their places smoothly. You know I am more than correct when I expect a huge economical shudder due to this hasty decision. You know for a fact that while you and I might comply because we can’t afford 90$ tickets over cigarettes, Abou Koko and Abou Ahmad will simply beat down any, yes any person who might try to ask them to take their smoking outside. Funny, super funny!

I am writing all of this down tonight not only to express my dismay over the smoking ban effective as of September the 3^rd, but also to pour my blame over a nation that is relentless when it comes to disappointing me on every possible level.

For everyone who is so ecstatic about the smoking ban on health basis, I urge you to read up on lung cancer’s relation to cigarettes. Although the two may be connected, smoking isn’t the direct or the sole cause for the sickness, and in case you aren’t aware of it yet, toxins you inhale from running cars and from highly health conservative electricity plants are much more harmful to your lungs than your friends’ smoking.

For the people who were quick to judge this ban as a “civilized” move, I would like to point out that no move, no matter how highly symbolic and effective it may be to you, can be described as such in a country that forces its gay community to undergo shameful tests under claims of “protective and preventative measurements”. May you also kindly note that, once again, this is yet another deceitful move taken by our dear government to distract us from issues that truly matter.

And to those of you whose adrenaline just notably rose up on the mention of the gay tests as not being of major importance, please do not get me wrong; this is actually a subject that advocates my cause. And you do have a right to wonder what my cause really is after all the jabbering that I just made you read through. For those who are still reading, my cause goes as follows:

No matter who you are, no matter where you are, you are entitled to act however you wish to act, the right to be however you wish to be, the right to do whatever it is you wish to do in any manner you see fit, all as long as you are not stepping on anybody’s toes while at it.

Are you a non smoker who is sick of having to inhale every “uncivilized” person’s smoke in this place? Why not call for a movement that satisfies both parties by creating smoking and non smoking corners in every place? That is a lot more refined than judging and labeling people who dare differ in their habits as uncivilized.

Actually, come to think of it, it is going to be a lot more uncivilized and coarse, harsh even, to send all those smokers to sweat under the burning summer sun (which could be a factor in causing skin cancer for all I know – since smoking can be a factor in causing lung cancer), or to freeze under the overflowing winter rain (hey, that could seriously cause lung diseases!).

I haven’t written that many lines in ages, I am really getting worked up about this topic. But please note that the upcoming sentences aren’t meant to try and draw the reader’s pity or sympathy for that matter, in any way, but governmental conspiracies and civism lessons aside, I love smoking. As I have emphasized multiple times before in this blog, my cigarette is my companion, it is somehow part of my hand, an irrevocable part of who I am, of what I represent in my society. It is hard for some people to imagine me not holding a cigarette; sometimes it is hard for me to imagine it as well. And if you think that quitting smoking would be beneficial for my health, think again. If you think that once I at least cut down on my smoking I will be running up stairs, also think again. Smoking a cigarette has kept me from going insane many a time, it has prevented me from feeling totally and utterly abandoned more times than I care – or dare - to count. My mental health, which is questionable I admit, matters a lot more to me than my physical one, which will deteriorate one way or another, one day or another, for one reason or another. A cigarette joins together the beginning and the end of any creative process for me as well. With all due respect to my fellow non smokers, try smoking and you just may – emphasize on may – become as good as I am someday :P

Stung By A Bee

Last night my mom tricked me into sleeping at my grandmother's place in a village I really despise. We were supposed to come back in the evening, but it turned out she had other plans and I had no choice but to stay put.
It wasn't so bad. I had fun playing cards and all but still, I felt tricked. I wasn't there by my own free will.
After everyone went to sleep, I set my laptop on the balcony and sat there for a while. The power got cut and I was out of battery. While I was shutting my laptop down, to top it all, a bee stung me in my neck.
I am more pessimistic than ever these days. I am broke. I am unemployed with no prospects for a job. I am single. I am lonely. I am surrounded by all kinds of people but I am too impatient for people. I am not sure how that may be but I am.
The bee sting gave me the feeling of being bitten by a vampire, especially since the bee chose my neck to dump its poison.
I am not sure if it is the effect of loneliness, but I am having lots of illusions lately. Everything has a weird connotation to it. Maybe it is the boredom and not the loneliness after all.
Spilling white chawarma sauce all over my favorite top had a connotation as well, although I am not sharing this one.
I have nothing to say really. I thought the bee would cover a larger subject but it doesn't.

Reminiscence

When does one stop reminiscing on the good old days? Why did we fail to notice how good they were when we were living them? Why is it that we have missed on savoring those days when we had the chance to do so?

So many phases, so many friends, so many moments… Why did they seem so ordinary at the time? Why do they seem so special now? 

What was it that was missing then and what is it that they can fulfill now?

Most people’s memories are triggered by a place, a song, a situation… Mine begs to differ: it is triggered by its pure and simple existence. I keep finding myself lost in thought, going back in time, trying to recapture those moments and those friends in their purest essence. 

I look like I have moved on. I haven’t. My all remains in those days. Each meaningful day that passes keeps a token of me in it. My mind keeps living those days and those days keep hacking into my system in turn. 

I wish the relationship I have with my days is a platonic one, but it isn’t. It is definitely a lot more sadistic than I would have liked it to be. 

I can even find it in me to feel nostalgic about the bad days. I can’t push myself to regret them. Something about those bad ones, or something about me for that matter, just can’t overcome them. 

Do you smell unresolved issues? Ah well, maybe.

Do you think I might be a bit off? I am. I am not sure what the hell I am writing about. 

I am looking around me today, trying to do some effort, trying to fit in somehow. I can’t. It is as if today wasn’t in my calendar, as if I am being compelled to live a day I wasn’t meant to live. I was supposed to skip this day. 

Not that there is anything different about today. Today looks almost exactly like all my unemployed status days. I just don’t feel like living it today.