As a sidenote - people in Boston talk funny, and i can't help myself but grin and quietly giggle when i am talking to someone from the area. For now, only on the phone. i seriously need to learn to keep a straight face when i am dealing with someone from Boston in person. unless i want to get a punch on the face, which will certainly NOT be a sign of affection, oh no. (One of my friends, who knew about the fact that i do not take signs of affection well had offered to punch me in the face instead of giving me hugs... I'm glad he never got too affectionate.)

Also a note for the future for those of you who communicate with me either in person or over the phone - you are now fully authorized to make fun of me if/when i start sounding Bostonian. Damn, i was just starting to get the Southern drawl! I am going to end up with a really confused mess of regional accents on top of the one that indicates to my foreignness. Maybe, one of these days i will be just the right case for some linguistic study that specializes in regional accents and dialects. We'll see.

On summer and plans...

For the past few weeks all my free time and creative energy have been dedicated to planning trips, looking for apartments and dealing with hurt/anger issues. The latter, given my history, has not been a very pleasant experience, but at least I’ve come out of it having learned one important lesson, which I will slightly touch upon a few paragraphs later. The former has surprisingly been a rather pleasant and entertaining activity, especially the part that involves my almost wistful obsession about going places and seeing/doing things. In the past, despite the fact that a lot of my work responsibilities often required a great amount of planning, scheduling and event coordinating, when it came to personal matters, I was probably the world’s worst planner ever. I would describe myself as the opposite of a control freak, and rather than obsessing over every single detail to make sure that I had everything under control, I’d get easily discouraged by even the smallest thing going wrong and would simply stand aside watching all the tentative plans unravel and fall apart, all the while feeling most inadequate and helpless to try and do anything about it. Since then, either thanks to my two major moves in the past two years or having been in situations that required urgent decision making and quick actions, I have become more “seasoned” or “better conditioned” in dealing with the aforementioned shortcomings.

Trip planning can be fun at times – especially when you realize that your desired destination may only be a mouse click away, when making hotel reservations is no longer seen as a “core-shaking” experience and when I’ve so far learned about the benefit of asking, firmly expressing preferences and being open and flexible enough to compromise. It’s just a fucking trip, for god’s sake, and not a lobotomy, you would think.

So this new and “better conditioned” or “more resourceful” self (whichever way you’d like to look at it) has been having a lot of fun in one of the most dreaded activities of the past – planning. And that, in fact, has opened a whole lot of options that I never even considered before. It’s great to know that DC is only a train ride away, that flying to Boston is not like crossing the Atlantic (which I have, quite a few times in the past), that sometimes all it takes is to nicely ask “can we please, please go back to Charlottesville one more time,” to be able to get that much desired day trip. And that the thought of attending a wedding where I hardly know anybody does not necessarily have to be pictured as medieval torture. And perhaps with further careful planning and budgeting I may even be able to actualize the much longed for visit to Charleston this summer. Maybe, still tentative, I’m keeping my fingers crossed, till then, there are other trips to look forward to and make my summer eventful.

As for apartments, I started looking way too early, or as they’d say in the parlance of the region – too wicked early. Am I slowly becoming a control freak, I wonder? Last year, a big part of my not being able to go to school was because I was too unprepared and too freaked out to even see it happening. This year, I rather have everything done sooner, than later, especially when at this point I can finally see it happening. I have a few places lined up to go and see during my short visit at the end of June (yup, the trip to Boston!), one place in particular that I am so interested in, that I’m willing to pay a deposit without even having seen the place. I will have a lot more peace of mind and one less thing to worry about when I know that the living arrangements have been taken care of.

As for hurt and anger – although in itself it is too big of an issue to try and get into at the moment, one lesson that I learned is that going to bed angry gives you bad dreams and is bad for digestion afterwards, and I rather avoid conflict if for nothing else, at least to not have to deal with shooting pains in the abdomen. But more on this later…

For now, I am really, truly enjoying what is left of my stay in Richmond. Although I know that I will be sad leaving, I am actually looking forward to the move, to the change, to a different pace and a completely different feeling of freedom that being a student entails. I also know that I will be coming back to Richmond quite often, which makes it much easier to deal with emotions. And I can get, very, VERY, almost unbecomingly emotional at certain instances. Yet, I am happy, and hopeful, and excited… It’s summer, time for painted toenails and flimsy dresses and blended iced coffees and lots and lots of strawberries… Back to listening to Counting Crows for hours at a time, dreaming of that holiday in Spain and drawing butterflies and wings and other pretty things. August is not here yet. There still are quite a few days left. A whole new summer still to be lived. And of course, some impossible blockbuster movies to be suffered through, I'm sure.

Grains of wisdom for today

or at least something to ponder upon:

"It's not that people act a certain way around you, but that you attract certain types of people based upon your thoughts, beliefs and expectations."

So could i conclude that if, at the moment, i'm surrounded by wonderful people, i may actually be wonderful myself?

Today...

Mom told me that she sat and cried through your most favorite movie, the old war movie that they always show on this day - the victory day - and the day when you left...

It’s that day, of all days…

And I miss you now more than ever.

They say that time heals, but for me it’s merely a distraction. Time has simply driven me away, further than I ever thought I’d be; further than even you could have imagined. I’m separated from the event not merely by an interval of thirteen years, but everything else that happened during this time, everything that you never got to see and everything that you missed.

Sometimes, in my dreams, it still feels that you’re here, somewhere, and sometimes you come back knocking on the door, as if you never left… At times I can see you standing in front of me, silent, but smiling… If only I could see you once again, if only I could ask you that one question that will always be on my mind, wherever I go, whatever I do – whether you approve of what’s become of me…

At times i wonder how different things would be if you were alive...

There really is no way of reconciling with it. It gets harder, instead of getting better. Blind acceptance only numbs the pain. Time is but a distraction. Grieving only brings temporary relief… There’s always the pain, the question, the knowledge that it could have not happened…

The only consolation that I find is when I’m reminded, time and again, how much both me and him are like you… especially him, the replica of you. At times I can hear you speaking to me, and at times it is as if you are speaking through me. You are a part of me. Every day I’m becoming more like you… and every day I’m more and more grateful for everything that you gave me and are giving me still even after you’re gone.

Baltimore

Baltimore struck me as a bitter city, bitter, yet pleasing, just like cigarette smoke. See here and here for more...

How long does it take to get to know a city?

How many cities can you conquer in a lifetime, and by conquest I do not mean the list of must-sees and must-dos that every city has to offer to its visitors.

How long does it take to get to know a city?

To get to know it so well, that you can walk its streets with your eyes closed, when you know its neighborhoods like the back of your hand, when even a slight change, like a relocation of a shop or a demolition of a building gives you that painful pang, and feels like a tooth missing? How long does it take – a matter of months? A year? Two years? A lifetime? Do you have to be born there to claim a certain ownership, to have that insider’s feel? Or by merely living there long enough have your life intervene with that of the city? How many cities can you get to know in a lifetime? How many can you claim as home? How many homes can you have scattered all over the world?

Two days is certainly not enough to get to know a city. And I can’t even vaguely picture myself living in Baltimore. But two days is more than enough for me to know that I’ll be going back… if for nothing else, at least for a stay at the bed and breakfast place, to hear the stories of the sweet old man, the husband of the woman who runs the place, who has, by far, been the highlight of my short visit to Baltimore.

The Future of Foreign Aid (or rather, my own future)

"Is foreign aid the solution to poverty?"

Solving poverty, a concept in itself noble and inspiring, is, by its nature, a utopian idea. Like every utopia, it is somewhat removed from reality and has an element of delusion. It is an equal delusion to assume that foreign aid alone is the solution. Whereas it pursues abstract and at times intangible goals, the mistakes of aid are costly and shortcomings tangible. Foreign aid cannot solve poverty not only because it tries to find a “fix” that does not exist. Foreign aid fails because it is poorly managed, blind and incompetent, and does not reach those who it is aimed for. Poverty – a complex and multilayered phenomenon, has no magic fix – a belief that foreign aid has been deluding itself for decades. Instead, there are ideas – humble, small, creative ideas that can be used to help the poor. The poor are not passive recipients, waiting for aid to relieve their burden. The poor are a resource, a major and determining factor, often overlooked and underestimated. Foreign aid, unsuccessful for decades in its pursuit to find external solutions on global scale, needs to shift its attention to those it is trying to help. Foreign aid can help the poor. It can help them effectively and significantly. To be able to do that, it needs to stop its Quixotian quest, admit its mistakes, learn from the past and seek precise ways to achieve effectiveness.

I finished writing my paper. It’s done. Submitted. Over. Now I don’t have to think about it anymore. The results won’t be in until this coming fall. By then I will be in a completely different place with a completely different mindset. And the results most likely won’t matter. Not that they matter now. Although this was a scholarship paper, the monetary reward was hardly big enough to get me motivated to such extent. I did, in fact, put a lot of time and effort into writing it. I tried to read everything I could on the subject and do my best to say everything I wanted to say. And I did write this paper first and foremost for myself. The rewards are already in – I wrote a paper, one that I actually really like – and hell, in fact, froze over.

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything close to this in its length and depth. Hell, I don’t remember writing a decent paper even when I was in school. Despite the fact that I went to the best school in the field in the whole country, its “excellence” hardly amounted to anything – academically it proved to be way too unchallenging and close-minded, still suffering from deeply rooted Soviet notions of discipline and bureaucracy, combined with corruption flourishing all over the country. My straight A record does not mean a thing (except for looking good on paper), since getting anything less than an A would indicate a complete failure under given circumstances. Before I altogether gave up on going to classes, thanks to my good grades and whoever it was that invented “individual schedule”, I took the liberty in choosing my own little projects that were often frowned upon and gained me a reputation of undisciplined waywardness. I learned early enough for my own good that I was not going to get anything out of that institution and chose to learn whatever I needed directly from work experience. Hence my resume dating way back to 1997, when I landed my first teaching translating jobs at the age of seventeen. In fact, it was thanks to this work experience that I came to choose the field I’m about to get into - the same field that less than a week ago I claimed as inefficient, incompetent and ignorant in the aforementioned paper.

I did read a lot for this project. I learned quite a few details, discovered names, the history, the existing “schools of thought.” However, when it comes to the effectiveness of foreign aid, I didn’t find out much that I didn’t know already - by merely growing up in a developing country and watching aid officials, their projects and lives of ordinary citizens (or “locals” in foreign aid language). In the past I have, in fact, been indirectly involved with both UN and USAID, working on a number of contract-based, short term projects in a passive role of a translator. You actually don’t need to be a wiz to see how wasteful, short sighted and incompetent these agencies are. You only need to take a glance at an arbitrary project budget to learn more than you need to know – and this is only the part that I had access to. It’s enough to meet a consultant to realize that the guy has no clue whatsoever either about the country he’s stationed in, or about the job he is doing there. The ones that are actually bright (and I’ve been lucky enough to come across a few) speak bitterly about both the present and the future of this huge industry that is first and foremost a business – one that finds ways to transfer money of the poor from rich countries to the rich in the poor countries. As one of the harshest critics of aid said, “foreign aid has subsidized political irresponsibility and pernicious policies …it has been an opiate of the Third World governments to rely on handouts instead of on themselves for development” (see Bovard for the full article, if you’re further intrigued – a lot of insightful details and examples). I’m not even going to get into the whole Noam Chomsky conspiracy thing (and I do, very much so, believe in conspiracies). So why in the world am I getting into this?

I have to admit that there is an element of vanity in my choice – it’s cool to be in the network of international agencies with big names, such as World Bank, United Nations, International Monetary Fund, the USAID. It’s cool to be able to travel all over the world. Excellent career opportunities, attractive pay, noble and prestigious field. But then I have to stop and ask myself: how long will it take until I get completely bored with the nobleness and prestige and disgusted with bureaucracy, incompetence and outright hypocrisy? At least I know beforehand what I am getting into, if I choose to shoot for the big names, and won’t be stepping fresh out of grad school with rosy visions of saving the world, to get disappointed before my first contract is up.

Perhaps the biggest importance of this project for me was that despite the fact that foreign aid has gained such a deplorable reputation of being useless, wasteful, incompetent and corrupt within its own system, I still see hope, if not for the whole industry, at least in small projects and my place in it. I always believed, and have already spoken about seeing the role of foreign aid in creating opportunities and hope for those who don’t have it. I do believe in humanity and compassion. I do think that foreign aid can help the poor significantly, even if it alone is not the solution of poverty. In my paper I argued about the importance of understanding the nature of poverty, and how, despite its global scale, it is a local and even more so, a personal matter. I argued the importance of cultural sensitivity instead of acting upon assumptions that policies of the West are universally applicable. I argued, based on what I knew, and having my newfound and beloved Mr. Easterly to back me up, that the only hope for poverty is the poor themselves. And I argued the importance of establishing an accountability system in any project implementation and getting feedback from the “locals” to see if aid is working.

What do I see in my future in the field of foreign aid other than my passionate beliefs and a potentially good topic for thesis that I’d like to explore? Small NGOs? Microlending? A job of a consultant residing in luxury suits in five star hotels and business travel class? The Heller School of Social Policy and Management (hosting the program of Sustainable International Development at Brandeis) claims that it trains the next generation of development planners and policy maker for whom a global society free of poverty, preventable disease and environmental degradation is achievable. I can’t quite see myself as one of these “planners.” I’d rather be one of the “searchers,” as Easterly sees them, working in a godforsaken corner of the world, making sure that kids get vaccines, access to clean water, and chance to get proper education. Or continue my interrupted microlending career and give out loans to farmers and small business owners. One of the founders of the most famous microlending institutions did, in fact, receive the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts to create economic and social development from below. Whatever it is, I do pray to God that I don’t become one of those well paid, meddling bureaucrats, sitting in an office buried in paperwork, without having a clue what poverty is like.

I feel like I’ve been through a war. I’m very, extremely tired. It’s been very bad few days – days that felt like weeks. Days that dragged on like a nightmare that was never going to end. I’m glad it’s over now. I still feel weak and tired, partly due to lack of sleep, partly because improper nutrition. That I’ve gone on schedules like this for weeks and months at a time in the past amazes me. That I managed to get out of it alive, without any serious damage is just as astounding. The last few days only proved how much I really do not want unnecessary stress in my life – job related or otherwise. It’s just not fucking worth it. Whatever it is.

It has quieted down now. In a few more months I can completely forget everything I have learned about real estate and not have to deal with it for the rest of my life – or at least until I decide to buy my own house. Thinking about it now – it would actually be very very nice to have a house in Richmond, on Strawberry Street. Wishful thinking… but then, it’s my dream - I can dream about whatever I want. So a cute little Victorian in the heart of the Fan can be added to my dream list.

It’s almost weekend. I’m going to Baltimore, to take pictures of the slums and check out the Inner Harbor. There’s a baseball game that I’ll have to suffer through though, an activity that sounds pointless, if not plain ridiculous. It might be fun though, watching crowds of people screaming and going absolutely nuts about something as uninteresting as a bat and a ball. But then, i'm easily amused - so who knows, i might even like it.

Summer’s almost here. No particular plans except to try and get the most of my stay in Richmond. Take a trip to Brandeis, check out the place before I move, look at apartments. And then August, and everything after… and I am actually really looking forward to it. One thing I know better than anything else is that I really really want to go to school , and Brandeis sounds just the place for me.

I will be sad leaving Richmond. But that's a long and drawn out lament that i dont want to get into now. The plan though, is to come down here as often as I can and no one knows better what it feels being split. The distance between Richmond and Boston is nothing compared to the other side of the world. It might even work out well in the end…

This time next year I’ll be looking for internships – DC area for summer, overseas for fall. Then research. Thesis. Graduation. And a complete blank beyond that point. I have no clue where I will end up – but then again there’s always that house on Strawberry Street and the dream to make Richmond a home…

Maybe one day – too soon to tell. It’s not time yet.

Mark the day before you forget...

I'm beyond all acceptable limits of exhaustion. But before i collapse into a dreamless sleep, hoping that tomorrow will be a little better than it was today and for the past week, i need to stop here and mark this day - it's been exactly a year since i came to Richmond. This time last year, equally exhausted from a twenty hour trip, overwhelmed by flights, layovers, luggage and customs, i set foot in Richmond - without a clue of what to expect, and yet hopeful, optimistic. Looking back i can only smile at the clueless self that i was then and say to her - "you did well."

I wish i could celebrate this day with a cupcake. Instead, all i have is peanut butter sandwiches and leftover dinner from yesterday, since i've been to frazzled to care about buying groceries. If i outlive the next few days, i may give myself a moment to look back, once again, and sum this whole year up, as i have a habit to celebrate beginnings and their anniversaries. Weird that the start of a calendar year has never held a symbolic meaning to me. However the beginning and end of every consecutive stage that i have undergone throughout my life have been important, if for nothing else, at least as punctuation marks that one finds scattered around in any given tale. Life as a tale- i very much like the idea of it...

For now, all i can say to myself is this - happy one year of living in Richmond.

Street Art

Rebound

I have to admit that this is a totally rebound post, since for the last two hours (and the past ten day) I have been writing away like a fiend what is slowly coming to resemble a paper – that is in academic sense. And the writing of the following post is driven by pure inertia, since I’m unable to stop, and will be happy to write about anything that does not involve words poverty, foreign aid and aid donors (which I unconsciously or consciously misplaced with the word bastards on more than one occasion). I’m done with the fun part - the rewarding in itself scavenger hunt for information, the reading and scribbling notes part (by far is my most favorite), then the outline, then the part where I actually sit down and write the damn thing and even come up with a conclusion that actually looks and sounds good (that is in my biased opinion). There is still the not so fun part left, which entails citing the sources, making sure that I did not accidentally steal someone else’s quote without giving proper credit, and four days of reading the thing million times over to make sure that there are no awkward typos (and I am very VERY prone to those) and that I did not forget to replace one of the aforementioned profanities. Not that I would be distorting the truth. But I don’t think it will leave the best possible impression – not in this case, anyway.

Other than that, I have somehow miraculously passed the credit review for student loan application with my non-existent credit history and will be able to borrow the difference that even the full amount of Federal Stafford loan cannot cover. Talk about expensive. I also found out that I will get much better rates if I have the loan (Graduate PLUS Loan) processed through school and can borrow up to the full amount of attendance cost, as opposed to tuition cost, which means that even if I get no “free” scholarship money and decide that an honest, white collar, administrative job is too lame for me, I will still be able to pay rent and have a place to live (and it gets coooold up in Boston) and be covered by health insurace. It’s not the best case scenario by far, since we’re talking about a huge black hole of student loan debt on my otherwise debtless record, but at the same time it’s not the end of the world. It’s actually rather encouraging, which in its turn means that for now it’s one less thing to worry about – and instead I can direct all my obsessive energy towards speculating on other stuff, like how I’m going to move my ten thousand pairs of shoes and whether or not my new roommates will be nice.

Speaking of roommates - the roommate situation is getting a little monumental. It was monumental to begin with, since I’m sharing a house with a Korean guy, an Indian guy and a guy who was born in Afganistan but moved to the States when he was little. Add an odd Armenian female to this and you have the most unique international boarding house ever possible to imagine. I think one of the reasons I decided to rent this room (apart from cheap rent and nice neighborhood – since a certain someone had sent me off to this side of the world with a blessing and a prediction that I was bound to inevitably end up in a crack house in downtown Richmond) - one of the reasons that I got this room was the ridiculousness of the idea. You would not be able to come up with such combination of different cultures even if you tried to. And I thought it might get interesting at dinner time. Which, apart from odd Korean food, has been relatively tame. The part that these are all guys actually works as an advantage, cause I seriously have very low female tolerance and who- stole- my- lipstick and who- ate- my- fat-free- yogurt, who-stole-my- boyfriend and who- you’re- sleeping-with situations would get old very fast and start getting on my nerves. I get along with guys well. We live in peace - no political, ethnic, religious, gender or other conflicts. We work as a team. I don’t bitch, they leave me alone – everything’s cool. Except for one thing - dirty dishes. Yup the dishes and food living in the sink, which, you have to admit, is gross – and this is coming from someone who is not the cleanest person in the world. Apart from that the rest of my tenancy has been relatively uneventful... or wait, there was that time when the electricity was cut off for the most part of the evening and it brought back old memories of dark and cold Armenia. And that one other time when the water was cut off for like two days – Armenia repeated. And then that other time, or three or four times, when the downstairs bathtub was not draining at all… and that other time when the heater was broken and there was no heat or hot water… Never mind all that, I’ve been through worse shit, and I can deal with it –with more than necessary bitching, of course, but that’s just part of the fun. But dishes! My god it’s gross. And it bugs me so much that endless notes on the message board are starting to change from “Please wash your dishes. It's unsightly” to “Wash your fucking dishes already!” On these guys the f word has been known to have some effect. If not, I’m moving out. To live in the Fan. Who cares that it’s expensive. I’m getting a forty thousand student loan anyway. And no, this is not an ultimatum.

There it is, the coolest one of the notes that the Universe has sent me so far and it, in fact, knows how to read my mind.

I do believe it should comfort you to know, Nika, that whenever you face a fork in the road of life, no matter which path you choose, I'll be there in all my glory.

(Probably moon walking, with a long, feather boa trailing in the breeze...)

You can't go wrong -
The Universe

Wrapping it up

in two short paragraphs -

my recent whining two posts ago has so far landed me two complicated cases that we otherwise call snakebiten ones - with title defects, missing heirs and three party deeds, two subdivision plat recordations and another case with real estate complications due to a long and messy divorce. On top of that i got two new bankruptcies for Northern District of Florida and i dont know how bad they are since haven't had time to take a look at them yet. So far, i'm doing a badass job - i'm happy and very pleased with myself and have to admit that i am a nerd (for the lack of a better term, since lawyer groupie doesn't quite do it) when it comes to these little legal details.

In other news - it was bright and sunny in Richmond today, Phillip Morris stock dropped by 0.03 points due to my drastic reduction of cigarette consumption, Tamara posted really great vacation pictures in Mexico, dooce finally moved to her new house and i discovered William Easterly.What else can you ask for at the end of any given Friday?

Nowhere

- where the time goes...

If I may contradict myself one more time – I always do that anyway. At least I know it’s safe enough to do that, since these contradictions never go further than wistful speculations at moments of distress. Talk about mood swings – only a few days ago I was talking about how happy I am in Richmond and how I wish I didn’t have to leave…

But a part of me, knowing that I’m going to leave anyways, wants to simple get up and go now, right this instant – for the sake of saving myself the trouble of having to do that in August, for the sake of avoiding the next three or four months – and I can already feel that they’re going to be difficult, it’s already hard as it is right now, emotionally straining, and I’m really not that well equipped to deal with this kind of strain in any given moment. So what the hell. Why not get it over with now instead of dragging it for another summer. Why not save myself months of heartache and uncertainty? Why not get it over with now instead of spending all that time in complete unproductive boredom while watching the level of my anxiety gradually peak…

I’m running ahead of myself. Trying to picture what it will be like when it’s time to leave. Browsing craigslist to see if there’s a place available for August, still so ridiculously early and so premature – both my seemingly needless anxiety and the emotional strain. I was talking to a lady at ACORN in Boston today, to see if I could get a part time, even a volunteer job up there, figuring that if I have to get a job, I rather work for a non-profit. Something I could have done here in Richmond as well, had I had enough patience to wait. But I never have patience. None whatsoever.

It sounds tempting. So tempting. To simply get up and go. Somewhere, anywhere.

A few weeks ago, for the millionth time, I was offered to move back to Florida and work in my old office there until it's time to start school. A job that was one thing I couldn’t leave behind when I left, a job that I am still doing it from home, thus my location being a point of little relevance. A job that i don't think I’ll ever be able to quit, even if I’m in a mine shaft, somewhere in Siberia, hundreds of yards under ground. At least I know I’m so good at doing what comes so close to resemble welfare. Those five Kleenex box bankruptcy cases – four for the client, one for me that I manage to straighten out with so much proficiency and getting so much positive energy back as reward...

It sounded attractive, the offer, for reasons other than a much better pay, a place to stay without having to pay rent, in a town that I more or less know and almost like… a boss who has come to accept me as almost a family - his little sister that he never wanted, but family nevertheless. It sounded tempting. Touching. Humbling. And for the millionth time I had to turn it down, for reasons other than seeing the move to Florida under these circumstance just as pointless as moving anywhere else. Not time yet. Too soon. And yet, never soon enough. Never fucking soon enough.

What’s holding me here?

A relationship - a relationship that at moments leaves me just as lost and at my wit’s ends as moving to a completely new and unfamiliar place. You know, those few months after a move, when you still don’t know the place well, and haven’t gotten used to all the boundaries yet, and can still nurse the illusion that you’re free within these unseen boundaries for a little while longer. Until you get to see and recognize not only these visible bounds, but your own limitations as well. I’m exactly at that very point in this relationship. And I’m not sure I’m taking it well.

Maybe I’m just not cut out for this stuff. Or maybe it’s one of these days of overcast skies and everything falling tumbling on me. A bad day, living situation that is starting to get on my nerves, unchallenging job, equally unchallenging people and feeling of loneliness that is so much stronger in moments like this. Maybe it’s just a fucking moment. A mood swing. And if I sit through it patiently enough, it will simply go away once it’s all nice outside again.

It’s supposed to be beautiful this weekend. Maybe I’ll take a trip downtown, go to the river or stay in Cary town and tell myself all the reasons why I love Richmond so much… and try to convince myself that I still have quite a few good days left here, that I could still seize a few of those photographic snapshot moments that stay forever frozen in the eye of your mind.

Or maybe I’m just not cut out for all this stuff. And I simply want to disappear.

prolific

Such a funny word, not just cause it sounds funny, but because it pairs up with flying foxes (pteropus scapulatus)and pear trees (pyrus communus), and can be used to describe both the crop year (prolific year for tomatoes, that is) and a particular writer (i.e. prolific writer with fecund imagination) all at the same time.

At times i wonder if i will ever get to fully know and understand the English language in all its depth and glory, but one thing is certain - i love it like i love only very few things in this life...

To Whom It May Concern: It's another Friday of Mountain Dew and Complete Boredom at Work

The urge to smoke stronger than ever. And I'm whining. Rather loudly. It's unsightly.

Damnit. I guess i'm more addicted to cigarettes than i thought i was.
The patch is not working - of course it isn't, since every time i put it on, i have to take it off twenty minutes later, if i want to stay alive. It makes me dizzy. Not fuzzy, euphoric, pot high kind of dizzy - but "I'm about to pass out" kind of dizzy, with splitting headaches, 80/40 blood pressure, nausea and vomiting. Sorry for graphic details. It was bad. Really bad. Didn't help that first time i tried it on, it was late in the afternoon and I had not had dinner yet. I thought that maybe the full patch was too strong for me - but nope, half has the exact same effect. The other day i had to turn around and walk back home so that i don’t faint in the street, in the middle of all that traffic. How pathetic would it be to die from an attempt to quit smoking? Or nicotine overdose. But that's exactly what this whole quitting business is doing to me. I've been irritable, bitchy, headachy and plain depressed for the last several days. Why am i doing this again? Oh yeah, so that i can run happily ever after for forty five minutes a day, three days a week. That's right. When's my next marathon again?

I need to devise a new plan for quitting. The patch's not working.

i guess i was looking for an easy way out, hoping that it would make me not want to smoke. Of course it isn't going to work. What did i expect? Did i innocently and naively believe that tobacco companies would actually allow an easy and effective way of quitting to be roaming freely out there in the open market?

Well, maybe there is no easy way out and it's going to take more time and commitment than i'm willing to dedicate to at this point. But perhaps, if i keep working on it, one less smoked cigarette at a time, i will, eventually, wean myself off of this habit. Just like it was with the recovery from eating disorder - it took time. A long time. And headaches. and stomachaches, and weight gain, and dizziness. And relapses. Many many relapses - but it worked in the long run, didn't it?

Need to write a blog on overcoming eating disorder, because the way i make it sound here appears way too easy-breezy. I also need to start writing that damn paper on effectiveness of foreign aid, or the lack of it thereof. Got a World Bank report of nothing but two hundred pages of bullshitting on the effectiveness of development assistance, without providing any statistical or other evidence. The whole point of the report summing up to yeah, aid works, it's efficient but there is no way to prove it. Of course. Sure the World Bank is being effective fighting poverty. The amount of funds it spends on organizing seminars, and conferences and trainings and shipping one confused consultant from one corner of the world to another. Business class travel. VIP reception and nothing less. As J. Maarten Troost said in "The Sex Lives of Cannibals", the World Bank is very concerned about alleviating poverty, one consultant at a time. Or something along those lines. The only reason for the whole organization to exist is to keep airliners and five star hotels in business. And that, we have to agree, is a significant contribution to global economy. Transfer of funds from one wealthy pocket into another. Plus you appear concerned and nobel and oh-so-altruistic in the process. Nice. Funds are disbursed as shown on paper. Where they go is a matter of little importance. We have the numbers. They're satisfactory. We've got something to brag about at the next UN or whatever other summit that may cost an annual budget of an entire Pacific island to organise . And write another two hundred page BS report.

So here i am, aspiring to be one of those consultants who will fall under big guy's mercy of big paychecks and tax exemption - that's what thirty thousand worth of hoity-toity education from an elitist school is there for, right? At least that's what their career service web-page claims to do. It better does. But wait, i have to start school first. And finish it, for that matter. But before i do that, i need to write this paper that's due the end of the month. And quit smoking. Oh yeah, that's what this whole blog started as. Went off on a tangent.

So smoking. So far, i haven't gone too far. In the last five days i've smoked a total of twelve cigarettes. That's not quitting. But at least a lot better than what it was a week ago. So patch is no longer an option. Cold turkey is not something i can do with my non-existent will power. What's left? Therapy? Right. Acupuncture? No way. Nicotine free cigarettes? I might consider that at some point. For now, it's Marlboro Ultra Lights (they taste like shit, by the way), proscribed at a limited doze of no more than four a day. That's the only plan i could stick with for now. That's all. Done bitching.

Poshla kurit&.