On a october almost november day -in the rain

The day begins with an self-induced feeling of time control. I tell myself, over and over, that sleeping to the next dreadful good mooooorning of my alarm is ok, that nothing will happen, that I can do this, I can sleep till I can’t sleep no more. And indeed, I sleep until the time is my enemy and in victorious punishment forces me to run, run to cath the bus.
But I get there, because me being out of shape and having an ashma attack that almost makes me puke my lungs out will not stop me, not me! And I find women in an overcrowded stop. Many women, few men and some kids (that soon I find out that they happen to go to my uni but who cares, I say they are kids and so they are). And we queu in unorderly form, and I position myself on the first line of the grid but at the last minute a lady takes me by surprise and overtakes me from the left leaving me out of the podium #SadMe. Though it doesn’t matter because from yesterday to who-knows-when there is a bus strike and not me nor her nor the rest of 40,000 people in the bus will get a nice place to breathe, let alone to sit.
And the day goes by and in purely deppresive manner I start an introspection that leaves me to realize few things about myself:
1. I hate emails. They just bring bad news (e.g. more work to do) or unaffordable promotions
2. I’m mean to people and I regret nothing
3. I usually don’t make the promises I do to myself
4. I panick to cry without organization
So that’s it, my day.

Floure

How to make new enemies – Lecturer edition

He arrives to class and the muttering slowly, as if the volume is being turn down, fades away. There are many empty spots in the class, spots that seemed to have been inhabited few decades ago by mythical creatures that now are self-proclaimed extinct. He starts the class, and the muttering starts again but now is accompanied by pained looks and scared frowns, some lips even move choreographing a ‘what the heck is he saying?’. But he carries on, goes on with it, he doesn’t stop no matter how many students are death by now because that is what he is payed for.
At some point he thinks he has the most stupid classroom in the entire universe, something that simple could not possibly mean that much drama and unanswered questions. But it does and he is seriously pretending to be ok with it, because he knows, he knows he will kill them if he doesn’t stay positive.
And the rebels appear. They have gone unnoticed to this minute, but now they can’t take it anymore and they start the uprising. He has to stop them, the destiny of social sciences and humanities depends on him and he is aware of his place in History, he knows what he has to do and he will do it.
He asks that question, the always unknown question.
The rebels faint a little, they lose a little life but he needs to carry on atacking. So he pokes fun of their pronounciation of a word that they should be but they are not familiar with. The next offensive is ‘operation chalk’. Bombs of white chalk land in insurgent land causing irreparable damage. There is collateral damage too. A good student who had a genuine question is humillated as much as the others.
The class finishes. The mission has been a failure, no one learnt anything, and the enemies are still alive. A never ending war which started once upon a time with the desmotivation of a lecturer.

Too Much Too Soon: Why We Need To Stop Rushing Love

JamesMSama.com

I’m sure I am not the only one who browses Facebook and quite often comes across photos of engagement rings and ultrasounds and changed last names from marriages and thinks to himself: Wait, weren’t you just single?

Everything seems to move faster these days, naturally. We have instant text messages and don’t need to send letters. We can Google something and not need to go to the library. We can get to know someone much quicker because we can talk to them any time of the day rather than limiting our interactions to sporadic phone calls or seeing each other in person.

toosoon2

So, it seems that it would also naturally follow that our relationships will progress faster. But the frequency of how often someone is in our life does not change our emotional capacity to develop a real lasting bond with them any quicker. We can say whatever we want…

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Update

I very much doubt that the few people following this blog are wondering why on Earth I did not upload on Monday but if there is anyone out there there are 2 reasons:
1. I am extremely busy with lots of things that keep pilling up and it is stressing me out which in result is making me physically sick and no it is not a metaphor
2. I have no ideas. I know how this story had to start and end but the in between is something I just think on Monday’s about 10 minutes before posting

I cannot say when I will be back because I just do not know but just stay safe and happy until I am back with something for you to read, k? K.

Cheerio!

Floure

Quick post – Dehumanization

Can’t contain myself after the form some journalist from Spain has treated the news about the ebola case of the nurse.
How is it even possible that you bring up data about the millions of euros companies, especially from the tourism sector, have lost in the stock exchange?
There is a PERSON in a hospital, having an experimental treatment, having no clue how this is going to end (let’s pray for the best) and you bring up Iberia? There has clearly been a fail in the security protocol that put this PERSON isolated in a hospital, who I am 100% sure is having the worst time of her life along with her family and you talk about money?
Not everything can’t be understood through economy and certainly money is not relevant in this case. I can’t understand how could anyone think of that right now, I can’t understand how we came to think that Economy is the only thing that matters, even before people. Yet, should I really be surprised?

Floure

Salvation – Chapter II – Silence in the streets

<<I never had a boyfriend. I think I should be embarrassed  by this confession, I mean I’m 15, not too soon 16. I feel as if I am late for something. I was once kissed. It was wet and moist, a fatal combination of both, clumsy and painful. Would it be different if I’d kissed a boyfriend? Will I ever have to do that? Should I want to do that? Mom’s calling…>>

It was sometime between the falling of the leaves and the freezing snow when my dear Lily thought about this. She was home again that lovely Wednesday, after a Tuesday in bed and a Monday of doctors. She was quite bored and several failed attempts of putting remedy to it did not but lead the way to this odd thoughts. But she did not dwell in them for long, thank god, for what soon enough a letter arrived.

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Update

Hi guys!
I just take this opportunity that my lecturer provides by talking nonstop about Wednesdays exam to let you know that this evening I will be uploading a new chapter.
Also I would like to apologise for the lack of content lately. I have two exams this week plus an assingment and another exam next week, so I have no time but to think about Macbeth, guilt and violence, try to understand Imagism and learn a lot about verbs in English. Ok, ok I shall now stop moaning about it.
Cheerio!

Floure