The Other World

The police report and the autopsy results came via mail today.

He was found with his blackened face towards an empty bottle of beer. Bowing to the King Alcohol till the end.

I can't sleep. Well, I can but after four hours I woke up from my somewhat weird dream (it involved Her, one of my university teachers and a Puppe book). I couldn't read the text in the book.

I once read a short story ('Yaguara' by Nicola Griffith) that explained why people, supposedly everyone, are not able to read or count anything in their dreams. As follows:

"Ever wondered why you can't read or do math in your dreams?"
Jane opened her mouth to say she had never noticed whether or not she could, then remembered countless dreams of opening books only to be frustrated by meaningless squiggles.
Cleis noticed and nodded. "The neocortex handles analytic recoleections. It's usually turned off when we dream. That's why dreams are so hard to remember.--"

I don't know if the background research actually took place or if the author used the creative freedom to invent such seemingly scientific basis. If that's an actual fact... well, I don't have that big troubles remembering my dreams so maybe in that respect it may explain why I've also been able to read in my dreams (a Shakespearian sonnet I thought it was).

In lucid dreams (the state in which you are yourself aware of dreaming while still dreaming) one of the reality check-ups is to read something, turn your head away for a while and then read the same thing again, to find that the text has changed when you weren't looking. Lucid dreaming is also connected to remembering your dreams. I guess those two are at least connected, if not through the neocortex.

"Blondes DO have more fun!" -Dr. Neo Cortex in 'Crash Twinsanity'

My sister just left; she came over to use my computer since the internet connection in her own still isn't working. Why is it that when the professionals DO fix the machine it takes about twenty minutes but in order to have one to fix the computer it takes about three months?

Anyway, my sister is my primary source when it comes to the family matters. I'm not myself too close to my brother or to my mother and I think my grandparents find me slightly intimidating. So my sister fills me in whenever something happens.

A little background information first: now that my father is dead, the house in which I grew up, located approximately 25 kilometres from the central area of the small town, is empty. The house was built by my father's grandfather (I think...) and was then owned by my father's father and then by my father. Now it's an enormous problem to my father's parents that none of us, the children, wants to go there and live in there. Obviously I have no interest to live there; all the memories about my childhood would eventually make me go berserk and I don't even have a profession that would allow me to keep a house and the forests and such; besides, my grandparents being so fucking conventional they would half-force me to have a fucking husband who I should "trick" to live there with me and keep farming as has been done so far. As if! My sister (surprise, surprise) doesn't care living there and my brother hasn't even been there after he left after his own suicide attempt a week before my father's final repose.

In spite of being well aware of our interest in moving there, my father's parents, my grandmother mainly, keep asking which one of us is going to go there. When it finally sank in her mind that none of us is going to live there again, she began to call to different people who are somehow related to us. First she called to my brother's trustee (he's still a minor so he legally needed one for the heritage thing) who lives in the same village in which we grew up; she asked him to buy the house and the grounds for some reason, and while ignoring his legal confidentiality demanded to know about the heritage ('perunkirjoitukset') thing at the bank a while ago. I don't know what it was but she would have wanted to know how much my father owned and how much my mother gets (she seems to be the main reason to my father's suicide in my grandmother's humble opinion; she actually called my mother a murderer when they were discussing with the priest about my father's funeral). She also wanted to know if my mother's parents ("Takahikiän hyeenat" as she keeps calling them; apparently there is some bad blood between them for being from a different town...) were present there (no; only the widow and the children and the trustee of the minor were allowed to be there, actually, in addition to the bank guy) and why they weren't asked to come there as well.

After my brother's trustee had convinced her that he is not going to buy the house and the rest, she phoned H, the father of the family who used to be our neighbours, also related to us somehow. Anyway, she had asked, or demanded more like, him to buy the house to "keep it in the family". His reply: 'No. I already have a house, I don't need another one.' =) After this she returned to bug us, the children, and she keeps more or less subtly hinting some of us to move there, with very little success.

I'm trying to understand her (and my grandfather too; I'm sure he's in on it as well although it's my grandmother who does the talking and the rest). I guess she is desperately trying to cling the only material thing that connects her to her son. She has many times asked my sister to come with them to visit the place; I guess they're both getting physically bad of old age that they can't drive a car themselves (plus they need the keys and a permission from one of the owners... wau, I own a house... well, a quarter...but still). My sister has refused: she's afraid they might go completely insane there, since they haven't been too good mentally for several months.

In a way I understand my grandparents. They wish to keep the house in the family, so they would have a possibility to go there in the future as well, since it is the only thing in addition to memories they have of my father. But they haven't been mentally well; my grandmother has been leaving notes on my father's grave, she's been lying on the grave crying sometimes, whenever my siblings have visited her she's talked about our father non-stop. I myself am a person who likes to do things "for one last time" so in that respect I understand they would want to go there one more time, to get some kind of a closure to the matter, to finally fully understand that my father, their son, is dead and does not live there anymore.

On the other hand, I understand my sister's negligence. I'm sure my grandparents would collapse and lose it altogether, possibly for good. I just cannot see them walking through the premises merely crying; I'm convinced my grandmother would. My grandfather could have a heart attack or something similar; my grandmother might chain herself there or refuse to leave or just really go insane. I mean, it's the place where she brought him up. It's the place she and her husband half-forced their eldest son, my father, to take and farm (and I know that somewhere deep down they know he really didn't want to, that he was just playing the part of the dutiful son, which may have been one of the reasons behind his alcoholism). It's the place where he took his life.

What the hell am I to do with all of this? With them?

Someone once said that if you go to combat, you don't need therapy.

Today I saw my GP who, after hearing a stripped-down and not-so-romanticised summary of my summer, suggested I go see a psychologist at least five times for psychotherapy (ack...). She also strongly recommended the use of anti-depressants.

After that I had a half-obligatory check-up visit at the Polytechnic's nurse. Albeit I had tried to do the contrary, eventually I had to give her a shortened version of my summer, otherwise she might have thought I have some physical condition causing headaches, chest pain, tiredness and such. She, in turn, also recommended anti-depressants as well as sleeping pills. In the end I had to make another appointment with her to get the actual check-up stuff done (e.g. blood pressure, weight, height...).

They're both either all too eager to prescribe medicine, even if there's no actual need for it but with a "just in case" mentality, or I'm doing worse than I thought. The GP gave me a follow-up appointment for next Tuesday; I have to fill in a questionnaire (BDI-Beckin depressioasteikko, to be precise) for that. I looked up the categorisations from http://personal.inet.fi/koti/zippoland/~fig11mp/fin/masteana.htm, according to which I’m suffering from severe depression. I doubt it. I get up every morning, go to school every day, I talk with my classmates if they happen to be around and we have something to talk about (on Tuesday we were just kicking Cosmopolitan’s ass and labelled the compulsory PE lessons at school as ihqu which to us is a synonym for torture), and go to Combat classes every week at least twice. So what if my already low interest in sex has dropped even further? So what if my eating habits are not healthy and regular; when have they been? So what if I don’t like the way I look; who does? And if your body hurts, everyone would worry about it!

The test can be found here (http://www.ahjos.net/beck.htm) in Finnish if you’re interested.

I saw K yesterday (for background information, see the entry on 9th of May). She was walking from the university as I went in. Maybe it was for this encounter she came in my dream last night. In the dream she was sitting on a table, her back towards me. I stood behind her and as she turned I touched her back and hips. We kissed lightly.

I wish I could kiss her for real.

I think I'm getting over Her.

It's been a while since the last time I slept so restlessly. I think I woke up four times during the night. Somewhere around five I woke up for pain in my chest. Amidst the twilight between awakeness and sleep I thought I might die there, lying in the bed, covering my heart with my hands, and be found a week later when people begin to wonder why I don't answer the phone.

I feel so bad for my reaction yesterday. I know that was the only way to get out of the situation I could think of then, but the immatureness of it... it may have hurt Her.

Can a heart really, physically break?

"Oh no, I see,
A spider web is tangled up with me.
And I lost my head,
the thought of all the stupid things I said.
Oh no, what's this?
A spider web, and I'm caught in the middle.
So I turned to run,
the thought of all the stupid things I've done.

I never meant to cause you trouble,
And I never meant to do you wrong,
And I, well if I ever caused you trouble,
Oh no, I never meant to do you harm.

Oh no, I see,
A spider web and its me in the middle.
So I twist and turn,
here I am in my little bubble,

Singing, I never meant to cause you trouble,
I never meant to do you wrong,
And I, well if I ever caused you trouble,
Oh no, I never meant to do you harm.

They spun a web for me."

Coldplay: Trouble

I just saw Her at the gym.

Naked.

It all happened so fast I didn't even think of Her in a more sexual way than my first reaction that I was exercising; I half-ran past Her keeping my gaze on the opposite direction (left) and for extra protection (for Her, not me) I covered half of my vision field by keeping my hands on my temples, like the covers horses have next to their eyes to prevent them from being distracted by the rest of the traffic when drawing a carriage.

I think it was very clear for both of us (and those who noticed what was happening). And if She ever speaks to me again, She will probably bring it up. What on earth am I going to tell Her?! "I don't wish to see you naked... well, I do but... just... I'm... you..." What if She's already noticed how I feel for Her. I mean I've never been too good at hiding my feelings; if I were any more transparent I would be a bloody drinking glass!

This whole thing wasn't due to the attitude our society has towards naked human bodies, especially those of women, by equaling them with sexuality and sex. This whole thing was solely due to my attraction for Her, the attraction I am very hard trying not to reveal, the attraction I momentarily thought I had overcome. Not anymore, people... not anymore.

Gods, She looked like Botticelli's Venus on the shell.

Damn it...

One hell of a school day. Why is it that everything seems so much funnier when one is tired? We experienced this today. First we had three hours of mathematichs from eight through eleven (seriously, we went through the Roman numbers and counting without a calculator as if we were still in the first grade!) and after that two hours of Nursing Basics' theory preceding the Nursing Basics' lab classes. The beginning of the NB theory summarises the atmosphere from noon to the moment we got out of the school; I don't know who said what but as a result H, sitting next to me, began to laugh out loud completely out of control, infected it to pretty much the rest of the class, me included (it still makes me grin). The general mood was similar during the labs (I mean, really, whose bright idea was it to put the labs for Friday afternoon?); someone said something a little funny and people burst out laughing like it would be the most hilarious thing they've ever heard.

- - -

I've been wondering something. The statistics are either lying or this blog is actually being read every day by someone? Who are you people? What exactly are your motivations? What do you expect to find? Tell me, in any language you wish (no actual understanding guaranteed). I'm curious!

- - -

My sister suggested I come up with an anthology of 'spleneticisms', ie. some things I've said in a subclause that sound so very philosophical and deep and profound and intelligent. This one made her split her sides laughing and she mentioned it a couple of times later.

"Takahikiä ei ole paikka, vaan mielentila." (Instert any outback small village with a decreasing number of inhabitants you're familiar with in the beginning of the sentence.)

I have no idea where that sentence came from in the first place, and I most certainly haven't got the slightest clue what the hell it even means.

- - -

You know, they say an apple a day keeps the doctor away. I think I should eat more apples... ;)

That's right. My HOPS for the nursing school just got a whole new direction. This is what I wanted to do approximately two hours ago: stand up in the middle of a lecture, state very clearly and out loud that I have no interest none whatsoever to act against my own principles (to fit the school's views of a matter that even has nothing to do with my abilities of being a good nurse), bid everyone farewell and leave.

According to one of my teachers, the image people have of a nurse does not include tattoos, especially visible ones. She just calmly told me not to have any more tattoos and actively hide the one I have on my wrist. HIDE IT!!! And all this to protect the bone-headed people who rather cling to their irrationational stereotypes and prejudices than THINK!

I'm willing to modify myself and my behaviour if it has a *r e a s o n a b l e* justification or a *l o g i c a l* health explanation. But I will not take to bear the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal Syndrome! I refuse to stick my head in the sand and pretend! My tattoos, visible or not, are not a health threat to anyone since they are all done by a professional. By agreeing to hide it is to go with the unintelligible majority who fail to realise that in order to change people's attitude and misconceptions, one must actively do something about it and inform them, goddamit! And that, people, is bullshit.

By passively ignoring this unjustified unequality we accept it. If someone tells me to hide my tattoo because some older woman at a nursing home decides that I worship the devil and do drugs solely based on the fact that I have a tattoo... that is discrimination. Next time the older lady may decide that because a male nurse is gay, he *must* have HIV and other diseases and is thus not allowed to come anywhere near her. If the powers that be want to close their eyes from all this and go along with these illusions, they are accepting this discrimination.

I will not.

- - -

"Hope is a desert running dry
Deep inside
You refuse to face the facts
But pray for life
Find salvation in distress
We will wait
For the day you'll break out and
Re-awake
And we wait for the day
To discover there's no way
I can't wait at this rate
It's too little and too late
To live this lie"

'Living a Lie' by Epica

I'm telling you, the second I laid my eyes on her, I knew I wanted her and only her. The curvy shapes, the smooth and dark surface, the truly metallic heart, her calling and soft embrace...

I am a happy owner of a new double bed.