PICS
Hi.
It seems that time has passed so quickly I hadn't realized it's been so long since my last blog. It's funny and not funny, how much has changed since August 18th and then again how little has changed.
I lead a bit of a different life than back in August. I quit alcohol again, quit smoking again and took up practising yoga daily. I think, dear reader, that it is unnecessary to mention how much better I feel now.
Hmm, what else has happened? Hair changes, of course. What would a couple of months be in the life of Miranda without hair changes, I dare to ask? Not much, I fear. Anyway, I chopped the mohawk off after the sides had grown enough to look like I had hair on my head and then had a deep conversation with myself on the topic of should I dye my hair red or black?. Ended up with orange-red.
I also shaved my eyebrows off and greatly enjoy drawing them on now. Inspiration for such behaviour lies in my deep affection for all things 20's. They drew their eyebrows on back then, you know.
I'm in the wonderful process of losing all the weight I gained during the first half of this year. Feeling better and healthier and a whole lot more confident and at home in this body is just so great. I think that in a way I'm finding myself again. Or I don't know. But you know. Anyway. Weight loss is one of my favourite things right now.
My ankle, the one I broke in three places on that gloomy January night, is doing marvellously. I have managed to get rid of one of the two neural painkillers I've been on since it happened. And the one I got rid of was the worse of the two, really really bad a drug. No neural pain has come back, at least so far, so I am naturally overjoyed and grateful as one can be. So very fucking happy as well.
I'm drinking coffee nowadays, after being coffee-free since June 2010. Coffee and my system stopped agreeing back then, but now we're great friends again. I'm enjoying a big cup of joe as I write this. I'm starting to feel super hyper, but without the horrible nausea that sometimes goes hand in hand with the hyper feeling.
... Though, I feel the need to admit, that I do feel hyper to the point where my thoughts are speeding past me in a pace so quick that I actually have a bit of difficulties catching them and writing them down. So, instead of this text, hopefully somewhat coherent text that I've written so far, my mind without me desperately grasping it and forcing it into a form, would translate into letters and words in a manner like this:
ÅO9HDÖKNLIJÖI3869knnöih3eö2iböo8yöahffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff982u3hbpo98hndkkkkk
kkkkkillllllohnonononohahahhahhhaaaa90983598hphinjökjhö8i79869p6yohpissop230887gpuhpi
uhiohöohellpå983hpiubiudtoahhahhaa
BING
Or something like that. So, in the light of the revelation I think it is best to stop writing and start posting photos instead.
These photos I have taken today.
It seems that time has passed so quickly I hadn't realized it's been so long since my last blog. It's funny and not funny, how much has changed since August 18th and then again how little has changed.
I lead a bit of a different life than back in August. I quit alcohol again, quit smoking again and took up practising yoga daily. I think, dear reader, that it is unnecessary to mention how much better I feel now.
Hmm, what else has happened? Hair changes, of course. What would a couple of months be in the life of Miranda without hair changes, I dare to ask? Not much, I fear. Anyway, I chopped the mohawk off after the sides had grown enough to look like I had hair on my head and then had a deep conversation with myself on the topic of should I dye my hair red or black?. Ended up with orange-red.
I also shaved my eyebrows off and greatly enjoy drawing them on now. Inspiration for such behaviour lies in my deep affection for all things 20's. They drew their eyebrows on back then, you know.
I'm in the wonderful process of losing all the weight I gained during the first half of this year. Feeling better and healthier and a whole lot more confident and at home in this body is just so great. I think that in a way I'm finding myself again. Or I don't know. But you know. Anyway. Weight loss is one of my favourite things right now.
My ankle, the one I broke in three places on that gloomy January night, is doing marvellously. I have managed to get rid of one of the two neural painkillers I've been on since it happened. And the one I got rid of was the worse of the two, really really bad a drug. No neural pain has come back, at least so far, so I am naturally overjoyed and grateful as one can be. So very fucking happy as well.
I'm drinking coffee nowadays, after being coffee-free since June 2010. Coffee and my system stopped agreeing back then, but now we're great friends again. I'm enjoying a big cup of joe as I write this. I'm starting to feel super hyper, but without the horrible nausea that sometimes goes hand in hand with the hyper feeling.
... Though, I feel the need to admit, that I do feel hyper to the point where my thoughts are speeding past me in a pace so quick that I actually have a bit of difficulties catching them and writing them down. So, instead of this text, hopefully somewhat coherent text that I've written so far, my mind without me desperately grasping it and forcing it into a form, would translate into letters and words in a manner like this:
ÅO9HDÖKNLIJÖI3869knnöih3eö2iböo8yöahffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff982u3hbpo98hndkkkkk
kkkkkillllllohnonononohahahhahhhaaaa90983598hphinjökjhö8i79869p6yohpissop230887gpuhpi
uhiohöohellpå983hpiubiudtoahhahhaa
BING
Or something like that. So, in the light of the revelation I think it is best to stop writing and start posting photos instead.
These photos I have taken today.
In the darkening night of this Sunday I sit here, on the bed, being taken over by this strange creative madness that is, of course, a state I bid very welcome.
I try to remember all the things that have happened since the day I turned 29. The evening was spent in the best possible company I dare say, and I felt happy and filled with love that windy evening, sitting in a smaller portion of a secretly larger park with dear people, nice beverages containing sweet alcohol, an orange sunset, some drunken tree-climbing and all other things wonderful. And of course, last but not the slightest bit least, the company of a darling little dog who most definitely stole my heart with her kisses and eyes those of wolves.
The next thing that floats across my conciousness is the fact - or was it really real... ? As some of you, kind readers might know, when one is in a state of insomnia (and perhaps some whiskey in one's veins, to add insult to the injury), things may not always seem so very clear as... reality?
Anyway, ridden with insomnia I wandered about the park that seemed small but is secretly bigger - you just have to follow the path and it'll take you there, and there I found myself sitting, on a lonely, pretty bench with a cigarette in one hand and a makeshift ashtray in the other, thinking about the rhythm. As I believe, things are all about the rhythm. It was perhaps the next night, at four am. that I found myself sitting on the same particular bench, this time with cigarette in one hand and four flowers of clover in my other hand. Four of them because, while taking a tender tumble in the dewy field, I thought of this theory with a thought about fours. I danced alone, my clothes all misty from the morning rain, I smelled the fresh morning air and felt joyous and awake, instead of feeling tired.
My memories of the lonesome, sleepless period consisting of three days are hasty and I cannot recall when it actually was, that I found meself sitting on a different pretty bench watching over a field where people gather either to kick a round thing or watch in amazement these huge things that silently take up to the skies. But there I was, alone and it was, if I do recall right, about seven am and I had a mug filled with delicious morning tea in my hands and I thought about life and people and thought I'd found enlightnment of some sort but cannot remember, for the life in me, what the hell that thought was about, really.
Ungh, now I've painted a verbal picture of that one particular period of time as somehow dreadful due to my state of haziness thank you very much due to insomnia as something... not so great, I don't know? Because I did enjoy meself and had a lovely time with three other ladies that have actual, not imaginary tails. Meow.
I've made some pretty, eh, interesting notes in my diary/sketchbook this summer. No pictures though, as I refuse to use my shitty webcam for replicating the ingeniousness that are the scribbles and even shittier scribbles I have, unfortunately for whom, I do not know - filled my sketchbook with lately.
It's a strange yet so very normal thing to me to write in my journals in English. I do probably 95% of my reading in English and perhaps therefore also do one hundred percent of my personal writing in English. I feel that that just there was as useless a fact about me or a person in general as can be. But there you go, I'm too lazy to erase all that text, haha.
What else? Oh! I'm happy to announce that I am finally on this most marvellous reading kick since I can't even remember. I've had the usual difficulties like the hardness of concentrating in going through written text (in other form than this digitalwhatevercomputeragetextyou'rereadingatthisverymoment -format). But now, as of late, I've been the nasty devourer of all books Innocent and Not So Innocent. And I'm loving it, oh yes I am just loving it.
---
A cigarette break, during witch I found myself wandering through the garden wearing my new favourite piece of garment, this really, really pale cream/pink coloured long skirt (long for me anyway...) that my beau said that vaguely reminded of him of the skirts sufis use while whirling. It's in no way a garment like the one sufis use, the comparison was made out of respect. Of course.
So there I was, walking through the already misty grass like some really, really awkward apparition with a mohawk, random black sweater and the skirt in question. Woo. Hoooo. Oooooooooh.
----
Ah, I feel like I've gone on and on already. Since I have not have been in the mood of taking photographs of meself, I cannot offer you a relief in a format of a picture, mayhaps as a reward for some (or all?) of you, dear readers, who have made it this far.
I will, though, write here a poem that touched me a lot just recently. It is by Charles Baudelaire. Right now I'm reading through his work and this particular poem almost made me shed tears as I read it.
(The Oxford World's Classics
Charles Baudelaire
Les Fleurs du Mal [Flowers of Evil]
Translated with notes by
James McGowan 1993)
In this particular book of translation of his work, there are both the English and the French versions of all the poems featured, which I think is exceptionally great.
(I will copy this poem in French, in the language it was written.)
L'albatros
Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage
Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,
Qui suivant, indolents compagnons de voyage,
Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.
A peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,
Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons traîner à côte d'eux.
Ce voyager ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid!
L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-guele,
L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!
Le Poëte est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.
---
That's all for now.
I try to remember all the things that have happened since the day I turned 29. The evening was spent in the best possible company I dare say, and I felt happy and filled with love that windy evening, sitting in a smaller portion of a secretly larger park with dear people, nice beverages containing sweet alcohol, an orange sunset, some drunken tree-climbing and all other things wonderful. And of course, last but not the slightest bit least, the company of a darling little dog who most definitely stole my heart with her kisses and eyes those of wolves.
The next thing that floats across my conciousness is the fact - or was it really real... ? As some of you, kind readers might know, when one is in a state of insomnia (and perhaps some whiskey in one's veins, to add insult to the injury), things may not always seem so very clear as... reality?
Anyway, ridden with insomnia I wandered about the park that seemed small but is secretly bigger - you just have to follow the path and it'll take you there, and there I found myself sitting, on a lonely, pretty bench with a cigarette in one hand and a makeshift ashtray in the other, thinking about the rhythm. As I believe, things are all about the rhythm. It was perhaps the next night, at four am. that I found myself sitting on the same particular bench, this time with cigarette in one hand and four flowers of clover in my other hand. Four of them because, while taking a tender tumble in the dewy field, I thought of this theory with a thought about fours. I danced alone, my clothes all misty from the morning rain, I smelled the fresh morning air and felt joyous and awake, instead of feeling tired.
My memories of the lonesome, sleepless period consisting of three days are hasty and I cannot recall when it actually was, that I found meself sitting on a different pretty bench watching over a field where people gather either to kick a round thing or watch in amazement these huge things that silently take up to the skies. But there I was, alone and it was, if I do recall right, about seven am and I had a mug filled with delicious morning tea in my hands and I thought about life and people and thought I'd found enlightnment of some sort but cannot remember, for the life in me, what the hell that thought was about, really.
Ungh, now I've painted a verbal picture of that one particular period of time as somehow dreadful due to my state of haziness thank you very much due to insomnia as something... not so great, I don't know? Because I did enjoy meself and had a lovely time with three other ladies that have actual, not imaginary tails. Meow.
I've made some pretty, eh, interesting notes in my diary/sketchbook this summer. No pictures though, as I refuse to use my shitty webcam for replicating the ingeniousness that are the scribbles and even shittier scribbles I have, unfortunately for whom, I do not know - filled my sketchbook with lately.
It's a strange yet so very normal thing to me to write in my journals in English. I do probably 95% of my reading in English and perhaps therefore also do one hundred percent of my personal writing in English. I feel that that just there was as useless a fact about me or a person in general as can be. But there you go, I'm too lazy to erase all that text, haha.
What else? Oh! I'm happy to announce that I am finally on this most marvellous reading kick since I can't even remember. I've had the usual difficulties like the hardness of concentrating in going through written text (in other form than this digitalwhatevercomputeragetextyou'rereadingatthisverymoment -format). But now, as of late, I've been the nasty devourer of all books Innocent and Not So Innocent. And I'm loving it, oh yes I am just loving it.
---
A cigarette break, during witch I found myself wandering through the garden wearing my new favourite piece of garment, this really, really pale cream/pink coloured long skirt (long for me anyway...) that my beau said that vaguely reminded of him of the skirts sufis use while whirling. It's in no way a garment like the one sufis use, the comparison was made out of respect. Of course.
So there I was, walking through the already misty grass like some really, really awkward apparition with a mohawk, random black sweater and the skirt in question. Woo. Hoooo. Oooooooooh.
----
Ah, I feel like I've gone on and on already. Since I have not have been in the mood of taking photographs of meself, I cannot offer you a relief in a format of a picture, mayhaps as a reward for some (or all?) of you, dear readers, who have made it this far.
I will, though, write here a poem that touched me a lot just recently. It is by Charles Baudelaire. Right now I'm reading through his work and this particular poem almost made me shed tears as I read it.
(The Oxford World's Classics
Charles Baudelaire
Les Fleurs du Mal [Flowers of Evil]
Translated with notes by
James McGowan 1993)
In this particular book of translation of his work, there are both the English and the French versions of all the poems featured, which I think is exceptionally great.
(I will copy this poem in French, in the language it was written.)
L'albatros
Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage
Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,
Qui suivant, indolents compagnons de voyage,
Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.
A peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,
Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons traîner à côte d'eux.
Ce voyager ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid!
L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-guele,
L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!
Le Poëte est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.
---
That's all for now.
Turned 29 yesterday. Had a great picnic with my nearest and dearest, drank and talked and laughed. And earlier yesterday took that photo, a birthday self-portrait like I do every year.
I like being 29, but like I've probably said before, I can't wait to turn 30.
I'll make a proper update later.
MAY 2013
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APRIL 2013
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MARCH 2013
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FEBRUARY 2013