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It is never personal, you're not the protagonist

It's so easy to become offended. It actually comes pretty natural. Someone says something.  You feel it's directed at you Strong reaction follows No need to react, it's got nothing to do with you as a person Imagine some remarks about academic work versus manual one, a bit dismissive about the latter. You don't have a degree and never wanted one. You know very well it takes years of experience and training to do what you're doing. Talent is involved too, as some people do have "two left hands".  You still feel you should add something to the conversation, but not sure if it is going to be well-received. No need to enlighten the other party right now Most people think in terms of opposites. If it's not this, it's that and it can't be anything else. Certainty of one's convictions is also a form of self-reassurance that everything is stable in one's world. Other points of view cannot be allowed because they are disruptive. Cognitive disrup

Dear Cinderella

  If you read this and you think it's an exercise in self-victimisation, you are so right and you should stop...  at the full stop. You came to this blog to find out something new, insightful and useful when talking to people you need to impress. Did you?  It's very unlikely that anyone would spend any amount of time reading about another inner crisis and how to overcome it in 10 steps. Where is the self-victimisation, you may ask. Hang on a minute, it's round the corner, just needs to be summoned. Let us get Cinderella first, the one and only rags-to-princess story that makes grown-ups, irrespective of gender, fantasise about miracles and chance. Has anyone felt bit Cinderelly while toiling in a very normal existence? Was there any remote possibility of a fairy godmother?  If the answer is no, you have a second opportunity to stop reading, yet again, at the upcoming full stop. What comes next is for Cinderella types, those who dance away the night, but just one night only,

The Arm and the Grabber (how could you do this to me, part 2)

  Picking up litter, piece of cake. Before The Arm's insurrection, of course, and implicit dereliction of duty. A heavy blow to carrying out trivial tasks, like collecting various objects strewn all over the place (personal bad habit) or other people's leftovers (their bad eating habits, irrespective of age). The Arm and its Hand used to be able to pick even tiny bits of paper or specks of dust fluff (but that's another story, the OCD one). Much faster than the vacuum cleaner and instant disposal, true? Now The Arm is just hanging there, apparently recovering, although no traitor should be ever given the benefit of doubt. It has been replaced by a tool mostly seen outdoors, where brave people do their best to keep streets and parks clean by cleaning after lazy people's rubbish. Besides an increased sense of appreciation for cleaners' work, The Grabber comes with an unexpected benefit. It's a focus aid, it trains the eye and the working hand to turn picking up in

THE ARM (how could you do this to me?) - act 1

Out in the wild, an injured leg or just paw bring about a quick exit from life. Hunting or foraging becomes difficult and soon after the predator turns into prey. Mankind has many flaws but limb injuries don't automatically mean an early death. They just transform living into a quasi-continuous experience of pain combined with sharp bursts of despair. This is even before dropping everything, realizing that lifting a paper towel is pretty hard and stains are the very sign of regression to baby-style eating. No one is totally in love with their body, but there must have always been an amicable relationship with the right arm, if born right-handed. After all, it's there for so many small and big actions. To have that right arm become  a disobedient and quarrelous servant, a traitor in one's own camp, that is so unfair. Double unfair, actually. Firstly, to its twin limb, now forced to do a crash course in tasks previously unknown (yes, wiping is among them). Then it's unfai

House poem

Do not lie to yourself: In the heart of the heart of the house No memories abide No flickering shadows reside No secrets there to hide. A house is a box full of toys, Long forgotten, half-broken, Once full of noise Now in a precarious poise. Look, the doll is hanging out Hair entangled, mouth in a pout Beady eyes forever half-shut One push and it would fall, but There is no one around to put it back So leave it on its rack A martyr to this place of joy and loss. Time keeps tabs on the dross.

Fridge magnet as fortune-teller

Bought more than a decade ago, a fridge magnet became a source of comfort. That and chocolate. Free advice: no expectations is the cheapest way to avoid suffering. That and instant coffee.

The bearable side of social distancing

The carefree and the cautious, the well-behaved and the morons, they all walk up and down the same pavements (sidewalks if you prefer). Whoever wrote a book on how people behave when they approach a stranger, needs to add a new chapter. It could be called the Virus Effect. Before the pandemics, there used to be a kind of social ballet, especially on narrow lanes. One step to the right, maybe a bit of backtracking, eyes averting direct connection. At times, so many of us have been fooled by the fellow passer-by's moves (neurons mirroring someone else's neurons , as they do). We would move in the same direction, ending up in an amused half-collision. Nowadays that benign bumping into each other is not on at all.  Social distancing, or physical distancing rather, has altered pedestrian behaviour. People scan the approaching human traffic and assess pretty fast if they need to stop, step to the side and wait. A lot depends on how rushed or distracted the other party seems to be. Wa

Which virus is more dangerous?

Lockdown reflections 1.3 Update: How could I miss that street litter can end up as ocean litter? * There was a meme a while ago, widely shared, about people having to fight two pandemics: the corona virus one and stupidity. I forgot about about the quip until I saw a disposable latex glove on the ground.  It's not that I have never seen other objects of personal use discarded nonchalantly in a very public place, like a street.  Condoms for example, although very very rarely (it can't be that comfortable, using a small wall as a prop, I'd guess). There have been as well the odd sock, a T-shirt, cigarette butts.  This is not fly-tipping  as such, we are talking small stuff, not humungous fridge-freezers or king-size mattresses. Small things do get lost or forgotten or thrown away.  In the middle of a pandemic though? A disposable glove of the type that has become associated with precautionary measures meant to defend us against the Virus? I can understand someo