Space-filler, time-killer....

Life has been good lately (please take a moment to look into the above picture for 2 seconds), hence the lack of blogs posts. You’ll forgive me I am sure.

 

A little recap is due I think:

 

Work:  Going good, typically getting in when it’s time for coffee, lunch mostly al-desco, gym when ALL my muscles don’t hurt at the same time, this age thing is really inconvenient.

On the plus side, I get a lot of stationery here so that’s a win.

 

Love life: No update for you on this front I am afraid but my soulmate is out there, pushing a door that says pull, I just know it, so until such times as sub-zero temperatures in hell, I shall hold on to my virginity sanity – thank you very much.

 

My period – still flowing like the red river of doom with cramps that could push a baby elephant out, and that’s ok, because it means I am healthy and young and it means I can always complain about period pain and make people uncomfortable until such times they get over themselves.

 

My hair – still curly – I refuse to straighten it to look more corporate or more European or mainstream. It’s not a statement, it’s not rebellious and it’s not crazy, it’s just my hair.

 

It’s all about me.

 

Hasta!

A summer to remember

Many people don’t have a lot of memories of previous Ramadans, except for the distinct and unhappy recollection of hunger, thirst and the long hours of deprivation.  But nothing else is noteworthy, nothing else seems to happen in this month, especially when you (not me) spend it horizontally for over ten hours a day!

Last year, was a different story, last Ramadan was a memorable one (not in a good way), last Ramadan Israel was repeatedly bombing Gaza, and as the war in Syria raged on, a gunman opened fire on tourists on a beach in Tunisia (the choice of events and countries is not calculated), the whole world went through the summer in a state of shock, anger, protest and gloom.

This year a lesser disaster is looming, but a disaster nonetheless, England will most probably brexit, during Ramadan…bringing a wave of changes to the whole world and I suspect a lasting memory!

As I cast my vote today (guess which way I voted) I couldn’t help but think of all the things trivial and important that will happen, all the changes, I think of how bored Nigel Farage would be, how it’ll transpire that Boris Johnson is actually Donald Trump’s long lost sibling, probably a brother from another mother, I think about how rude the French are going to be to us when we go on holiday to France (by us I mean Brits not Algerians – they already surpassed their tolerance towards us Algerians), croissants and baguettes will be sold on the black market, Cheese smugglers will rival human smugglers and so many more...I can't bear to think about it!

But I strain to think of how this will affect Algerians and I find nothing! Nothing affects Algerians really, we will survive whatever tidal wave this Brexit will bring on, for now it’s none of our concern though, our imminent concern is the source of the next chorba* and bourek* and where we’ll spend the summer drinking and lazing in the sun after all this observance! Spain or Cuba? whichever doesn't require a visa ...

For now though, up to day 5 and on a more egocentric level...

Energy levels – stable, Sleeping patterns: all over the place, Food ingested: not enough, Water drunk: too much, Days to next period: too many

Dz-chick….for now it’s about breakfast not Brexit

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*Ramadan meal

Ramadindong D3

Might resume my Ramadan diaries, mostly because time slows down a lot when you’re not eating.

I understand now why they feed us so much on long haul flights, what else are you going to do!

Ramadan in the office is business as usual; incessant yawning and looking at the clock, always accompanied by the ever annoying question “what, not even water?” of course we covered all of these questions in the many Ramadan posts from previous years so I am not going to get into this again but my answer tends to be the same “nope, just air”.

Of course when you’re observing Ramadan, you get extra horny, extra bad thoughts and you can’t even blame it on the devil because presumably he’s kept at bay during this holy month. So you live with the fact you might be a pervert, who gets pervier when hungry. Almost like Hunger and Thirst weren't enough..

Anywho, if I have the inspiration, I will write something actually meaningful tomorrow

Dz-Chick ...so far, not digging it

Ramdom shite!

So much has happened since my last post, where I was still talking about me me me and boys, and the joys of being Algerian, of London and cups of tea and extra kilos that won’t go away…

Looking back, I feel silly, as I read back through my so many posts, I can’t help but shake my head and cringe and sometimes I think damn I am good! But today I have moved on, I have different dilemmas. I worry about other things now, wrinkles not being one of them, no sir, I think of our newly re-elected president, think about how Algeria has advanced so much that we now have a disabled president, I mean do you realise that after America’s Roosevelt comes Algeria!! We even rival the Vatican for the oldest leaders and if it were a contest we’d win.

I feel joy for the Algerians with disabilities and rejoice that they will finally have the support they need and would finally benefit from equal opportunities. After all, he gave his health up for Algeria, he restored peace, he built us stuff!!! Like pavements, motorways and a massive mosque, the biggest in Africa if we believe the budget allocated.  Some say it’ll come in handy, when we need it to pray so we don’t get sick, since we don’t have hospitals. Though it’s not fair, our best hospital is found in the outskirts (if bothered, check geography reference later) of Paris in Val-de-Grace.

So since the world of Algeria is safe again for another 5 years (thank you Cheb Khaled and co) I am going to go back to what’s really important, ME, here, because I don’t live in Algeria so according to Algerians I am not allowed to talk politics or discuss Algerian business*

So I thought I’d get busy doing something else, I’ll be involved in my looks for a while since nothing else matters apparently.

Lately, I have been doing a lot of growing-up, I see the wisdom pouring in and out of me, truly, it’s magical, I don’t say silly things like " What you gonna do for a face when the monkey wants its bum back?" anymore, I give myself a 5 second window before responding, I feel all grown up and I let go of a lot of negativity and shit, so much so that I get bored and you all know when I am bored...I produce shit like this!

When I think of all the activists and opposing movements, who spent so much time protesting (I wrote this a long time ago), I can’t help but feel sorry for them, being pushed, shoved and beaten by the police, insulted by the people for inciting unrest and threatened by the security forces or God knows who or what! Some lost their jobs, others their money, health, sanity and for what? To stop a cripple from finishing his work? Let the man finish what he started for God’s sake! There is still money to be stolen, futures to be destroyed and hopes to be crushed.

So depressing, let’s go back to talking about boys! Although that too got boring a while ago. So I am just going to be quiet.

Dz-chick

*bite me

The museum of procrastination

As I look around my place, all I see are unfinished projects, half-finished decorating, half-finished painting resting on the radiator, yellowing from the heat, the faint shape of the women seem to shrivel even her breasts are drooping

In the corner gathering dust sit a couple of musical instruments, staring at me, chords sticking out like guts spilling out of a discarded corpse, at least I mastered Frere Jacques and they make for interesting conversations like do you play? NOPE.

Book plots, blogs and essays squiggled on pieces of paper dispersed on my desk, gathering dust, the ink smudged in places and the paper yellowing from different beverages that were spilled on them. Some stories have never even left the confines of my imagination; they just sit there waiting for instructions that won’t come, I promised them …someday!

In the cupboard, half-finished treatments and courses of anti-biotic from my hypochondriac days…all half-finished and expired, even as I look down, I see only one of my legs is waxed because the last time I had to bare my thunder thighs, my skirt only had one opening and I frankly couldn’t be bothered to go on with this charade that is waxing!  But I stand by my choice, it’s both logical and economical and in no way lazy.

Come to think of it, even my dreams are cut-short, I always wake up before the “climax”, I never seem to stop running and get to where I am supposed to get, I always think I can get some amazing fantastica novel from my stupid dreams, if only they’d finish…

My procrastination list goes on, sadly my desire to finish anything doesn’t, but that doesn’t ever discourage me from starting other things again…I came to realise that it doesn’t matter when you get there, as long as you do eventually get there, procrastination is given a bad name, but perhaps it’s a good process for some people! I am sticking to it ya!

The end.

Ps: it took me 2 weeks to write this!! Ooof