I just returned home having spent 5 days at my sister's. She lives in a town 6 hours on a train to north. People there actually have to wear ugly, practical clothes made of Gore Tex just to keep safe from the elements. My equestrian chic outerwear just looked pathetic there. Without a horse in tow, anyway. Next time (should there ever be one), I'm bringing a horse.
By the time I got there I had made two new friends on the train. One was Moroccan and the other one from Cameroon. They couldn't get over how "atypical for my countrymen" I was. It's something I've heard before and I guess it's right as according to my sister it was a grave violation of cardinal rules. Her survival guide in life is very much like travelling on New York subway: don't talk to anyone, don't make eye-contact.
She's my little sister but acts as if she were my Mum. Then again- she does have the goods to back it up. She's the responsible one, the one with her life sorted out. She has a steady job she was trained for. She has a pension plan. She owns her flat. She even does Pilates!
She's my little sister but acts as if she were my Mum. Then again- she does have the goods to back it up. She's the responsible one, the one with her life sorted out. She has a steady job she was trained for. She has a pension plan. She owns her flat. She even does Pilates!
She's a very particular type, my sister. None of the mushy emotional mess that I specialize in life. Think of Charles Manson. The early years.
Her ultimate Christmas movie is Die Hard. Any Die Hard. Which literally kicks my Love Actually's arse. But in those 5 days I didn't cry, not once. And I didn't talk to The Man's picture. Probably because I was too scared of what she would do to me if I did. But the moment we said goodbye at the train station the tears came.
It was nice to have someone around, even if for just a couple of days. I look at the people going through the most mundane of motions: shopping for groceries, driving in their car and I can't help but feel envy. I stand outside in the cold having a cigarette and watch the daily life playing out through the neighbours' softly lit windows and I feel so empty inside (no, I'm not stalking! My sister won't let me smoke at the balcony!) They all have homes to go to. Yes, I know I have the overpriced shoebox I rent but that's just a flat. They have homes, full of life; full of love.
I don't know if I can face a life alone. Has the time come for me to get a cat?
As you know I'm the cat specialist these days so in case you need a mentor for the life of a pitiful catlady, pls contact me ;)
ReplyDeleteThe image of a crazy cat lady is terribly clichéd, though. I'm sure that a more unusual choice of companion animal might work better for you.
ReplyDeleteWell, I have always liked elephants. Just not sure how I'd fit one in my 20 square meters. Me walking that thing in my neighbourhood is guaranteed to get attention though... perhaps even dates?
DeleteJust not sure the "crazy elephant lady" sounds any better...
might as well be a crazy lady with a llama. it can do all the spitting on unpleasant people for you.
DeleteI do like the way your twisted mind works :-) Llama it is! (I wonder if Louis Vuitton makes carrying cases in his size...)
DeleteYou could always have a couture coat made for the llama, in case the carrying case thing doesn't work out.
DeleteI like the sound of "crazy otter lady" personally.
ReplyDelete