Recently I’ve felt more like an adventurer than at any other time in my life. I want to list all the things that made me feel like that so that I remember them better. The list is roughly chronological therefore the more boring.

I found out the name of a cheese that I remember eating and loving in childhood.
I tangled in a sheet and wore original jewellery to the lens of a camera.
I participated in a writers seminar, a small local one and I missed the two most interesting lectures, yet I gained a lot of experience from them and they made me write a bit.
I used what I learned with one lover to make up for a failure with another. The memory still excites me a bit.
I did well at my work, it’s not often that I have a clear task and do it efficiently, I did that several times in the last month.
I made a decision to leave my current job. Again. But this time I’m beginning to act on the decision.
I sat at a bonfire and cooked sausages and drank beer in the company of some rude people and enjoyed the evening immensely.
I missed some riding opportunities. I regret this because I’m an apprentice driver and would have loved to observe an experienced one as well as get to know my city better.
I had a talk with a possible future employer and it didn’t go too well. It made me doubt my decisions. That made me depressed.
I broke down and lost my dignity in the game where “no” shouldn’t be cancelled. I would not change that, it was too good.
I had a day I couldn’t recall what I was depressed about. I had a day I could recall what I was depressed about and could add more things to the list.
I lost my dignity chatting. Even though I haven’t experienced heart-brokenness, I’m learning about some of the side effects. I grew closer and opened up chatting with someone else.
I ate a tasty meal and had pleasant memories to play back in my mind. New toys were bought and played with.
I accidentally offered to introduce a couple of my friends to each other. Friends of opposite sexes. Who are both single. I hit my head on the desk. Twice.
I kissed her again.
I engaged in a romantic evening involving climbing up on a roof. The next day was slow and sleepy.
I forgot my phone at home and found my dentists new place of work by asking people and hazy memories.
I went to get my eye-sight checked. The apparatuses there seemed very steam-punk like. I’m slightly far-sighted, but not enough to need any glasses.
I felt guilty that I wanted to talk about my trip to the dentist even though my friend had had a much more important event at the same time.
I went driving with my dad and got to check out typography in action again. I also saw the paper storage that I don’t think I had seen before. When I’m crazy, I’m going protesting against all the woodcutting that must be going on to provide those amounts of useless paper spending. The machines in action there are very impressive though.
I’ve been reading “I am not a serial killer.” It’s good.

I hope that your lives are made interesting by simple events too.

You know how there are several voices in your head? Well, I had a couple of reasonable ones. And the obligatory lazy one. They mostly argued only when some decisions had to be made and then their arguments were reasonable ones. Sometimes the lazy one wanted me not to do stuff, but the reasonable voices overwhelmed him most of the time. There were some less reasonable more emotional voices, but their reactions where also tempered by the reasonable voices.

Well that changed when a knight on a white horse or a contemporary guy in a fedora rescued the inner princess from the tower guarded by the wise dragon where she was safely locked up. The Princess came and obnoxiously proclaimed that she was going to have some fun. The lazy one cheered, the others shrugged, why not let her? Now I know – because she wont let me get any work done.

First the princess started listening to music frequently going “Ooh, these lyrics are so deep!” The problem is that I can barely hear the reasonable ones smirking over how loud the princess sings along with the songs.

The princess is indecisive as hell, she wants to be spontaneous, so she leaves off making a decision to the last moment and until then keeps repeating the choices loudly which makes it near impossible for the reasonable people to prepare for either choice.

The princess is not all bad. She decided I needed a more feminine look and made me wear high heels. That turned out to be good for how I feel about myself and the confidence carries over to when I’m back in more comfortable shoes.

Then there was the time the princess decided that one of my friends is not talking to me because he doesn’t like me any more. She was wailing “oh, what to do” all day. One of the reasonable voices tried pointing out that the friend, unlike me, is probably busy doing work, but the princess kept wailing and even managed to engage some of the reasoning persons in guessing the possible reasons for that. Of course it turned out that nothing had changed between me and my friend. Oh, how pleasantly surprised the princess was. For a change it was nice not to hear the I told you so’s of the reasonable ones over the princess’ happy giggling.

I think the last time she was out before now was in my teens, but either it was more appropriate then or it was a less intense version of her, I’m not sure, but I’m well fed up with her by now. Yes, she’s good fun, but I do miss being reasonable. If someone has advice on making capricious princesses grow up or how to get them back into tower and guarded please share!

If the word “sex” offends you, you should definitely reconsider what being offended means and think of how boring the World would become if everyone acted in a way that could not offend anyone. However, if you do not wish to know that people may make love to each other, better skip this post.

I think that what I’m about to describe is much more likely to be experienced by women than by men. There are some advantages to being my sex, I guess, no matter how annoying some of our inner workings are. The experience is not waking up completely when partner begins making love to me.

I love dreams, dreams are a way to experience impossible, unlikely, terrifying, fun and other kinds of things, all much more genuinely than any other medium experience feels and with practically no consequences. The drawbacks are they are uncontrollable (you can’t chose what it is you want to experience) and easily forgettable (probably because they make no sense). I think some of it can be improved upon by training, but I’ve never had the discipline to significantly change my dreaming. Though I think I have had a few lucid dreams.

To be still dreaming while having sex is amazing. It feels just as real as any other dream and I get to be awake enough at the end to be able to tell what just “happened” to my partner (and therefore am more likely to remember it). And it is always pleasant. I have three favourite ones that I’ll try to recount.

I’m not sure where the latest dream I had came from. In the dream, we had visited friends we haven’t visited yet in real life, and they had a book on the corner of the table. It was a detective book, a very artistic one, and Scandinavian. I haven’t read any books like that lately. I guess we borrowed it in the dream, because the waking up part begun with us trying to decide to read it or not and it ended with us reading it really hard. The dream parts don’t make much sense in the sex context, I have no idea how was having sex the same thing as reading a book, but it was immensely pleasurable.

Another one was again inspired by a book, but this time a real book I had recently read. It was one of Sarah Douglass Axis trilogy books. In it the hero had to reconcile the winged magical people with the regular humans to get a greater army. In my dream he figured out a “really good” plan – to give the winged women to the men of the regular people army (one each). To be honest, I don’t remember if the winged women (including me) were willing or not. The thing that made me the most curious was “how are my wings not hurt”? My wings really didn’t bother any of the usual ways to have sex even though they are so big and wide.

My favourite one is the most nerdy. I went to bed trying to figure out how to place five dots on the surface of a sphere so that they are as far from each other as possible. I think I had a layout in mind and was trying to figure out how to prove that it would work (because unlike four dots on a sphere it wouldn’t be symmetrical). In the dream I was happy that my love decided to participate. He usually dislikes anything that can be categorized under “mathematics”. We were going to imitate the model of the dots and the centre. One dot was going to be where my hands were pressed down, one on each leg and the centre of the sphere was… To be honest, at the end I realised the “maths” was all wrong, the point count didn’t match, the placement wasn’t symmetrical or in any way as far from each other as possible. But I still loved having maths-sex.

When I first met my now husband, I did not see the Love of My Life in him, I saw someone to show off to. When next I met him, my eyes did not open to how much I loved him, I just thought “what a douche to shave off his hair”. Still, I don’t discriminate against hairless people, and I corresponded with him and got to know him. Turned out he was wise and interesting to talk to. I saw him some more and eventually fell in love with him.

At that time in my life I fell in love with a lot of smart guys, so falling in love with another one didn’t seem like much. Somehow though he convinced me that we should stay together. So we stayed together and I thought about what it would be like to live with this guy. Because we had similar philosophy and compatible habits, I decided I would love to live with this guy. And the more time I spent with him, the more I came to love him.

I worried because I had heard that when you find your true soul-mate you feel it unmistakeably. This made me unsure, because my reasoning was unmistakeable, but my feeling was gradual and not very pronounced. I felt not at all sure. This doubt made me more doubtful, because now I was sure my feeling was not unmistakable.

Despite that I grew more and more fond of him. By the time we got married in five years I was positively in love with him. People congratulated us and complemented on how our affection for each other seemed still fresh and new after five years. It’s because we were only beginning to love each other after the initial falling in love with each other.

What I’m trying to say might be old news after the awesome Tim Minchin has created “If I didn’t have you” song, but I still want to say it, so that others don’t have to doubt their relationships just because they don’t know at first sight if it is meant to be or not. I’ll probably look back at this in a few years laughing at what a romantic little fool I was, but now I love my husband more than I thought possible at the time when I was deciding to stay with him and had my doubts.

I am so rarely satisfied with myself. I recently came upon that old truth about how people treat themselves way worse than their friends or even strange people. I most certainly do that. I think that if I’d get a Nobel prise I’d still tell myself that I could have done more. But I’m very far from actually doing something very worthwhile. (See previous sentence, for example.)

Well, today I made a goblin. And he’s a diva. First thing he did was snatch up something I embroidered a long time ago thinking it would be a gift to one certain person. Now that the goblin refuses to part with it, I guess I’ll give him with the embroidery.

The next thing he did, after taking ownership of what is now hes scarf, was make me take pictures of him. First a close-up of his daydreaming expression.

Notice that his eyes are actually buttons from a broken game controller. And since he perceives with his insides (made from the packaging of a monitor) he doesn’t mind people pressing his button-eyes. Sometimes it is a quite satisfying feeling, to press a goblins button-eye.

Next he did a cute pose…

A slow spin…

And then a sexy walk away from the camera.

Show-off. Now all that’s left for me to do is make an awesome gift box to put this day’s work into, and give him to the appropriate authorities, t.i. the person the toy-scarf thing was meant for.

Since before I started regularly using the Internet I was taught the Internet equivalent of “do not take candy from strangers” – don’t post on the Internet anything you don’t want someone to see, because everyone (including that someone) can and are likely to see it. This means that before I post something, I think, that my mom will see it, also my boss, my friends and everyone else who I know or don’t know. If I decide it’s ok for them to see it, I go ahead and post it.

The rebel me wants to be daring sometimes, so I flirted with the idea of putting on a tight dress or something and make some sexy pictures and post them. I’m as pretty as the next girl, and since it was something that I thought was the kind of thing people usually don’t want everyone else in the world to see, I figured it would be a rare
enough occurrence to make me a bit outstanding, exceptional. Especially because I consider myself someone with a “good girl” reputation.

Well, again and again I see I’m wrong. Many of my “good girl” school-mates are posting lame slutty pictures in mini dresses, tight pants, on the hoods of cars and all other kinds of cliché „sexy” photos. Most of them are not very good. So much for being original. I’m glad I never did it, because I doubt I would have made any better pictures on my own.

So unless I want to be hired as a model or someone who get hired for their curves, I’ll refrain from sitting on car hoods in mini-dresses and hugging bikes in skinny jeans. For now I guess the only sexy picture I would be willing to post on the Internet would be one for http://wetriffs.com/ (from the makers of XKCD and that would have to be an excellent piece of art too.

Not too long after I had decided to get married and had had a few daydreams about how my great grandfather would be proud of me getting married he died. Probably my reaction was a natural one but I still felt a bit ashamed. I mean who is angry with someone for dieing before an event they would be invited to. If anyone had the right to be angry, it’s the deciest. Then again, my great granddad didn’t know he would be invited. Oh, and also it’s very extremely unlikely that he cares anymore. It’s quite more likely, that he’s not any more.

I liked the funeral kind of, as much as one can like a “goodbye forever” party where everyone feels sad that they’ll never ever meet the person again. But I liked it in that it was private, just the closest family. Of his over 30 great grandchildren just the oldest two were present. And after the short ceremony we all went to a dining place and just chatted about the things that family members chat about with each other as well as remembered both my great grandfather and his wife, who had died five years earlier. It was sweet.

There were two scary thoughts I had. It was sad burying a great grandfather I hardly knew from a few visits. How much more sad it must be to bury someone much closer to me, like most of the other people there. The rest of my grandparents, my parents and their siblings. If all is well, I still get to go to most of their funerals. And how kind of scary and sad must it feel for my grandparents to be the elders of the family. Yes, they have their children and grandchildren, but no parent of either of them lives any more.

It was almost by accident that just before my opaps passing away I had lost belief in life after death and the good things that the dead can do for us. But this unbelief made the whole thing even scarier for me. Before I got convinced of the unlikeliness of an afterlife I would have thought the only scary thing is to be the most experienced one, the one that everyone would look up to. Because I thought death would be something to look forward to, finally to know what exactly happens next. Not so any more.

What happened was that my Love begun borrowing Richard Dawkins’s books one by one, reading them with enthusiasm, watching all videos available with Dawkins talking and submitting me to those same books, same videos. The God that Dawkins wanted to free people of was the revengeful angry God of the Old testament. As a side effect, he convinced me my lovely fantasies were also illogical and highly improbable. I complained to my Love about this and told him how my beliefs were completely different and nice and I wanted them. He asked me questions and pointed out discrepencies and unlikelinesses to me. This made me totally sceptic.

The feeling was not unlike what it would feel like if I was waiting for a bus, a very comfortable and fun bus that would take me to a really cool place. Then the two of them come along and tell me that according to the bus shedule my bus has gone long ago. For now I am left without a ride, but my mom always says it’s no good chasing after buses and boys, because the next will come along soon. I think I want the nice afterlife so bad, that I’ll figure a way to circumvent logic, to keep believing in afterlife.

The New Year has come and gone and so has the holiday season before that. It left me unfulfilled and unhappy. I had been sick too much of the time, too lazy some of the time and moody and unrested, and… Well, you get the idea. I took consolation in that a really entartaining blogger had it worse, because at least I spent all the time with my Love and my parents without involving grandmothers who can be difficult at times. Well, actually apart from the having a bad cold part, my holidays weren’t that bad. Still, they weren’t great either and it took me a walk in a park to lift my mood.

The winter here and now is cold (unplesantly so, but bearably) and beautiful. I’d like to say how beautiful, except I’m not sure how mesure it. Perhaps I can say it’s so beautiful, that it makes me smile despite the cold air getting in my mouth and hurting my teeth and making me cough as a result. In the morning the air is strange, kind of pensive, lingering. Everything is covered in perfect whiteness that sparkles. Still the sun didn’t hurt my eyes like the summer one does when it’s all bright and reflects of everywhere. Maybe it was because it was low and didn’t shine down on the whiteness. The most beautiful thing of all in this are the trees. Every branch covered in snow they look like giant depictios of snowflakes. Not so geometrical and equal angled, with black lines to stress the white shine they stretched up in the blue of the sky. If my English was better, I could go on and on describing the magical beauty of it all.

So I am feeling quite better, still, I don’t manage to do as much as I’d like to having to blow my nose all the time and getting a headache from that and everything. When I find that the lovely woman from Wide Lawns and Narrow Minds feels just like me, and I guess we love what we can identify with.  Not just with the lousy holiday and the needing a kick part, but mostly with not being able to gether herself to do something she wants to do, about not wanting to be imperfect at doing it. Her thing is yoga, I don’t care for yoga, but the idea is the same. I don’t want to do some things that  I want to do, because I will make mistakes at them and I will have to learn them the hard way – by making mistakes and then practising in order not to make mistakes. I’ve put so many things I want to do down because of this, that I’m not sure which one I could call upon now, to illustrate. (Hah, turns out I mentioned all of them in my firtst post on this blog, which is all about this.) I kind of blame my education system for this, because we were not pushed enough, we were not required to do much for ourselves, except listen to the wise teacher, take notes and repeat the stuff. But seeing how others in other education systems feel the same, it might just be me (and her).

I love flying. I know some people hate it, but I don’t. I flew for the very first time just recently (about a year ago) and I fell in love with flying from the first time. A month ago I had my first 10+10 hour flight and I thought that perhaps that might spoil my love for flying, but it didn’t. Even flying back again the 10+10 hours and having the second plane changed to be 6 hours later than originally planned didn’t spoil my love for flying.

When I flew for the first time, I imagined that the feeling is similar to what the first train passengers might have felt. I’m in a huge machine that makes this horrible noise and is a bit scary but from it I see my world in a way I have never seen it before. For them it was a view of the world quickly running by. For me it was a view from above.

Before I flew for the first time I was warned about the pressure change. I was a bit afraid about that because my ears are fragile compared to other parts of me. I hate the feeling in the ears when there is a quick pressure change. (Is there an expression in English for that feeling?) But I didn’t feel too bad in the plane. What I noticed more than the unpleasant feeling in the ears was the pleasant feeling in my tummy. It’s like riding a carousel! Only stronger and cooler.

What I hate is the airports with their “security checks”. Because of them I thought I would try to fly as little as possible, but when I got into the plane, or more precisely, when the plane started going fast on the runway, all that nonsense with metal detectors was forgiven. But seriously, people working there have to put up with it every time they go from one side of it to the other.

The windows of planes are small but the views are hugely impressive. I love the way all the cities turn into models of cities and then in small patterns or somethings. And even when it’s cloudy like it often is, the clouds are impressive. I think they look way more solid from above than from the ground. On the ground I could never understand why people could believe they could walk on clouds. Thew clouds look so two-dimensional and if they look three-dimensional, they look evaporating. But from above they look like below the mist engulfing ones feet there would be soft but solid surface to walk on.

And when I first flew over a city at night! All the illumination made me think of gingerbread men for some reason that I don’t remember anymore. I also thought about hot gleaming lava trickling between patches of dark cooled lava like I’ve seen it on TV. And of the structure of the city and the large illuminated road connecting the two patches of light, what might those patches be – two cities or two parts of the same city, what makes that road more important and illuminated than other roads. It was beautiful.

The two long flights in a row didn’t kill my love for flying even after delaying my longed for return home. That leads me to believe that flying will never lose it’s magic in my eyes (or stomach). It might lessen over time, but not disappear. Even if all the magic is just the return home that I’ve longed for or the arrival to a new and exciting place. Flying is magic.

I was sixteen at the time. We had split up (I think) and he had been flirting with other girls. I missed the attention. Our school had lockers in the basement for wardrobe. I guess the lessons had ended on the same time for me and for him, but not for everyone else, because there were not many other people there at the time, at least not our friends.

I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be missed not dismissed and this guy had been ignoring me too much. I think I finished what I needed to do and went over to him. He was still dressing and his keys were in the locker door. I struggled with myself for a while. I dislike taking the other person’s things as a method of flirting. I considered it classless, too simple and not elegant enough. But Hormones are all powerful (at least at that age). I took his keys.

Unsurprisingly, he asked them back and I refused. He tried to take them and I tried to hide them from him. He grabbed me and holding me with one hand tried to reach the keys. I tried my hardest not to hand them over. It was a mix of fighting and feeling the touch of each other. I felt needy for feeling so good being touched by him again.

Finally he got me cornered and both my hands in his. But since he’s hands were busy too he couldn’t take the keys even though I couldn’t move to avoid him doing so. We were so very close, I felt his body against mine and I felt tears coming. I bet I thought that I missed him. I don’t think I thought I missed cuddling and a boy’s attention. He hugged me sensually.

At that moment our friends came passing by. I tried to hide behind him and immediately regretted it. I couldn’t hide, but I could be seen hiding, which made everyone feel more uncomfortable. We weren’t doing anything inappropriate at all, but my hiding made it look as if we were. My friend made some innocent comment that I don’t remember, but I remember him being ruder to her than was polite. All right, being rude is never polite, but he was sharper, more snappish than usual. So snappish in fact that it verged on being rude.

But I had got my bit of attention, had gotten a bit more of self confidence and I had something to write in my diary or on slips of paper during more boring parts of lessons as was often the case.