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Finally it is this time again when I cannot type in Russian (my laptop does not have Russian keyboard) and don’t have anything to drink except ice tea. Let’s see how full of shit I am. Regular whining session.
Right now I have expectations about future events in my life. Some of them are good and some of them bad. Being as lucky as a fly in the cobweb, I realize that most of my good expectations never turn out to become reality and most of the bad ones do. Here is my good expectation – I am about to become a Board Member (it is even funnier when I write it). Here is the bad expectation – they won’t need me and throw me out in the street.
My therapist says my self-esteem is too low. It is funny how our sessions go. We talk about 10 min about my condition and 50 minutes about other things like my parents, their parents, their parents, China’s demand for basic metals and energy, Catholics and Protestants, marriage clearance, president Saakashvili’s extramarital adventures and Marlene Dietrich. I do not know how it helps my depression (or whatever I have), but I like it.
I earlier postulated that my major moving force is my need for love. I have heard and/or read Maslow, Freud and blah blah blah but I am not pretending to invent theories. It was just my personal viewpoint. Well, this vewpoint got just a little bigger and also included my need for self-expression. I used to express myself via piano but piano was too girly and bulky for a young man. So my need has changed, it became, let’s say, a need for a mirror.
And I have chromatic harmonica now. Yes, it can play melodies, Morricone, spagetti westens, all that. And I can play in bed.
What else… oh yes, I moved to my place, it is ready for orgies, but I cooled off about it.
Right now I have expectations about future events in my life. Some of them are good and some of them bad. Being as lucky as a fly in the cobweb, I realize that most of my good expectations never turn out to become reality and most of the bad ones do. Here is my good expectation – I am about to become a Board Member (it is even funnier when I write it). Here is the bad expectation – they won’t need me and throw me out in the street.
My therapist says my self-esteem is too low. It is funny how our sessions go. We talk about 10 min about my condition and 50 minutes about other things like my parents, their parents, their parents, China’s demand for basic metals and energy, Catholics and Protestants, marriage clearance, president Saakashvili’s extramarital adventures and Marlene Dietrich. I do not know how it helps my depression (or whatever I have), but I like it.
I earlier postulated that my major moving force is my need for love. I have heard and/or read Maslow, Freud and blah blah blah but I am not pretending to invent theories. It was just my personal viewpoint. Well, this vewpoint got just a little bigger and also included my need for self-expression. I used to express myself via piano but piano was too girly and bulky for a young man. So my need has changed, it became, let’s say, a need for a mirror.
And I have chromatic harmonica now. Yes, it can play melodies, Morricone, spagetti westens, all that. And I can play in bed.
What else… oh yes, I moved to my place, it is ready for orgies, but I cooled off about it.
