I need to ask you a serious question.
Have you ever hated something in the very deep of your sole and hated yourself for hating it at the same time? This is because I keep doing with inexplicable constancy and can't really help myself. Like if there was something inside me that forced into having at least one target of my evilness.
I'm a commuter. I live in a small village situated 30 km from the town in which I go to school. Every morning I travel there by train, every afternoon I travel back home by train. I've grown used to it. I find some sort of satisfaction in sitting on the huffing and puffing machine. Unfortunately, not everything is as romantic as it would seem. The only afternoon connections are at 13:18, 14:15, 15:10 and 18:06. As you can see, the gap between the last two ones is huge and exactly during it, I end school three times a week. Once I go to another town to play chess but twice I have to wait at school for an hour until I can pack my stuff and set off for the railway station. And believe me, there is nothing more creepy than waiting in a huge building where there are no pupils and teachers left. The cleaning women are the only people you can meet. Now, I'm not a snob and I definitely haven't got a single thing against cleaning women. I'm incredibly thankful that they are keeping our school nice and clean and that they manage all the weird things children are able to create. However, I feel terrible when sitting on a bench reading a book while an old bird-like granny is trying to wash the floor under my bottom. I can't explain why this occasion always fills me with disgust connected with both me and the woman. She shouldn't be disrupting my privacy after such a long and exhausting day spent among those horrid people! (That's irrational and I know it.) I shouldn't sit there like some stupid nobility and should rather take that mop and do the floor instead of the cleaning woman, how can I stand somebody else cleaning my territory! (That's irrational as well.) And to make myself even worse, I must admit that I'm always incredibly happy when the woman leaves the floor and goes to wash the windows or whatever else.
I have a confession. I've done something absolutely, totally, really ridiculous and I haven't told about it anybody yet. Well, I've discussed it with my father who had to give me the permission to make such a decision and I also had to arrange a few things with my class teacher but you know what I mean.
A few days ago I was happily scrolling through Facebook, ignoring that I was wasting a lot of the little data we had from our operator at home (30 GB, to be precise) and was just about to go and do something more meaningful when suddenly I bumped into a very interesting post from Charles University. The deadline for submitting the application for the Students' internship at CERN has been prolonged until 22nd February. My first reaction was: "I want to go there." And not even ten minutes later I was phoning my father who was at his fiancee's place. "Father, do I want to go to CERN?" I asked him as soon as he had picked his Samsung. You know, there is this great thing about my father. Neither is he much of a support nor is he anyhow able to at least pretend that what I chatter about all the time is interesting but whenever I want to do something crazy, he always stands by me. He likes doing crazy stuff. Maybe it isn’t the best when I want to rely on him because he keeps changing his mind about everything. But in this perspective it’s fine. "Of course you do!" he replied immediately. So I decided to fill in the application.
*continue in comments* #confession#baguetteandcheese#theforsytesaga#amateurphotographer#blogger#bookaddict#eattobeatit#edfighter#edwarrior#fightana#gethealthyagain#getstrong#introvert#myfight#nourishing#perfectionism#perfectionist#recovery#simpleblog#strongfighter#studentlife#workaholic
You might not know that besides being a huge fan of mathematics and programming I also tend to be an artist sometimes. Not that I would be a great one, I’m as far from that as a girl of my age can possibly be, though I must admit that after a week of holidays, crafting was the best activity I could have spent my weekend with. Not that I would have ever expected it could all take me that much time but since I had no other big duty on my list, this matter of fact was easy to accept.
Now, would you like to know how I came up with both these ideas? If not, continue in scrolling. Otherwise, I’m thankful for your existence on this planet. At the beginning of the year, our art teacher (the teacher of the club, not the subject) told us that we were going to draw, paint or anyhow differently work with the topic of circuses. I the first term we were reproducing paintings of many famous artists in pencil, pen, ink, watercolours (basically in everything that comes to mind, I made seven versions of the same painting and each took me about two to three hours). And at the beginning of the second term, our teacher came up with the idea of writing. Since then, we’ve spent hours and hours with drawing lines and circles and all that stuff around those boring letters. And like if things hadn’t been horrible enough already, the teacher gave us a task we were supposed to work on during the holidays. First, we had to think of one word connected with circuses. Second, we were to make a precise composition with the word in a square or any other geometrical object. And third, the teacher wanted us to make whatever we desired with a loose hand devoid of any rulers or drafts.
These are the results of my effort. In the first picture, you can see my final conception of the whole idea, a game of concentration (pexeso in the Czech Republic) with the letters of my chosen word, REPETICE (repetition). The second photo is the precise version if the teacher didn’t like the game. What’s your opinion?
A small update which should be quite readable thanks to usually appreciated numbers
I haven’t posted any long essays recently because I was beginning to feel that my Czech was getting worse and worse due to not having been communicating properly since the beginning of the Spring holidays (please, don’t ask me why the Czech are so bad at logical thinking that they schedule the Spring holidays right into the starkest and coldest phase of Winter) and not writing in my native language either. (That was some long sentence, I’m sorry for being so unbearably wordy.) So, after some time, here I am again! I’ve got some information about my life which I would like to share. If you don’t mind.
1. If anybody asked me: “How did you spend your Spring holidays? Did you go skiing like all your normal classmates?”, I’d probably turn white and run away. If this question was given by a close friend or relative of mine and I would feel more confident, this would be my answer: “O, I spent a lovely time solving a bunch of beautiful maths problems. Would you like to know what probability of getting a seven you’d have if you took all the numbers off two dices, mixed them up, randomly glued them back on the cubes and threw the dices on the table?”
2. After two weeks of diligently doing stretch-exercises, I can perform something distantly reminding of the splits. Every evening I set my timer, keep every position (out of six planned for the day) for 50 seconds (or later, if I like it, there is this specific position I’m capable of staying in for 2 and more minutes). At the end of my stretching session, I try to do the splits on both legs. And tonight I managed to sit down on both of them for an amazing time of 0,25 seconds! Well, there’s still a lot to work on.
*continue in comments*
My attempt at Writing in Grammar for FCE by Cambridge
I believe that letting our class to discuss starting a film club wasn’t the best decision. The idea was nice indeed but impracticable.
We met on Friday at 3 pm. When even Patrick arrived, I presented the idea, read my list of what was necessary to agree on and asked the others to express their opinions. Unfortunately, during the following two hours we were stuck with the first point of my list, the name of the club. Patrick said he liked ‘Lensies’ the best. Hannah offered ‘FOCUS’, Benny ‘Flash’, Tom ‘Hyperrealists’, Beata ‘Winkers’ and so on. That were the better ones. After an hour I went to the chalkboard and wrote down all the ideas my classmates had been yelling at me. Then I told them to vote. I think it shouldn’t surprise you that everybody voted for their own idea apart from Lucy who voted for ‘Hyperrealists’ and ended up escaping (crying) when the others loudly disagreed with one classmate making the final decision.
After two hours I told everybody to leave and desperately tidied the classroom. What are we supposed to do now? Are we even capable of starting a film club?
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”
Now, that is a question worth some consideration, don’t you think? A few months ago I, my friend and two other girls from our grammar school signed up for an Art competition. I’m not sure if I’ve already written about last year’s ‘Borders’ (that was the topic back then) but I definitely haven’t told you about this year’s word we are supposed to work with. Identity. In December, all four of us met at a cosy café and we spent four hours debating over what we should actually create. We had loads and loads of ideas. Unfortunately, we haven’t met since then and only two of us have somehow shown the effort to do something reminding of the work of artists. The deadline is in April and we’re still far from having anything finished.
I’m not sure who came up with the idea but during our conversation, somebody mentioned the word ‘mirror’. I don’t know if mirrors do or do not relate to identity but since artists are always very tolerable, I assume they could. I don’t look into the mirror very often. It doesn’t seem to be necessary, you know. In the morning I comb my hair, brush my teeth and in the evening I brush my teeth and comb my hair and that’s all. From time to time I check the pimples on my nose at school (gods, thank you for giving me the precious gift of pimples). I don’t wear mascara or makeup or any of that stuff which prevents your skin from breathing and I think of it as of a good decision. But I must admit that when I finally do throw a glimpse at that glass pane with magic behind it, I don’t really love what I see. I’ve grown used to my huge eyes, big nose and crappy hair. It’s all part of me so I haven’t got a single reason to complain. I’m thankful for being able to see, smell, eat, hear, for having at least some hair even if not much. But I don’t love myself. One day, I will. I promise you that. Only to know how to achieve such a remote goal.
If that mirror was to reply (and be a mirror which always reflects the truth and only the truth), it should say: “That’s a silly thing to state. You’re all beauty’s incarnate!”
I'll never be good enough - part 2
My grandma, grandpa, aunt, uncle and father started a conversation about today’s youth. They compared themselves to it, criticizing every single factor they had no idea about. How lazy teenagers were. How they were addicted to their mobile phones. Then they got to criticising specifically me and my sister. How we should help our father more. How my ten-year-old sister ought to learn to cook and help my father and how I should be more of a help with the household because my father does all the cleaning (he doesn’t do any regular cleaning but he left the rest of the family in their woods of not-knowing-a-single-thing). Then they started offering my father radical ways of how to make me and my sister more active. At the time I found myself blindly staring into the papers with numbers, tears falling on the white surface. The words hurt so much. Later in the afternoon grandma came to exchange a few sentences with me, talking about reading and some other simple things. That made me smile again. And when we were already in our coats, prepared to set off for home, my grandpa mentioned the story I had given my grandparents for Christmas, saying he really liked it and that I could without any doubt be a writer in the future. That was nice. I don’t want to complain only.
After saying and hugging all the goodbyes, when I was staring out of the window of our old smelly car and trying to learn Geography, I recalled the celebration. And I realised one thing. I would never be enough for everybody. That simply wasn’t possible. Yes, it seemed to be quite sad that all the family members had enjoyed the complaining far better than showing any honest acknowledgement. I felt sorry for their juvenoia-distorted point of view. In the end, I somehow managed to feel alright with myself again, at least in the state of circumstances. Letting myself be broken by some silly gossip of my relatives just didn’t appear like a good way-out, did it?
I'll never be good enough - part 1
Today has been… let’s say, slightly discouraging. It could be considered as a complete disaster as for a perfectionist and workaholic in one person which I coincidentally happen to be. A waste of time. A black hole in the galaxy I’ve created just and only for myself. But I’ve decided not to see it like this. First, I feel fine in this particular place and time (you know that breathtaking theory about black holes, don’t you) and second, I’m still quite capable of finding stuff for which to be happy so it isn’t as hard to escape potential depression.
What has happened? My grandfather turned 82 today. Now, that’s a great thing, it’s a miracle that the average length of human life is getting longer and longer and that my grandpa is one of those lucky vital people who can still live alone despite their age. Though, these celebrations connected with the miracle aren’t that great. It always starts in the very morning when I feel lousy and miserable because I’m egoistically afraid of being judged again. I’m also looking forward to seeing grandma and grandpa and to chatting about books and to meeting other members of the family but the fear is huge anyway. Nothing else can defeat it. So I’m not able to function properly. I get easily distracted while doing anything and when my father calls me to join him and my sister in the car so that we can leave, I paradoxically feel liberated. It was the same today. After an hour we arrived at our grandparents’ place. We got lunch and after everybody had taken their turn at the little table, I comforted myself on the sofa and took out some Maths problems. Though, in the following four hours, I solved only two. It was impossible to concentrate. The grown-ups in the kitchen were talking so loudly. I could have plugged my ears. But I didn’t do it. I couldn’t stop listening to what they were talking about. #storyteller#degus#amateurphotographer#blogger#bookaddict#eattobeatit#edfamily#edfighter#edwarrior#fightana#gethealthyagain#getstrong#introvert#myfight#nourishing#perfectionism#perfectionist#recovery#simpleblog#strongfighter#studentlife#workaholic