24.11.2001�4:33 p.m.
It has been a little while since I've began writing a diary and I'm still trying to figure out the 'Who, Where, What and Why' bit, but since I always, and I do mean always, read the 'about' section first in other people's journals, I think it's only fair to share my burden with you.
We'll call this section 'a work in progress'because you know it and I know it: It's never going to end, is it .There's a certain charm in sitting down by the old computer, trying to decide which bits of my extravagant persona I'd like to share with the world. There's no charm in biting my own nails though, so I'll just light a cigarette and puff and fume for a couple of minutes now, while trying to compose ,eh, myself.
We could begin with the basics:A woman,34 years old ,and I intend to stay that way at least until January 25th.
Work for me means sprawling on the couch, reading books and manuscripts and then burning the midnight oil by the old computer, vigorously typing comments and reviews. Yes, life is tough, but someone has to do the dirty work. (Read: a lector and literary editor)
My paternal family is a big noisy clan, where everyone makes it a point to stick his nose into everyone else's life. When you get used to it , it doesn't really bother you as much. Really, it doesn't. All my aunts are remarkably beautiful. I don't know why that's important, but it is, in some bizarre way. There's an image of them that is fixed in my mind, of the way they used to sit at my grandmother's living room on the sofa and chit chat and push each other in order to sit closer to the old stove, while toasting bread on it. Radiant and glamorous in my child's eyes, long blonde hair and those remarkable ocean-blue eyes, teasing each other wickedly, fondly. Cotton wool between their toes , shaking little bottles of colored nail varnish and the rain outside, and the smell of burning toast.
My paternal Grandmother has the kindest, warmest blue eyes I've ever seen. She is the most wonderful cook. She cooks love. She makes you feel special. She makes you feel all snug and warm. She's what makes our family a family. It sounds strange, but perhaps if you'd read my diary you'd understand.
My maternal family is tiny. It consists of my mother and her sister, who lives in England . Both my grandparents are dead now and I miss my Grandfather very much. I don't think he knew how much he meant to me. I tend to take some things for granted and in a way, I took his existance for granted, as if he'd always be there, in his living room library, sprawled in his armchair smoking a pipe, lost in a book.
I have three sisters . Two of them are daughters of my father and his second wife. We are very close. In some ways, being the eldest defines me. I don't really want to sum it up in a sentence, so I won't even try. It's all there, in the diary.
In the last three years I live in a little village in the north with my boyfriend for the last 9 12 years. Our residents include two dogs and an over growing population of Cats.
Five of which are leagally ours. I was going to say "registered voters", but I chickened out. There's a point where a strange sense of humor begins to scare people off. I think I'm
One of my earliest childhood memories is of a day on the beach with my parents, before they broke up.My father took the two of us because that's all the girls he has at that time, to buy ice cream. While we were leaning against the booth, licking our cones, my father was paying the man. A little boy stood next to him, eagerly staring at us. My dad saw him, realized he didn't have any money and bought him a cone, just like that. Handed it to the boy, very casually and turned away from him. He grew up as a poor boy. I suppose there was something in that boy's eyes, that reminded him what it was like, to want something that you can not have.
I never forgot that. It's one of the things I love most about my father. He never gives anything in order to receive something in return. He's simply nonchalantly generous. I love that quality in people.I love to travel and at the risk of sounding pompous, which of course I do anyway, (introductions do that to a person. Really they do) I'd say that every voyage away is a voyage within. It's not just the adventure itself , it's more than places and people, colors, smells, tastes, the air. It all lingers, I take it all in.
There are so many other things that I do, things I enjoy, things I think about. There are things that I am, things that I would like to be, things I absolutely wouldn't.
It's absurd to think that you can sum up your entire essence in one page. It's much easier when you're describing someone other than you.
Perhaps one of these days, when I'm inspired, I will find a way to rewrite this page, but
I can't promise anything.
The best thing to do, of course, would be to simply dive in, into the weblog,
and diary, my endless stream of words because that is where I am, that's who I am, at least for as long as I'm writing it.
Present
Past