Ce-am visat azi noapte

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mi-am adus aminte acum ( fix acum, la 10:40 am) ce am visat azi noapte. se facea ca trebuia sa plec la Roma, nu imi aduc aminte cu cine, parca era si barbati-miu si copilu’. ideea este ca trebuia sa plecam la Roma in anii ’60. eram in aeroport si erau tot soiul de aeronave, care mai de care, ultra vintage. in principiu pe aeroport era ca la autogara: cumparai bilet pe loc, dupa ce te uitai la fiecare avion, sa vezi care incotro zboara. si informatia asta o aflai dupa ce citeai niste panouri tip led afisat pe avion sau pe langa ( nu mai tiu minte bine) pe care scria destinatia ( ca pe unele vagoane de tren la noi, in ziua de azi).

ideea e ca l-am gasit pe ala de Roma, dar era atat de mic si de prapadit ca tin minte ca i-am zis lu’ barbati-miu: sa stii ca eu ma urc in asta pana la Roma, dar o sa astept 60 de ani sa ma intorc, ca poate inventeaza astia un avion mai sigur! 

(nota: mie imi e o frica teribila de avioane si in general orice zboara, aproape ca fac atac de panica la decolare si aterizare. si  atat imi aduc aminte din vis)

concluzia: cine i-e frica de avioane, sa stea acasa.

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martisor

tocmai ce a fost 1 martie. traditia asta a martisorului mi se pare simpatica, cata vreme nu inseamna ca cineva TREBUIE, repet, TREBUIE sa cumpere asa zisele martisoare ( flori, bijuterii, ciocolati, etc).

ar fi frumos ca traditia sa fie asa: cine vrea sa poarte martisor ( din ala frumos, facut de artistii plastici, cum am vazut anul acesta la MTR) sa si-l cumpere singur.

eu nu cred in martisoare. nu vreau martisoare si nici nu vreau sa primesc. si mi se pare si mai stupid sa fac schimb de martisoare cu prietenele. punct.

 

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Ptiu!

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bre, am fost la sedinta cu parintii pe scoala in seara asta. asta e sedinta la care directorii scolii, in cazul nostru directoarele, cheama reprezentantii fiecarei clase, adica presedintii comitetelor de parinti la discutii. in calitate de presedinta ( macar acu’ sa fiu si eu presedinta) m-am dus. nu intru in amanunte despre discutiile avute, dar ma inchin cu doua, trei, patru, cinci etc maini ca am avut inspiratia nemaipomenita sa parasesc invatamantul dupa numai trei ani de predare. ma bucur ca muncesc la multinationala, ca am zile in care lucrez mai mult de 12 ore, overtime pe care nu-l recuperez, ma bucur ca am nopti in care nu dorm din cauza stresului, ma bucur de multe chestii din astea “negative”. incep sa le apreciez. n-as putea sa mai rezist la atata prostie si … nu stiu cum sa ii zic. e un ceva pe care nu pot sa-l articulez.

ma bucur ca am un job stresant. atat.

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Alta FRUSTARE

Cand ai resit sa ntrdci lei in lato si acm scrii asa. ca n vrea sa mai ia literele din riml rand al tastatrii.

 

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Covorul

Am vazut mai devreme un nene, un domn intr-un tricou rosu cu maneca scurta care batea covorul. Era ora 11:00 AM, duminica, 19 februarie. Nu e ger dar nici foarte cald. Ce vreau sa zic e ca batea covorul ala asa, de la distanta, cu o miscare repetitiva, in scarba, fara elan. Imi tot inchipui ( cu ce o fi gresit el fata de consoarta ) cum a iesit el sa bata ditamai covorul ala ( un covor destul de mare, din ala cu model asa zis persan) duminica la ora 11 cand mai sunt inca doua luni pana la Paste. Ce o fi fost in sufletul lui. Atat.

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unconditional love

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Being a MOTHER is about loving and caring unconditionally about another human being that you or another female carried inside the body for 9 months.

Being a MOTHER means that you love your child no matter what. I don’t know if the same feeling is natural for mothers who adopt, but as long as my experience can say for me, the bond which has been created by sharing your body and offering it for another human being to be created inside it, is indestructible.

I believe a MOTHER will love her child no matter what his/her conduct or religion or criminal behavior or sexual orientation is or what her/his other options are.

A MOTHER will love her child even if the child will not love her back the same way. This is unconditional love.

If there is such love all other  things will follow easily.

This is what a MOTHER does.

The ones that carry babies in their organisms for 9 months and then they abandon them or murder them or mistreat them or raise them just to relive the better life they couldn’t with the fixed coordinations they pre-set–those are not mothers. Those are only biological producers of other human beings.

I don’t know why I felt such an urge to write about mothers. But let it stay here, so when my son grows up he will know what his mother’s thoughts were.

( and yes, I did use she, he, his, her, him in different order because I do not believe there should be a gender order in grammar )

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another short story

the same as the previous one.

It is hard for people who live under blue skies to imagine what a heavy city fog is like. It is something quite different from the clear mist on a mountain and may come down without warning and cover a whole town.

And that it was that happened in that morning. I woke up early, dressed pretty quickly and didn’t even had my breakfast, to catch the school bus. As I opened the front door of the building I lived in, a heavy fog was covering all outside and entered the hallway and I could see nothing out of the door. I stepped out and with my rucsack in one hand I was trying to find the path in our garden towards the street where the school bus was supposed to arrive in less than five minutes.

But I could see only the fog. It was a thick, moist fog everywhere. And suddenly I heard the noise of the school bus engine. I followed the sound and here it was. It stopped and I climbed the three steps in a rush and sat on the first plase I saw. Then I looked around. There was no one on the bus, except the driver. I mean absolutely no one. Strange. Usually all my colleagues are there. And I asked the driver what happened. No answer come back to me. And asked again. He seemed not to hear me. I tried to wave at him but it was like I wasn’t even there. I looked over the windows. I could nothing but the fog. That strange fog that was not the usual one,  the one I was used to since I was born. I couldn’t even see the trees or the shape of anything. And the bus was continuing its way. I hoped it was only in my mind.

Then, the bus stopped. And the doors opened. I walked down. And in front of me, there was the high school. Finally, something familiar. But, again, there was no student around. Maybe they were all already in the classrooms.

I entered and again, there was no one on the hallways. Not even the teachers. I went straight to my class and opened the door. Again, no one. I started to panic and feel scared. I went to the other classrooms and there was no one there, also.

I started to shout: Is there anyone here? No answer back. I ran out of the high school and there was the school bus waiting. Empty again, except for the driver. I climbed the three steps carefully, sat on the firts seat and waited to see what would happen. It seemed the bus was driving me back home. I just sat there quietly. And soon the bus stopped and the doors opened.

As I was climbing down the three steps I said to myself: let’s see if the driver will answer to me now. And I asked him what was going on. And this time I think he heard me. And he turned his head towards me to answer. And there I had the most horrific image I have ever seen: his face completely white and swollen as if he was three days dead and his teeth were yellow and big  and the eyes were red. I only heard his first words: „Run boy, run! The Zombies will come for you, tooooooo….”

And I ran.

I climbed the steps of every entrance until I came to my own. Even when I

had opened the door, I was not sure that it was the right house or even the right street.

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