nighteyes' personal LJ

I wish it was Christmas already. I mean, everything will be better after Christmas. At the very least, everything should be.

I'm certain my brain activity, right at the moment, may be even lesser than that of a coma patient, because man, have I been staying up more than I should have this weekend! First, we went out clubbing to celebrate Kaisa's birthday (a few weeks late, but whattahell) on Friday - and my two-and-a-half-month's soberness came to an end - and then afterward, I had to wake up at 8 on Saturday morning. That was because I and Dad paid a whole-day visit to Mummi and Vaari in Hailuoto, after which I, Salla and Anna went to see Basterds; the reason why I didn't get much sleep last night, either. (But did I love the movie! Freaking hell it was one freaking good film. A terrible pity Stiglitz had to die, though - he seemed like a real nice chap. ;) Had some attitude, at least! It's not like I've a tendency to develop a liking for psychopaths...) Anyway, due to all this, right now is not one of my brightest moments.

It's not like I'm tired, though, not really. I know what exhaustion means allright, and a few badly sleeped nights are nowhere near in the same category. I remember three whole days and one and a half hour's sleep during those, combined with eating very little and considerable physical exertion and what that felt like, and I laugh at what we very often call 'exhaustion'. YEAH RIGHT.

This one here could quite easily win the LJ Academy Award for Best Pointless Entry of 2009, don't ya think?

However... What I would wish for exactly at this moment: A car with a full gas tank, a friend or two, loads of alcohol, an empty house somewhere up north where there's snow, and some good driving music. Oh, and two or more free days. Sound good to you?



- M.

If I was a soldier
Captive arms I'd lay before her

If I was a sailor
Seven oceans I'd sail to her

If I was a painter
I'd paint a world that couldn't taint her

If I was a leader
On food of love from above I would feed her

If I was a poet
All my love in burning words I would show it.

It's not like I thought I was over it, not at all, but until yesterday and today I thought I had... made some progress, at least. But today it hit me again like a two-by-four, the sick feeling that makes me want to hide under my bed covers until the day I die, and not to talk to absolutely anyone ever again, or at least not to look anybody in the eye. It creates this hollow feeling in the general vicinity of your stomach, and gives you a lump in your throat and the tears caused by this feeling burn the most. It's also called 'shame'.

I've always had a healthy amount of respect for myself. To lose 99 percent of it all of a sudden is not a laughing matter. Once again, I'm not kidding. I don't think I ever will joke about this, or laugh about it; if not maybe in twenty years from now, at the earliest. I also know no one is interested in listening to my crying over this heartbreak anymore; I don't exactly ask it of anyone, because I know it's in human nature not to have the strength to care to listen to someone else going on about one issue for ages.

Again, thank God for LJ. A place in which I can write whatever I wish, and thus relieve some of the ridiculously colossal feeling of shame and self-disgust I carry inside of me. I've never in my life resented myself this much before. I've also never in my life exercised this much; and there is what you can call cause-and-effect. I totally acknowledge the fact that I torment myself physically only because of the futile hope that it will make me feel a bit better about the failure that is me. The pain in my back and all of my muscles provides me with the ability to try and assure myself that I'm not all that I've tried my best not to be and have feared the most that I'll turn out to be: a weak, worthless, lazy coward.

I'm also simultaneously in the middle of the mother of all identity crises. I failed at a thing I sought to do because of a part of my personality that defines a hell of a great deal of me - what to do now? I can't think of myself as a strong person anymore; I tell you I've tried, but I am simply not capable. Hell, I've had dreams in which I've been sitting in the middle of a dark room (I've had these dark room dreams before, by the way, as long as I can remember; loads of different things happen in there) in a spotlight and one random person close to me's been cirling around the chair I sit on and been telling me in detail and length what a quitter I am. Sick, innit?

I feel even less worthy than the most unworthy person I have ever met. I feel even less of a tough person than the weakest, most thin-skinned and sensitive person I know. There are times when I can't look Dad or Grandpa or Ukki in the eye. There are times when I would like to tell some funny story from my army times in a suitable situation, but don't, because I didn't finish my service; I quitted, so I have no right to. Or that's what it feels like. It makes me sick to feel this worthless; to feel this freaking WEAK. Weak is the very last adjective I'd ever wish to be described with - something I've pretty much always sought not to be.

I am seriously messed up.




- M.

This might be one of the darkest of all of the entries ever posted in the history of this journal.

In case, like, you’d like to have a change of mind about reading further, perhaps. Which I, you know, would very heartily recommend. But it’s up to you, of course.

I’d also like everyone to acknowledge that I am thoroughly, completely exhausted indeed at the moment. I’ve also had a bit to drink (a very little bit, really). And while I usually do not like to bother people overmuch with my personal problems – ‘cept for, maybe, my folks and a few very close friends (because they will and they’ll just have to take it, like I do from them) – there come times when one just… has to let it all out. Writing has not been the way for me to do that for a couple of years – it’s really pathetic how little I’ve been writing these last few years – but it makes me feel better. At least, I can pretend it does. For a while. If I try real hard.

I believe in clichés, so let’s start with the fact that life fucking sucks. Not in the omg angst-IlljusthavetocutmywristsbecauseIamadramaticteenager-way, but in the hard, actual grown up way. This is, naturally, the understatement of the century. Everyone must face that sooner or later, save maybe the odd person who manages to live all their life in a bubble of sorts and never has to really see the ugly side of it, but generally speaking.

So life is shit. I understand that. Okay. It’s allright, I can live with that, because I must. Like everybody else. Right. No problem. But that fact – like facts usually – DOESN’T REALLY HELP, DOES IT? It doesn’t make you feel better. It solves no actual problems. It… it’s completely useless. I can view my problems in the light of that fact, but it doesn’t change the other fact that I’ve still got those problems.

But I don’t really know if one can call it a problem anymore when one realizes that all of her life actually sucks. Not just life in general, but that particular life. Because right at the moment, I think mine does, and badly.

I am going to end up that old lonely lady in the apartment in the attic who no-one ever visits, who doesn’t have any relatives or friends, and who has this very eerie air about her when she shows up outside to go food shopping – which is all she does. I am not kidding, I WILL. I don’t want to, God I don’t, but I’m afraid I will.

Because that sounds very much like the life I’ve had all fall and late summer. Other people move on – man, most people have moved on. I get the odd phone call, and yes, I suppose we see every now and then, but the cold, hard fact is that nearly everybody’s gone, and started something of a new life, and they are excited about it and caught up in it and all that they’re supposed to be. Those that remain have something to do, as well, and they don’t seem to worry like I do either, because they’ve a life full of new friends and adventures and studies and stuff. Well, yeah; I guess I’ve something to do, too – a job I’ve got a love/hate relationship with, and my mother, father and brother as company. Fucking yay?

I’ve talked about this before with a friend or two, but what I am most fervently afraid of is that one day, I’m maybe – hopefully – going to have a kid of my own, but that I’m not going to be able to provide him with any sort of godparents. The thought makes me sick.

Tomorrow I’ll wake up to laugh about all of this, I hope. I’ve done that. But the fear lingers, somewhere there. However silly it might seem to you. But these are the thoughts that cross my mind much too often these days.

Yeah, that’s right. I’m actually afraid.

I am just so very lonely these days, is all.



- M.

No one must feel the need to comment in this entry, fear not. Nevertheless – no one word in this entry is one that didn’t come from deep within my heart. Just so you know.

Niin ku toi Syrjän Martti saattas sanua.

I've a very obscure fear. I'm afraid I'm losing my English - or bits of it, like all the bits and pieces that once made it somewhat versatile and vivid. The bits that made it possible for me to express myself in the language without any difficulty at all times. For instance, today at lunch in the playschool Joan told us about her maniac mother-in-law - a complete madwoman, by the sounds of it; she told us of her fierce hope that it doesn't run in the family, for otherwise she'd have to seriously reconsider her plans to ever have children with her husband - and a few things came to my mind that I could have said aloud, but then didn't, because of words or expressions that I didn't know. Like, I knew in my head what I wanted to say, but couldn't get it out because I lacked what it would be in English. It feels like, you now, these days all I know in that language is "get dressed, sweetheart", "eat your food, darling", or, "do you need to go to the toilet, love?" As everyone can see, I'm sure, those are not sentences one can make use of to hold a conversation with a grown-up person, are they now. All of this is in fact quite ironic, isn't it - working somewhere where one uses English all day each day, and what comes out of it? Getting worse at the language? What the goddamn freaking fuck?

So much for that, though. There are other, merrier things to write about. Like me and Salla's boyfriend's evil master plan that I now can speak of, once it's over successfully. You see, Simone - Salla's Italian boyfriend, who was an exchange student up here last year - left in July. Salla made a trip to Italy for three weeks late in summer, but since that they haven't seen each other. Well, Simone contacted me - via Facebook, surprisingly (... not) - and let me in on his great secret plan, which went pretty much as follows: He wanted to surprise Salla by showing up on their doorstep on the 16th (two days before their six-month anniversary) unbeknownst by her, naturally, and needed my help in this. He was in need of Salla's parents' contact information, and I called her mother at the spot and asked for an e-mail address, which I thereafter provided Simone with. Things worked out wonderfully, and he spent five days in Oulu. I wish this kinda brief visit of his was sufficient so that they'll make it until Christmas, when they'll see each other the next time.

Aino's coming around in a minute and what I ought to be doing is tidying up, but damn is it hard to find it in me to bother. (Of course I will, but...) God knows I'm so worn out that... can't even find a fitting metaphor, really! Kids tend to get the better of you, even if there have only been like 16 kids present each day this week (God bless autumn holidays, when people keep their children at home!) I've also caught the mother of all colds and my back's acting up once again, which just might be noteworthy factors in the matter of my physical and mental exhaustion.

I stumbled across my old notebooks - one cannot really call them 'diaries', because they are everything but; I didn't write into them regularly, neither did I write so much about my life and current happenings in it, they were just books that I filled with almost illegible scribblings at moments of inspiration, like poems and a few lines of some story etc - the other day. I spent at least a few hours reading them, and reacquainting myself with the girl that I used to be (even though, I don't exactly believe that people change. Like, the basic, deep-down nature of them - but that's another story). It was most therapeutical.

I quote,

23.9.2000 "Life isn't really that bad, sometimes it rains and sometimes sun shines and that's that." (Quite the little philosopher, eh?)
[no date] [stuff about someone criticizing my handwriting] "My handwriting might not be as good as possible, but it's definitely DECENT!"
14.5.2002 "I am not afraid of many things, but I am afraid to go to the DENTIST!"

Oh, to be young and stupid and eleven again.

Cheers.




- M.

Folks who never do any more than they get paid for, never get paid for any more than they do.
Elbert Hubbard.

Well, I seem to know the truth in that sentence instinctively alright... because for your information, yours truly has not once gone home from work at the time my shift ended since the day I started at the playschool. Nope, I've done at least an extra half an hour every day now, and last Wednesday, in fact, I realized it was 4 PM all of a sudden and my shift ends at three.

But then again, the playschool is a challenging place to work at to be sure. Not only is it hard to deal with two dozen kids at the same time (there are 62 kids in total), but of those two dozen, most are boys - I seem to be the boys' favorite teacher these days. That is naturally because I am going to be a police officer - and to them, it doesn't really matter whether I already am one or only seeking to become such a thing - and when we went ice skating, I had what they call "boys' skates" - also known as hockey skates by grown-up people. These two things seem to have made me the boys' hero of some kind, and thus, I cannot even snake out of a situation to get myself a little toilet break without one or two pairs of hands grabbing at me from somewhere, and a whiny, or excited, or teary, but without exception loud voice going, "Miia, listen to meeeeee (please)?"

This is not to say I don't love the children. Oh, on the contrary - they are all adorable, on varying degrees of course, but wonderful nonetheless. My favorites so far are Seeti (a 3-year-old, and the CUTEST THING SINCE... SINCE NOTHING, because NOTHING has EVER been cuter than him!), Anton (a five-year-old, and a total troublemaker - which might be why I'm so fond of him and he of me; we've both recognized a kindred spirit in each other), Otso (another three-year-old; looks like one of my youngest cousins, Mikael, but more... slender. He's a quiet, thoughtful one, who almost never causes trouble or too much noise, but stands up for himself alright), Samuel (a four-year-old, and another troublemaker; to be honest, the worst in the whole school. But he listens to me somewhat, because I don't pamper him like one or two of the other teachers. And the lad's got some attitude at least; a fact which appeals to me - even though said attitude sucks most of the time), Luna (a four-year-old, and the most beautiful little girl ever. And the girl knows how to behave, she really really does), Nooa (a three-year-old, unsocial, exceedingly quiet, and very weepy. But he loves me, because I am the first teacher to have had time and to have cared enough to just sit and hold him for over an hour without a break last week; the others mostly ignore him, because he is not cooperating in the least, and therefore is too much trouble in a constantly busy place like the playschool. He always comes to me when he needs help, or when he's hit his head, or when someone's been mean to him, or when he just wants to be picked up and held tight). I've also a particular liking for Feifei, Eliel, Bakang, and wee Hilla (she's the smallest of 'em all, a newcomer, and has the most dazzling smile in the world! And really old clothing, and a teddybear at least the size of herself, that she never lets go of).

My co-workers at the playschool are fantastic as well, on a few exceptions (like the headmistress; she's very demanding, very blunt, but very fair, and most days makes me feel amazingly worthless), and her left hand, the second co-head (the first one being Raija, whom I admire very much), Jo. My favorite colleagues are Helena and Laura, out of whom Helena has been to the army (you'd never guess just looking at her... we laughed about the fact that the both of us have been to such a place, and ended up working with kids of all things), and the latter, Laura, is very kind, very laid-back, very determined, and very attractive (I didn't just say that. But she is, there's no denying it. And she's a wonderful person to be sure, even if she comes from Wales and one simply cannot understand her when she speaks quickly, if one doesn't pay extra attention. I'm hoping I'll pick up a sort of a British accent while I'm working at the playschool, because half of the staff are British... and even if it's a complete, utter cliché, a British accent is sexy, or some of them are. Laura's isn't so much so, maybe, if I'm honest. Which does nothing to lessen the truth in the fact that I wouldn't terribly mind getting into her pants of my God why am I writing stuff like this? I should really go get myself safely tucked into bed I think...

Onto other stuff! Winter's approaching real quickly it'd seem. First snow came and went, but the frost stayed, and the chilly weather. Oh, how I love the cold, crisp, sunny days like today was! Too bad my camera's memory card was so packed, or otherwise I could've taken a few totally beautiful pictures on my way from the playschool to the city centre this afternoon. Alas, I haven't copied the Kuusamo pictures from the card to my computer yet, which is why it was so full that I couldn't. However, on days like this one has been, I am very much in love with autumn. (And Christmas is coming as well. Without a hint of a doubt the best holiday there is.)

I promise I'll update on other stuff later this week. Maybe at weekend, 'cause Mum and Dad are going to Kuusamo and Ville's intending to stay both nights at Miika's, which means I'll have the house to myself mostly (and I need that company, so - anyone?)

G'night,




- M.

I honestly do not know how to word this so that it won't sound precisely like what it probably will sound like: a poor opinion that has stemmed from the fact that I haven't lost as much of the naïvety I once had lots of, as I have claimed to have lost. Because to many, this will sound completely like the philosophy of someone who hasn't quite grasped what this life is about, and what the famous terms Responsibility and Common Sense, which-are-both-to-be-cherished-and-worshipped, stand for.

As no one yet knows (a deliberate thing, that) my dearest little brother - my only little brother, at that - is dropping out of school. More bluntly put, quitting it. Now if you're anything like me, the first thought that you probably have is, if you know Ville even somewhat, "What? Quitting school at seventeen? What the hell!"

And that was my first reaction to the news exactly.

It's been argued over a few dozen times already, and his decision is final, I think - though Ville is pretty impulsive by nature. I do not like it even now, but I understand the reasoning behind it, and I can see how perfectly it fits his character. Don't get me wrong; he is, when he wants to be, which seems to be increasingly often nowadays, quite responsible and sensible already. Of course, there is the occasional whim, and fit, and angst - but the guy IS only seventeen (alright, alright, 16 and 11 months), after all, and hasn't the most... calm... nature one could ask for. Not that I would ever ask to be all calm and collected by nature myself, because BOOORIIING, says me, but anyway, I'm digressing... so. I'm not cheering him on by any means, no, but I understand why he wants to do this and can clearly see how I am stupid - because by all that's holy, I really should have seen this coming. Like, duh. Did I honestly, truly, really expect him to find the right field of study for himself this quickly? Did I really think that he would have the patience it takes to stick with said field of study and not go explore the alternatives he has? Because, honestly, this is my little brother, and no one knows my little brother better than I do, if not maybe Mum. No, not even her, not all the time. So why on earth did I not know to expect this? Whattahell, Miia?

Well, the answer's so simple it's quite laughable, really. I did not see it coming because I chose not to - I thought it would all be well and good and he would graduate in three years with a fully respectable profession and maybe work for a couple of years and then go to get himself an engineering degree. I chose to think that, that is - I didn't automatically think that. Which is sad for me, because this is what came out of it and I should've known, but only didn't, because I was NAÏVE and stupid. Especially naïve. And especially stupid.

But to put an end to this little hobby of mine that is digressing... I'm not all that against Ville's quitting school anymore, like I mentioned. And this is where some of you most possibly will think me childish and irresponsible and what-have-you. Because, truth to be told, I don't find the idea all that idiotic anymore. He's got himself a job for the gap year already, and only a blind, deaf idiot couldn't see how much happier he is now than he was only two weeks ago. I'm happy for him, even if I'm not completely happy about his quitting school.

In the end, there is also one more fact to be considered, and that is the fact that neither Ville nor myself are any sort of school-lovers. I liked school alright at my time, but that was mostly because of the great friends I had there, and because most of my teachers were, if not awesome, then at least passable, and I've always liked knowing stuff, and learning it, even if the concept of school has never appealed to me that much. Like, sitting through boring lessons and listening to someone preaching about something or the other in the front, and what worst, even sometimes having to study stuff from books without any, you know, actual activity. Ugh, I tell you. Then there were teachers that could really make a class tolerable at worst and fascinating at best, and those classes I had absolutely nothing against. But sadly, 70 % of school is, even these days, mostly dreary, lame teachers and even drearier, lamer lessons. All the stuff that they're trying to teach people is of course handy, and useful, and important, but the way they try to make people learn... the 'I give you information, you internalize it, process it, and know it thereafter until the end of your days, without ever getting to use it before we toss you out into the world to make use of it' - that's what sucks in my blatantly honest opinion.

And Ville is even more pronouncedly that way than I am. He needs to do things with his hands to learn them - giving him a book and ordering him to learn what's said in there leads to absolutely nothing (if said book is not Donald Duck or an equivalent). But he is good at other stuff. He knows his Physics, he knows his Maths and his English. He can fix anything with wheels, or anything resembling a computer. He is good at technical stuff. He is strong physically, and he knows it; he knows he doesn't have to be afraid in the middle of the night alone in the city centre. Hell, I know I don't have to be afraid for my safety (... not that I very often were) when I'm with him. He is awfully good with kids and animals, and he can come up with a practical solution to pretty much any every-day problem one can have. There is no sport he doesn't know how to do, or that he is pants at. He has known how to drive a car since he was twelve. He appears to remember all the sports statistics. On the other hand, he cannot cook, he doesn't know Swedish, he isn't good at Geography, Biology, Finnish, or History. He doesn't know how to wash clothes, or who was the previous prime minister. But there are a lot of things he knows, and a damn big part of those things are way more useful than a damn big part of the (useless) stuff I know that he doesn't. Most of that something I have learned from a school book of some kind.

The more notorious of my grandmothers, Mum's mother (who hasn't, of course, been told yet - for obvious reasons) will of course make him feel LOADS of guilt over his decision to quit construction. She won't even care about the fact that he is going back to school next fall, only onto a different branch - no, she'll go absolutely nuts. And Ville is, at the end of the day, a rather easy person to make feel guilty - due to his lack of self-esteem. Sure, he is acts all manly and is, even, I think, and he sticks up for himself and for me, for instance, but deep inside he is not at all that self-assured.

And I know there is and will be other people just like Grandma. To them, Ville's decision is an act of immaturity, and shows only irresponsibility and naïvety. In their opinion, as well as Grandma's, this gap year he's taking will merely be the beginning of his downfall. But they are the same people to whom I am every bit as immature, because I accept his decision (still not cheering him on, only in terms with it). But he says it's not what he wants to study, and I respect that.

Then again, Grandma is one of those people that think that Ville was crazy to begin with not to go to upper secondary. One of the people who still think that vocational is somehow a lesser place to study at than high school; that if you haven't matriculation examination results on you, you are not as worthy. Well, those people are simply jerks, if you ask me, and can go rot on any level of Hell they choose for all I care. They're the same people that think that one cannot truly be a mature and grown-up and intelligent person if one hasn't got at least one higher degree, doesn't make loads of money, doesn't appear sophisticated, can't discuss remarkable current global crises in-depth and doesn't speak at least three foreign languages. To them, a person who has to dirty their hands every day at work, and whose job is harder on their muscles than their brain must be a lesser person than they are somehow. They think that if someone knows more about the anatomy of the roof above your head than that of your body, they must be in some way less intelligent and not to be taken as seriously. Bullshit, say I. A person like that is every bit as respectful to me as is a nuclear scientist. In all honesty, I am happier to have a roof above my head than to know stuff about particles - not that particles weren't important, but you get my drift. To Ville, and to myself, a person with a sweaty, dirty, honest job is equally as mature, and smart, and important than a person with a nice clean indoor desk job, no matter how administrative or otherwise high-ranking or majestic or aristocratic. In fact, I secrectly reckon that a person with a physically challenging job might even be more grown-up than one who has done clean and pretty work all their life - at least a person coming home at the end of the day with their muscles all achy know that they've truly accomplished something - done something for their money.

And I love my little brother. So if Grandma or anyone else thinks him immature because of his decisions - both the gap year and the decision to go to vocational - they can come and voice their opinion straight to my face and we'll see about that.

I am proud of him.



Thanks for letting me flood your f-pages,




- M.

I've five topics for today's entry.

Work - finally. Something to do during the long hours of the day, and to make some money flow in. Or, well, flowing might be a wee exaggeration; leaking might come closer to the truth. But ANYWAY. Hurrah! And I get to do something I like. After all - I love kids, I love the English language, and I love the location, that part of... Intiö, I suppose the area counts as? No? Anyway, the whole riverside part of Oulu is just lovely, and combining these three... well, I couldn't be happier! Even though I'm a bit anxious, in a bad way, about the kids. After all, nothing's freakier as a five-year-old with a posh British upper class accent, is something? :'D

Autumn. I'm exceedingly fond of this time of the year. Granted, spring and late winter rock my socks, but a cool and crisp morning in the fall comes only second to them (third? Whatever!) Which is one reason why I've never suffered from any sort of seasonal depression in the fall (not that I have at any other time of the year either, that is). People keep angsting after the glorious sunny days of summer, but really, I'm not inclined to actually like summer - I prefer coolness as opposed to heat, and the sun shines all the same in September as it does in July. Sure, it doesn't exactly give you a tan, but that's not something I'm likely to get even if I lived outdoors all June and July, so that's as well in my case. And yeah, well, one can't very well back their stuff and go spend a day on the beach when it's barely +5° out there, but I'm not that keen on the lying-all-day-on-the-beach thing either, so there.

Motherhood. A surprise there, wasn't it? :D It's just that the most curious thing happened last night (and that sounds SO WRONG :D I assure you, no pun intended)... it was a dream I had. I can't remember who the father of the poor child was, but I most certainly was pregnant (I've this vague recollection that the father had something to do with Roger MacKenzie, from D. Gabaldon's series... err... however...) and somehow I knew it was a boy, and I was completely in agony because I just couldn't think of any suitable names for the wee thing. Like, what? And want to know what the most disturbing thing about this is? When I woke up and my brain had cleared enough to realize all it was was a dream, I was actually a tad sad for a few moments, because I wasn't expecting. I repeat - what?!

Police College. I've decided I'm going there. That is, I'll do everything in my power to get in, at least. All that is required is a bit of exercise and cramming. I can do that. I can. Since M service, I've gone to the gym or to swimming or played volleyball a total of five times a week! So yeah, I can exercise, that's for sure, but the studying is a whole another matter completely... like, from a book, y'know? And it's law... but I'll do what I must. A (wo)man has got to do what a (wo)man has got to do, eh?

London. ... here I come! Now that I've got money coming in from somewhere - most likely, that is, I've not yet signed the papers - I've made plans to put some aside each month to my other bank account, to form a fund for the motorbike license and the London trip that I'm planning on. After all, it'll not be nearly as expensive this time as it was in June, because now I've got Kirsi's (or, possibly, Piia's) to stay at. I've sworn to myself, this time I'm visiting Stonehenge. Just because I've always wanted to go there, and it's a fascinating place. And I'd most fervently like to visit Scotland, as well. And that's because... well... it's Scotland, y'know?

Tonight we're going to the city for Reike's 20th birthday, and next weekend (2.-4.10.) the old gang, minus Aino (and I'm still crying blood because of her absence) is going away for the weekend, to ever-so-beloved Kannonkolo. Yay! (What should we call this trip, then, Riikka? We've already covered Mayday and Easter, what shall this be known by? Autumn trip is the obvious choice, of course, but...)

G'day, everybody!





- M.

During the week since my last entry, I have


SUCCESSFULLY

i) Spoiled myself about Harper's Island (we're as far as the third ep around here). I watched episode 13 online, and I've got to admit - 'twas a total surprise, the murderer's identity that is. Though I should've seen the signs... because like, there were several. What kind of a cop will I make, damn!

ii) Proven to myself that indeed, each and every one of my muscles, including the smallest and least significant ones, are very much alive and working. 'No dead muscle tissue feels pain', eh, Lieutenant Fräntilä said so! (Back in sweet army days. Sigh.......) Ergo, all of my muscles work, because goddamn it, all of my muscles hurt! 'S not my fault Salla has asked me to the gym three times this week... but hey, the muscles in both of my calves are back in the shape they were in when I was at the height of my swimming career, spring 2006 - that is, nicely visible even when I'm not tensing them.

iii) Made an awesome cake for Eija's - cipatcli - housewarming party, that will take place tomorrow night in Hiukkavaara (one of my favourite places around Oulu. A fact that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with anything army-related. No. Not at all. She's just a lucky bitch to live there, I'll say that much.) It's a semi-mudcake sort of rich chocolate cake with cream-raspberry-mascarpone filling. And I even made chocolate butterflies to decorate the thing with! Aaand lots of cream, piped in beaaautiful patterns that I learned from one of Mum's old dusty heavy cooking books.


SEMI-SUCCESSFULLY

i) Gotten myself a job. One or two advertisements have been quite promising... as in, I've been able to meet the requirements, and I don't exactly see why I wouldn't get myself at least an interview.

ii) Avoided Grandma. She's completely, utterly driving me INSANE. Like, you wouldn't believe what she keeps telling people concerning my dropping out of the M service? "Oh, I'm so glad, I'm so relieved, it's really for the best - and anyway, doesn't she look way more pretty in a skirt than she does in camouflage?" I'M NOT KIDDING, NO! Those are her exact words - I quote. I've only translated them! She even keeps reiterating that to my older uncle - my I'm-so-proud-of-you-and-excited-that-you're-going-to-the-army-uncle, my ex-peacekeeper current-firefighter motorbike-owner scuba-diver I-don't-do-hair-longer-than-5mm reckless-and-so-much-fun uncle, who's also my first godfather. PLEASE, like. I can only imagine what he replied to Granny's words...

iii) Pissed Grandma off. Referring to above, the first time she rejoiced in the fact that I'd come home, and uttered all of that nonsense, I actually stood up to her - well, I usually do - and said something along the lines of, "Really, that's what you think? Because, I'm not particularly fond of skirts, y'know. Camouflage feels more like home, if you get what I mean." Because honestly now, c'mon. It's even a bit offensive, that she's so overtly delighted that I dropped out! A grandmother, in my world at least, shouldn't be glad that her grandchild had to let go of a dear, dear dream they'd been planning for and excited about for over 4 years, and that they are exceedingly depressed about it now. I mean, surely glad is not what she should be. Relieved, well, I can get that, but happy about it? It's not right, tell me it isn't! She's seriously pissing me off this time. Oh, I can't wait to break the news about my future profession! No, your lil' Miia ain't gonna turn out a teacher or a secretary or a nurse or a doctor or even a lawyer - no, your lil' Miia's gonna be out in the field doing the dirty work. Sorry, Grandma. You don't always get what you want.

iv) Died. I had another vomit disease in a year Sat-Mon. It was awful. Losing three kgs of body weight in ~18 hours is not a laughing matter exactly. I saw lights, you know. And not all of the voices I heard were exactly there...


UNSUCCESSFULLY

i) Gotten over M service. I have failed so badly. It's so hard to let go. I want to be there, fighting and shooting and marching and sleeping little and eating a lot and tying my hair in a bun in less than half a minute and bicycling with the Forces' pathetic excuses for bicycles and listening when we're yelled at and when we're praised and dressing in camouflage and feeling home-sick and loving the team spirit and hating the world and feeling like a complete wreck and learning useful stuff...

ii) Become a better person. Not that I've been actively trying, but one should, at times, I think.

iii) Managed two pull-ups. PATHETIC, yeah I know...


I feel like getting high as a kite, second day in row now. Sadly, my bank account is getting ever closer to zero, and alcohol's expensive stuff. At least, if one prefers to drink proper alcohol, to get properly pissed.

Oh, well. That's it. Sleep will be next.



Love,




- M.


P.S.: And Lil - stella8h8chang - I'm very sorry to hear about what's recently happened in your life. :(

Up until yesterday I thought I was Quite The Loser.

I mean, firstly, and most importantly, I had Quit Military Service. Ouch, you know. Self-loathing. Depression. Angst. Longing. Self-esteem pretty much zero, if not less. Secondly, I Still Hadn't Got Myself A Goddamned Job. Fail, Miia, fail (I mean, yeah, well, I've been looking for one for two weeks or something along the lines so it's not quite that much of a failure yet, I'd guess, but still). Thirdly, I realized I'm 'losing' two-thirds of my closest personal relations, aka friends. 'Losing' here stands for not-hearing-quite-that-much-about-them-than-I-used-to and not-knowing-what's-up-with-them-for-most-of-the-time plus not-living-even-relatively-close-to-them-anymore. So, obviously, I was Quite The Loser, wasn't I.

Not to say that I don't think I am one at this very moment, but yesterday, I experienced a brief moment of self-pride the first time since leaving the Brigade 2+ weeks ago. Because yesterday I was not only very much of use at home, but also realized I wasn't a complete weakling as regards the physical state of things, and might get myself a job sooner or later. I cleaned up, I washed the dishes, I made dinner, I bicycled all the way to the gym and back, I got a reply to my inquiry on whether my au pair application had successfully arrived, which said that yes, it had indeed, and that they had taken a liking to me, and I saw Viivi, and the weather was fine. Yeah, sure, that's pretty much my average day, but what made the difference was that I just simply had so much energy that depression didn't fit into the picture. And it felt great. It sounds awfully clichéd, and it is, but I kind of... remembered who I am. Or who I'm supposed to be. Who I've been; somewhat silly, short-tempered, reckless at times, never turning down a dare, at times idiotic, with a good sense of humour. And, if you ask Mum - who is, I've to admit, very pragmatic - also absent-minded most of the time, but creative, and also pretty down-to-earth, regardless of what some people might say, and usually also very, very straightforward. I kind of like, recognized myself again.

And I laughed quite a lot yesterday. Funny - or not - but whenever I was at home for the weekend when I still was in the army, people kept telling me to laugh, because it was freaky that I didn't - providing that I'm supposed to laugh at every turn, normally. And I myself didn't even notice that I wasn't doing it. Mental, eh.

Anyway, it's not like I've yet come to terms with the fact that I am no longer a soldier, and possibly never will be again. I sure as hell haven't, and I found myself on the brink of tears when I received a wonderful letter from the girls a few days back, and... well. It's stupid, really. One can't change back time. One can't undo one's mistakes, if they are the kind that cannot be undone (don't even start with the idiotism of that sentence). I've made my bed, and I've got to lie in it, whether I'd prefer or not (and I wouldn't). So there.

Oh, and I made a decision. I'm applying to the Police College next summer. Providing I've gathered 10 months of work experience by August next year. I'm working on it.

It feels good to have goals again, after the losing the biggest goal I ever had. Oh, I just remembered what someone (can't remember who it was?) said to me when they heard about my future plans of study. It was, "So you wanna be a police officer? You do realize there aren't many more dangerous jobs out there, don't you?"

And what do you think I replied?

"That's exactly the reason, mate."




- M.

An August summer night
Soldiers passing by
Listening to the wind of change

The world closing in
Did you ever think
That we could be so close, like brothers?
- Scorpions / Wind of Change.


Right.

I'm not at all sure where to start. Or where I'm likely to end this entry. Or whether I'll ever make it that far, or just quit and shut the whole freaking machine down, and just... go do what I've done the last three days. That would consist of ignoring the stupid dull ache in my chest and burying it in meaningless, trivial stuff, like watching TV and driving aimlessly from place to place and playing PC games with Ville. Except that I can't do too much of the latter, because all of the games include guns and fighting and guns remind me... and then the stupid dull ache grows worse and the day is ruined.

You see, I've failed. There's no sense in trying to, y'know, cover it up or try to phrase it so that it'd sound nicer. It cannot sound any better. I've gone, I've messed up, and I've failed. Not the way I'd have thought, but yet I'm a failure and an idiot and I'll regret it until the day I die, and I'm certain that I pretty damn fucking straight will, I'm not exaggerating, thank you very much.

Shortly, I'm a civilian once again. In defence of myself I've got to point out that not - not - because any sort of a limit would've been reached, no. Not because I couldn't take it. Not because I broke or anything. But because, well, I screwed everything up for myself and, well, like in most cases when you're dealing with the Defence Forces, what's done is done and there's no turning back and 'we're sorry, but this is what you've been ordered to do, it's not our pain in the ass.' So, I was assigned to a task I seriously didn't want; a driver's job, 362 days. No fucking way, no way in hell.

Honestly, there were multiple reasons for this. Firstly, I wanted a corporal's insignia on my collar, thank you kindly, and that's something I wouldn't have got, were I to become a pitiful driver (and I would've still had to serve 362 days all the same! I mean, all NCOs serve 12 months, but at least they get something out of it, unlike the drivers). Secondly, let me tell you what is the best thing, above everything else, in the army. It is the team spirit, the not-leaving-you-behind atmosphere. And that's something that the drivers don't have among themselves. Thirdly, all of the friends I made will go to AUK, or somewhere; I had absolutely no friends at all in the 81 guys that were to become drivers, and was not likely to make any, because they all hated what they'd been told to do (much like myself) and couldn't have cared less. Moreover, a driver's job is not that of a real soldier's. They're not soldiers, not in the sense that everybody else is; all they do is drive, fix the vehicles, sit classes and sleep. Wearing uniforms, so that they look like soldiers, when in reality they're everything but. When real guys go on marches like 30k or 50k in full gear, or camp in middle of nowhere in the woods for a week, no chance of a shower or proper food, the drivers lazy about and nap back in the comfortable safety of their beds. After three days of lying about and trying to figure out something to kill the time with, and watching my dear friends come back from exhaustive training sweaty and dead tired, and feeling bad and unworthy because all I had done was sleep in class, eat, and sleep some more, I decided it wasn't worth it. It wasn't what I wanted to do; well, yeah, I knew from the start a driver's job was the last thing I wanted, and fell into quite a depression when I found my name on that list, but that was when I made the final decision that damn me if I would throw away my only chance of military service, completing it serving as a driver.

So I made what was easily the toughest decision I've made in my life, and came home. Swallowing tears all the way from 2nd Signals Company's Room No 16 to Kajaani's railway station (4k), and as depressed as ever, and disappointed, and angry. I left private Katila my playing cards, private Pirskanen my red Colt lighter (everyone kept asking me why I bought it, since I don't smoke; well, it's highly more useful when trying to light a fire on a rainy day than a box of matches!), private Kärnä my Compeeds, private Seppälä all the candy I had left (I'd snatched so much from her at that point that it was only fair), private Heikkinen my painkillers and private Tanskanen my blousing garters (quite worn already, but they had sentimental value - and anyway, people keep misplacing them all the time, so she'll be needing them sooner or later).

Anyway, it feels like... like grieving a lost friend, or a little more distant family member, or something. No, I take that back - it feels precisely like what it is: grieving a dream lost. A dream I'd had since I was fourteen or so. And it feels so bad it's almost ridiculous. I know it may seem a bit weird - or, a lot weird - to anyone and everyone that doesn't understand what it is that fascinates me about the whole thing, or the reasons why I went, but the grief because of a dream gone wrong and lost is something everyone can get, I'm positive.

The angst is especially bad in the evenings. I miss the girls terribly; I miss the guys almost as much; I miss all the awesome corporals we had, and some of the officers, and my narrow, squeaky bed, and my SAKO rifle, the model year 1986 (number 806033 - I'm sure I'll remember those six numbers for a loooong time to come) and my stupid boots that didn't fit and waking up at 5.45 and being all exhausted and drained and pissed off 24/7. I just miss everything.

I'm going out with Viivi and some other dudes tomorrow night, to get some fresh air. And possibly get pissed. And then... unfold... and be generally unbearable. She'll probably regret having me sleep over quite a lot.

Anyway, good night. I'll update about everything else that's been and is going on, later. When I have time. (How laughable is that? 'When I have time', when all that I have right now is... time! Oh, it's the bitterness talking, ignore me, please...)

Oh, fuck, I'm swallowing tears right now. Damn it all to hell, damn it all to fucking hell.

Christ.



Love, and such,



- M.


Some day you'll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And you'll no longer burn
To be brothers in arms.
- Dire Straits / Brothers In Arms.

First things first: I am alive. Believe it or not - whether I believe it or not - I am very much alive. Like our Physical Education Officer said Friday morning, "No dead muscle tissue feels pain. Thus, this means you lot must be alive."

Alright, so we are.

I've never in the entire space of 19 years and a couple of months that has been my life been as scared as I was on Monday, 13 July. I was terrified. I didn't remember any of the reasons why I wanted to go - voluntarily - and spend the next 6 or 9 or 12 months away from home and from all the people I love, doing exhaustive and challenging and frustrating and sometimes meaningless stuff day after day after day. Wake up before 6 AM, eat only at predefined times, wear only what is permitted and leave only when allowed. And yet I went.

Not that I'd remember those reasons even now, because I don't. But in the mornings, when it's very nearly but not quite too much, I always ask myself two questions. One: Would I have, had I known what it'd be like, still come? And two: What else would I be doing for the next year, if I dropped out? As long as the answers stay as follows, everything is still okay. One: Yes, I would have, and two: Nothing (except maybe some work, but duh, it's pretty much as well).

I'm not saying it hasn't been a shock. It has, and one of the worst kind. The three first days were pretty much shitty. Bluntly, they sucked. Big time. I've to admit I've cried, once, out of home-sickness - which, by the way, I'm pretty near the world champion in - and every morning I question all my motives and reasons and everything. I mean, I know why I applied. I've listed all those endless reasons - that seemed pretty unfaltering at the time - in numerous places and numerous times. I've rechecked them later, in order to retain some of the self-confidence and self-assurance I once had (to very little avail). When the physical element of it has been nearly too large a burden, so that my accomplishing the tasks given has been a close call, none of those reasons have seemed valid in the slightest.

Because honestly, aside from being hard, it is also a men's world. It really is. No matter what pro-equality whining my saying this may cause, it is the truth - everything there has been designed for and run by men. That's quite alright, I mean, I get along with men at least equally as well as with women, if not better. Men are more down-to-earth, sensible, and comprehensible than women. You can get your head around them far more easily than women. They're more plain and their rules in social interaction are fairer and clearer than those of women, and that suits me fine. They mostly say what they mean. Granted, men can be every bit as evil in their own way as women, but at least one gets it when they do that (unlike when women do mean, because no one can make heads or tails out of it when girls turn evil. It's tricky to know when a female hates you, because she sure as hell in 99 out of 100 cases won't tell so to your face, which is sad, and confusing, to me). But sometimes even I (not the most womanly person in the world myself) wouldn't mind the occasional 5 spare minutes to brush my hair properly or to, like, file my nails in addition to merely clipping them... so I guess it's the small luxuries of civilian life that I miss the most, second to the people here at home of course. For instance, a decent mattress in my bed, a cool drink whenever I feel like it, wearing my hair free, wearing jewellery, wearing sunglasses... that kind of things, that one has had to give up.

So anyone wanna see Miia in uniform?

( private Maikkola )

What else... well, I've made a few new friends during the last two weeks, as might be expected. Of course, the women have become something of a tight-knit group, or at least something of a beginning of such a thing. Out of the ten women - girls, maybe, since I'm the third oldest of us and the oldest one is only a year my senior - in our company (Northern Finland Signal Battalion, 2nd Signals Company), five are very likable. Out of the other four, well... one is so full of herself that it's a real miracle she hasn't yet choked on her own marvellousness, one's philosophy on life is just light years from mine (plus, I cannot believe she's of age yet. I mean, naturally she is, but honestly... if I didn't know better, I'd have guessed she's something like 15 years old, max. She acts like a highly ignorant child, looks like one, and speaks like one) and the other two haven't exactly been breaking their backs to get to know anyone else, even though they are relatively friendly most of the time. So, it could be worse. And as long as everyone is acting civilly toward everyone else, it'll work.

The guys, on the other hand, have surprised me in a positive way. They've been incredibly decent, in fact, I can't even remember more than one occasion when any of the guys has said anything negative about the female soldiers... mostly they're just curious, or simply neutral toward us; or, better yet, kind. I'm increasingly grateful for it, because it's all getting tougher and tougher day by day, and it's only a fact that most of the women can't perform as well as the guys, myself included. What always makes me smile is when any of the men offer their help, e.g. when we have to carry something extremely heavy, and the most slightly built of us struggle, and grit their teeth, hissing, "I don't need help!" :D At least they've got some spirit.

So maybe this is enough about army this time. In a few hours' time I'm leaving to return to Kajaani, and on Friday I'm coming for a couple of free days again. Take good care 'til then.


Much love,



- M.

P.S.: Oh, and by the way, we went to see HBP on Saturday. I liked it.

I have never, never been this afraid before in my entire life.

It's like, up to this morning I have known for at least three years why I want to do this. And right now - none of it left. I have no idea why I want to do this. I mean, I know I know, really, but right at the moment all of my motivation and those well-thought reasons why I want to go have gone and disappeared. It's awful. I haven't even had any appetite today, and I even - it's ridiculous - I even cried a bit when I said good-bye to Salla earlier tonight.

Wish me luck, because I'll be needing it. And I'm not even kidding, not the smallest bit. I am fucking terrified, I am scared to death (and considering how immensely hard it is for me to admit that I'm afraid of something...). I think I'm going to die.

Think about it, in 24 hours' time... no, I don't even want to think about it.

My train leaves at 10 AM.

Oh, my God.


- M.

Posting pointless entries is simply too much fun.

And good stress-management.

Okay, let's check if everything's been taken care of and in order.

[x] Buy sports bras
[x] Have my i) call-up paper, ii) ID, iii) health insurance card, iv) vaccination record, v) account number ready.
[x] Buy a new toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo + face wash, and Compeeds
[x] Buy new sunglasses
[x] Charge my camera's battery
[x] Wash my dark green and black T-shirts
[x] Clip my finger nails short
[x] Buy painkillers + remember allergy medication
[x] Have the battery of my watch changed
[ ] Choose what one book I'm taking with me
[ ] Find the leather sheath of my Leatherman! Where can it possibly be?
[ ] Buy a hair comb!
[ ] Remember playing cards

Oh, and a few memes. Just to. Distract me.

( better shoot on sight )

I'm going to watch Coraline with Emppu today. Just to distract me further. Distractions, distractions, distractions. I just am not quite sure if anything can distract me anymore when I'm (most likely) drunk tomorrow night. You know, when drunk, I find it extensively difficult to distract myself from disturbing and uncomfortable thoughts. Much unlike everyone else.

Really now, it's ridiculous - it's my last civilian weekend in a long time. People, wish me luck.


Yours, nervously,


-M.

"Seuraavan saapumiserän palvelukseenastumispäivään 13.07.2009 on enää 5 aamua."

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, like Claire Fraser would say.

Also; ye Finns, check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UgcQojbAco&feature=channel_page :D.

Not having a particularly nice evening, I've to say. Been thinking too much once again. Thinking's mostly a pain in the arse, it is.

Plus, I'm increasingly nervous. Suppose none of you has to ask why. When it's additionally one of those, these days quite rare, nights when my philosophical side takes over, it's not a pretty sight.

Firstly, I've yet again had to make myself clear on the matter of why, in fact, am I going to the army.

Well, let's get one thing straight at least. No matter what Lempi or some other old clueless hag or some flimsy superficial semi-friend thinks, I'm not going to Kajaani to, like, show off or get fit or get myself a goddamn man. (Or a woman, for that matter - some seem to be doing that, as well.) I'm going there because, well, sure, I want to see where my limits really are, and I'm sure it will be a most educational and hardening experience and help me grow as a person, but also because it's simply a way to give my contribution. Oh, granted, people keep saying that there's no war coming on or anything like that, but mostly, those are the same people that - in my most honest opinion (which I, thankfully, can freely proclaim in here), quite naïvely - think that the (Finnish) army's one and only sole purpose is to teach people how to kill other people. Because, honestly.

Firstly, (semi-)compulsory military service is Finland's only reasonable form of accomplishing national defence - like numerous people more knowledgeable on the matter than myself have said, a mercenary army is not an option for us. Secondly, it's not even near like the army didn't teach anything else than how to kill. Like, what about enduring hard stuff and getting something of a backbone, and knowing something in general about technical stuff, and learning teamwork and multi-tasking, and yes I guess learning some general stuff about weapons as well? I'm ready to leave all guns be and become a peace hippie the moment Lennon's imaginary world comes and everyone else on the planet haven't got any ammo either. Before that happens, I'll be glad to know as much about warfare and protecting what is dear to me as does anyone that's a potential threath to those. So there. Call me a militarist and a brute and a patriot. I am not much any of those; or, maybe as much of the last as the next person.

Not to digress... So, better yet are the people who appeal to my conscience on the matter; "under the imaginary circumstance that a war was to break out, how can you go and actually kill another human being? How can you do it?" First I simply answer, "with my Rk 62, of course," but the serious answer I usually give goes somewhat like this. Naturally I have yet to shoot an actual gun, not to mention getting myself in a situation where I would potentially have to harm someone with it - and heaven forbid I hope I never have to find myself in a spot like that - but I've got a philosophy about it. What I usually say to the people who point out the (far-fetched) prospect of actually having to kill another person - "and think about his (possible) wife and kids, too!" - is this. The reason why I suppose I could take someone's life - and get traumatised, guilty, and damaged as a result - is because that way I'd prevent them from taking the lives of my brothers-in-arms, and their wives and children, and probably the lives of other people I, and the inquirer love in the home front, as well. Put that way, it seems damn fair to me, at least.

Where another problem enter is that I did a political orientation test online. The result was as expected, but it made me think even more than I already had. My head actually hurts... not from the thinking (:D), I suppose, though, but from the... dunno... getting bothered about stuff and all. Because, arrgh. It's the very usual and clichéd "where is this world coming to?" issue. Because where is it coming to, really! It all interlaced with my military musings, and I ended up actually questioning myself: Why do I want go further than most of my gender and age to protect a country that is led by people that I didn't vote for, and that is going toward a direction almost entirely contrary to the direction I would want it to go? Because it is a damn good question. And it's not even the first time the thought has crossed my mind. This is one more reason why I think I was born in the wrong time, but let's not go into that now, or else this will turn out the craziest post since the beginning of time, or LJ.

Well the answer is quite obvious, and I already answered this question earlier, really. I may not like the political state we're in. I may present the almost exactly opposite political opinion than the people that run this country (or run it for the remaining time until 2011). But well, it's not like I'm only going to be trained to protect the right-wing Finns, is it. I love this country, and the citizens of Finland are my people, rightists or no. At the times when I feel like this country's gone all conservative and being led by fucking right wing extremists and overly rich fucks that have too much money and only pursue to keep as much of it as they can to themselves and to the devil with those poor whiners, I ask myself that if such a situation was to arise that someone threathened this country - including, naturally, them as well - what would I do? And I answer myself that I would go to war for them as well, because it is the right thing to do. You can't serve a country and be selective about its citizens. So, it isn't a problem, really, but... one has to have something to muse about, no?

Phew, what a rant. But I had to get it out of my system or else I'd very soon have done all sorts of nasty things.

Aside from the problems inside my head, there have been other problems outside it that have affected my evening negatively. Like poor Mum. Guess I already mentioned we're doing a mother-daughter trip to southern Finland next week. While in Turku we're going to visit a gentleman - some kind of -path or other - of Grandda's acquaintance, who may be able to do something about Mum's lower back. It's been really bad for the last two weeks - again - to the point that she can't sit nearly at all or stand for longer periods of time. It's really heart-wrenching - so much so that I actually, one late night in the solitude of my bed first cried for at least half an hour, and then actually prayed for her. Me. Yes. And I'm honest. Even more so because Mum's near the strongest person I know, and consequently doesn't complain much about it, even though each of us can see how much in pain she is. She even has a job where she has to mostly stand on her feet, for God's sake. And she absolutely hates to feel incompetent - which makes this all that much more unfair, and awful. The only time I've seen her cry in the space of the last year or so was a week ago when she had to ask me to help her put her plate in the dishwasher, because she couldn't bend, and then she surprised and shocked me by weeping a bit because she felt so useless, having to ask help. It was a dreadful day.

So I seriously hope she'll get some help from Turku. Because if she doesn't, I don't know what I'll do. Probably go into pieces. She doesn't want anyone's pity, but I'm not that good at masking mine; mostly I try to, and then let it all out in the blessed solitude of my bed in the darkness, when everyone else sleeps.

Okay, so. Man was this one in-depth post. Hopefully you're all very well. Continue to take care. I'll update once or twice before D-day; see you.



Love,



- M.