Melancholia

As I often don't have any money, I must find other means than buying things to cure my winter depression. My favourite ones, always working, are:
- Reading Madame Figaro
- Watching Sound of Music or Mary Poppins. The wonderful Julie Andrews…
- Listening to Cole Porter

And if I for some odd reason want to drown in my self pity I can always
- Read Sylvia Plath or Anne Sexton
- Watch again and again “In the mood for love”
- Have a look at the saldo on my bank account

What a life

I have a feeling that I am not using my time very reasonably. The hours I am not sleeping, I use my time in average

- 20 % for laughing
- 20 % for crying
- 20 % in a state of mind I don’t know whether to laugh or cry
- 40 % for daydreaming

Liar, liar

I don’t know why I lie so much, but I guess that sometimes getting my way is so much shorter with a little lie. Today at Piscine Municipale someone had taken my swimming track, the one next to the middle cord separating the swimming section from water gymnastics. I just cannot get in the spirit of Michael Phelbs and dreaming of winning my 117th Olympic gold medal if I am not swimming on my usual track. So I asked the lady who had taken my track if she would mind changing the lanes as I feel more secure next to the cord being epileptic. She could perfectly understand my point and went off swimming elsewhere.

Once on a flight we were served coffee with very boring vacuum packed sand cake. It looked quite disgusting so I told the stewardess that I had diabetes, maybe she had something else for me. After two minutes she came back with a sandwich with smoked salmon. My husband tried in vain to convince the stewardess, half of the sand cake in his mouth, “I am diabetic, too!”.

The way getting things done at the office

My phone headset hasn’t been working for weeks; these kind of technical problems really annoy me as I have no interest in getting involved with cords and codes, it is a man thing (I am sure that all the cordless inventions are thanks to women). The hetero guy has tried to look at it, but without results. Finally last week I got so tired of not having the head set that I used the last possible mean to get it fixed; I told the hetero guy I would agree to have sex with him if he fixed the phone. HE FIXED IT.

I am not going to the company Christmas party, hell no.
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School evaluations

Just as much as I fear my son’s school evaluations, I love my daughter's. The teachers always start with the positive stuff and on my daughter’s part the evaluation stays positive for all the 20 minutes. My son’s school evaluation starts with the very short positive part; how the teachers are impressed of his perfect spelling of dirty words he certainly hasn’t learned at school and hopefully neither at home (both I and my husband shake our heads firmly to convince he hasn’t learned them at home either). Yes, that was the positive part, then comes the negative one for the rest of the 19 minutes. Well, he is a boy, he likes to put living frogs on girls’ desks, I personally think dead ones would be much worse.

Today we had my daughter’s evaluation and as expected, it was very positive. My daughter is wonderful and fantastic, just like her mummy. But according to the teachers she has a very weird sense of humour. HOW CAN A 6-YEAR OLD GIRL HAVE A WEIRD SENSE OF HUMOUR? Like all the children, she thinks Mr Bean and Louis de Funes are funny. That she also laughs at my jokes doesn’t make her sense of humour weird, or does it?

WW1

Jean-François Delassus has made a fantastic documentary about World War I that ended for 90 years ago. EVERYBODY SHOULD SEE IT. What madness, I can’t believe that the human kind doesn’t learn from it's mistakes.

My grandpa was a messenger in World War II. He had to deliver the messages, no matter how many grenades were exploding around him. Still in the fifties my father had to witness my grandpa’s screaming in the middle of the night when he was having nightmares about the war.

And as my grandpa hadn’t been suffering enough, I just had to go and burn down his chicken house. And pee in his boots...

I have a dream

I dream of building a boat, I have had this dream for more than 30 years. I will ask my dad again, but he doesn’t really share the dream with me. He dreams only of the day I stop asking him.