Saturday, December 01, 2012
I was the dorkiest teen you can imagine. No, really.
I grew up surrounded by books, and I read voraciously, but they were "good" books (I think there are very few bad books out there today, but that's another topic for another day), so they basically taught me nothing about basic social interaction.
I have no social intuition- I take my cues from everyone around me, I watch people like a hawk, and have a database of what reaction is appropriate to which situation. Yes, the drama of the gifted kid or whatever you want to call it. I call it being a dork.
After I just embarrassed myself yesterday at lunch when, in typical Chiso fashion, I didn't even realize someone was flirting with me and offered sincere and real advice to a rhetorical question (hey, I'm still WORKING on that German!), I was reminded of the few HS/AP classes I couldn't get homeschooled in.
The talk of the town among the fifteen year-olds: Trading in your v-card.
Chiso (me), barely turned 12: I have to STOP PLAYING MY VIOLIN? WHY???
Thursday, November 29, 2012
When it's cold, and everything hurts, and especially with the virus, I wished I could just beam home.
I miss my family so much- most days it's just a dull ache, but when I'm ill and hurting it's an open wound throbbing with the lack of arms to offer shelter.
Yes, my very much caring and loving boyfriend tries to fill the gap, but there are certain things, a certain sense of safety and security, that only family can offer.
He can't really cook, either.
I miss my Gran's special chicken soup (with browned semolina and super finely julienned veggies in it) that always makes me feel better.
I miss Mom sitting next to me on the bed or couch, vegetating with me while Face Off or my latest favorite TV series is playing on the screen, and gradually turning away from watching and just falling into chatting (I always need some time, even among my family, to drop the armor and start opening up).
I miss my brothers starting rousing games of nerf basketball (I have a nerf basketball set mounted to my room's door), where none of us move from the bed and it ends with us just piling on top of each other and savoring the closeness.
I miss my Dad coming home from work, putting on his sweats and starting to work on his latest project. I miss hearing him trying to talk less scientist and more English with the only non-scientist in the family (me). I miss his eyes lighting up when I "get it". I miss helping him soldering, programming, or building things.
I miss my Grandpa. He's dead now, but he was the one who taught me to play chess and told me that most conversations are nothing but a big chess match when I came home in tears from being bullied at one of the classes I had to take at the local college. He was never the warmest person (which is strange since the rest of my family is a giant heatball), but, in his own, rational, mathematically brilliant mind, I know he was at least if not proud of me then respecting my choices in the end. He taught me chess, and he taught me to love and excel at maths and not to be ashamed of it even though, as a girl, the world thinks I should be.
I miss our house. I miss the sounds of the ocean and the Intracoastal. I miss the smell of warm, humid, salty, tangy air. I miss the cries of the birds and the humming of the bees our neighbors keep. I even miss the pretentiousness of the neighborhood (didn't used to be, my great-grandparents bought the property when Florida was still a wasteland attracting snowbirds and nothing else).
These are the memories I hold on to, when everything seems like it's darker than what I can endure. These are the things that pull me up and pull me through.
These, and that I don't want to disappoint any of these amazing, warm people, my family, when I come home again. Giving up is pretty much the only thing that would, so it's the one thing I can never ever do.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Oldie but goodie- it got me again today because I had to try and reason with a French company (I'm sure there are just as many lovely and reasonable people in France as there are elsewhere, I just haven't met them yet!):
In heaven - The British are the police. The Germans are the engineers. The Italians are the cooks. The French are the lovers. And it's all organized by the Swiss.
In hell - The Germans are the police. The British are cooks. The Swiss are the lovers. The Italians the engineers. And the French organize it all.
Thursday, November 08, 2012
... are coming to town on the weekend and are staying for a month. And I have to go on a business trip. Meh. To Munich of all places! And on crutches. And not able to nip out and sightsee on a whim. MEH! Did I mention the crutches? They're here to stay for another week because I'm not healing as fast as my doctors would like. The incisions are closed and the stitches out, but internally, my shattered, stapled kneecap is acting up and inflaming the cartilage and tendons and the muscle that was just reattached. So, no weight-bearing walking still. MEH!
Will definitely go to the biggest carnival in northern Germany some time next week though- colleagues promised to take me. Apparently, it's a tradition and they were horrified that I've never been in all my time here.
Thank you for the November challenge at READY * SET * SPARK!! because my Type A perfectionist personality will keep me on track even through the lure of chocolate-covered bananas and cotton candy (my No.1 favorite carnival food) and sugar pearls and... OK, way too many delicious sweets.
Somehow, fried and savory food never holds the same lure for me. Thank goodness!
Oh, and I've also got a plan for tonight's fixed menu dinner. I'm going to be good and try and eat only half of my plate, even though it's gourmet cuisine and half a plate amounts to one bite but... it's gourmet cuisine so it's full-fat and rather rich in calories and there will be a lot of courses anyway.
Need to practice my German now- at least one dinner guest doesn't speak English.
Tuesday, November 06, 2012
As an educated, working, independent woman I definitely feel a lot safer now. My ability to choose and self-determinate is safer than it was a few hours ago.
I'll get a few hours of sleep after all. *phew*
I'll gladly pay higher taxes once I move back to the States for that privilege.
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