Perhaps, no time and no two I've asked myself this question, but the answer is not found. Maybe life is the sun rising in the East and setting in the West making a circle and covering all the most hidden places of the planet? Maybe it's the birdsong that wakes up in the morning? Maybe it's the rustle of grass when you walk on it barefoot, slicing through her as the ship waves? Maybe it's the sea, noisy surf, and breathtaking in its power??? But, most of all, life is a series of relationships with people... Sometimes they are complex and not amenable to description and solution to Fermat's last theorem, sometimes simple and understandable as ABC. But they are not always straightforward...
Such thoughts accompanied my awakening this morning. I got out of bed, opened the window, look at the familiar in 24 years the Moscow landscape, and went to wash, on the go whistling some simple tune. Standing under the shower and washing away the remnants of sleep, I head over the to-do list for today. It was impressive and it was clear that with all I can handle. Then I identified the most basic, but also too much. After thinking a bit, I decided not to bother on urgent matters and just go on the Internet, I easily managed to do. As usual I opened the page of your favorite chat and went under their favorite nickname: Ankara. What I loved the nickname is hard to say. Probably, for the mask that he gave me. I'm a bitch! And so I can do whatever I want! Although, as is commonly believed, that we are in impersonal communication, which is the Internet, we realize what we are lacking in life. But life is a bitch I was so far as.
What is good communication? What can you imagine yourself, even though the Queen of Sheba, though the janitor from Uryupinsk. And all this is true, because that's what you feel now. But for some reason often want to feel like the Queen of Sheba than a janitor from Uryupinsk.
And here making small talk with another young man noncommittal phrases, I notice the thought attempts on his part. Don't take this as sarcasm, just as a rule, people do not aggravate the process of thinking during online communication. And then just glimpses of the deliberate speech and even some interesting sentences, which is extremely rare.
For the time that I spent on the Internet, I got acquainted with a bunch of people! One time, I was confused in your phone book, trying frantically to recall what kind of Serge (John, Peter etc.) Then it was smart to write down nicknames of people, next to the names and phone numbers. But this clarity is also not added.
As most young people prefer to be called Foxes, hunters, cats, and theme channels, elves, necromancers and other crap. I hate to think about the poor young people who are forced to memorize up to ten pussies with different rooms, simultaneously sitting on one chat and another twenty sweet, bitter, smart, beautiful pussy. The impression is that people have no imagination. Later, I came to the conclusion that people should me remember. But as it turned out, it was not an option. In the end, after much deliberation, I realized that the memories of their units of hundreds. Remember not nicknames, not names, not phone numbers, and thoughts, words and actions. And then the current image is cluttered visuals, a numeric set, and certain literal sense. And to understand that this person is to communicate or not, you have to spend a lot of time, and it usually becomes a pity.
Though there are rare exceptions when after the first five minutes of conversation about anything, you know that before you "giant of thought, the father of Russian democracy..." That's what I was found this time. His name was, it seems.... And yet, no matter what his name was, for the conventions we'll call him Bob - totally faceless, in my opinion the name, forgive me carriers. During the hour long conversation, my person of interest so much that I, quite frankly, not fond of writing letters, I decided to write him a letter. What struck me most that I have carried out the intention.
Correspondence was fastened. People became more and more interesting. My letters to him became more and more voluminous, blademane sense of humor and usedefaultname. Vasya poured my stream of consciousness is not covered with anything. He, apparently, answered the same. Writing this novel has evolved with the speed of the locomotive rushing from the mountain. All my friends were in the course and in the evenings, free from communication with Bob, we've already invented a style of my wedding dress.
But it turned out a small detail. Bob lives in another country, even more than that, other world in Australia. Not had time to finish moans, sighs and worries about the fact that we will never be able to see Bob as heard the news. My friend Arthur, who left Russia for permanent residence in Australia wants me to come visit. And not just calling, and strongly insists that I come. Arthur and I tied a long relationship. Every time it seemed that we will start a novel on my horizon appeared prynts on a white horse and arturchik was to be delayed until better times. As he suffered, remained a mystery to me, but again and again after another Prince, in the end, usually exerted by the frog (and not Mowgli), I was coming back to him. As a result, it was too much for him and he decided to leave. As the saying goes: "out of sight, out of mind". They say that, but in reality he still loved me with his silent and tranquil love.
Not feeling the joy of herself, I rushed to the Australian Embassy, where the staff of the institution, seeing my happiest face are unable to deny away and put the visa.
How happy I was! And how happy was Bob from knowing that in a month, it will hold in the arms of the most favorite creature in the world (not that he promised to give a kitten).
Two weeks passed and Bob somehow became sad, depressed and fell into predepression condition. My sympathetic questions, he answered in monosyllables, and it was obvious that he was ready to suddenly die. Though I have been invigorated and soothed him, and at night crying into my pillow with bitter tears in the hope of finding a path that will return my beloved former cheerful spirits. In the end the solution was found! Yay! He goes to a shrink and he will bring him out of depression that promises to be permanent.
And then came "M-day" - trip to the psychoanalyst. I put all our things and waited in front of the computer the return of her beloved! My heart was pounding and fingers went on the keys, when he finally appeared in the chat. We got together on a separate channel and started talking about nothing. I was afraid to ask the main question that I was not allowed to sleep, eat, work. Well, finally, I plucked up the courage and asked. On what received the answer that put me in a state of shock. The analyst told Bob that he needed to review relations with girls in General and me in particular. To stop build illusory castles, and to descend from heaven to the Earth and somewhere in the vastness of Australia to find a Jane and live with her happily ever after on the farm of her father, give birth to ten children, salivate the vegetable garden, clean up the barn and draw a line on the door jamb, to see how their kids grow. And I'm too far away and he can't stand us being apart. What kind of separation he was talking, I realized, as I was about to go to him.
To convey my desperate state I can not. Thoughts in my head were different, but boiled down to one thing - that he, a scoundrel, a deceiver and the only man I loved for the last 3 months, how could he do this to me - a Goddess, Aphrodite, dimples, and most importantly, the shower was not a bit of crocodile!
I was worried it is shameful flight and betrayal. I once again swore never again to anybody for any price will not fall in love. And that all men are not hewn geeks who don't understand the subtle device of my soul, and therefore they waste time not worth it.
My girlfriend hasn't left me a single step, ready at any moment to bring me a Valerian, validol valokordin or if I suddenly refuse heart. But to run them, mainly accounted for brandy and alkaseltzer. The only thing that kept me from ending up at the train station arm in arm with a bottle and a firm belief that life to me is not fair, so is the availability of tickets and nth sum of money, sent by Arthur.
I flew from Moscow cold chilly day, with red, tear-stained eyes with bruises under them and with a clear belief that life is almost over, that even if the plane crashes I this fact I will not regret.
What is life? Perhaps, no time and no two I've asked myself this question, but the answer is not found. Maybe life is the sun rising in the East and setting in the West making a circle and covering all the most hidden places of the planet? Maybe it's the birdsong that wakes up in the morning? Maybe it's the rustle of grass when you walk on it barefoot, slicing through her as the ship waves? Maybe it's the sea, noisy surf, and breathtaking in its power??? But, most of all, life is a series of relationships with people... Sometimes they are complex and not amenable to description and solution to Fermat's last theorem, sometimes simple and understandable as ABC. But they are not always straightforward...
Such thoughts accompanied my awakening this morning. I got out of bed, opened the window, look for the familiar Australian landscape, and went to wash, on the go whistling some simple tune...
