Monthly Archives: November 2009

“I don’t understand what makes you feel so strong”. He was obviously referring to I have nothing to feel strong about. I don’t believe he knew at that point how right he was. One is strong, invincible when there is nothing to loose. Now of course there is a lot to loose, family, work, the life one has grown so accustomed to. But even that didn’t discourage me from being blatantly disinterested in forthcoming consequences.


One thing that has slowly been growing in my awareness is that very little matters atcually.
That one can pretty much be, do, say what one want to say without too much consequence. People talk, people bark but actions are shining with their absence.
In the end, as the world goes around, why bother? Why let fear grip hold of us, paralyzing us from decisions we ought to have taken a long time ago?

Late last night, we came to an understanding. I think, I hope…. As I woke up this morning he mumbled my name. The truce still holds…

Some days I can eat the most strangest of things. Like peanut butter… once I ate a whole lot of it at work, using a new spoon every time in order not to spread my bacteria to my colleagues. But as I came downstairs just walking into a conversation with a colleague I found myself unable to speak (which was kind of a first I must admit) as the peanut butter was sticking to my throat, jamming it from uttering a single sound. After a few coughs, I attempted some words but they were all muffled. The sticky feeling which created a dull pressure over my chest lasted for hours and was only overwon by two glasses of Champagne and a lobster at Dauphine.

Other days I raid the fridge at work on the hunt for anything that contains either fat or protein. Sometimes it’s bacon or some look-a-like bratwurst that gets into my way (needless to say I’m not Jewish). Other occasions I go mad for olives, different types of pates and if all else fail some stale cheese that is verging on unwittingly entering the upper echelon of mould cheese. I eat it all.

Tonight I had another such craving. Perhaps it was as a result of an earlier spartan dinner of sashimi, which never really fills me up in the same way sushi does. 2 hours later, as I was unpacking the grocery shopping we had delivered, I discovered a sample size pesto jar. I quickly gulped down two spoonful. But it left a strange aftertaste, so I had some ice tea light, in the hope of neutralising the odd taste that was left lingering on my palate. When this didn’t help I went for a few stray raspberries that were laying around in the plastic bag. I topped it off with sweet mini paprika, stuffed with soft cheese.

I’m now sitting here, full and also full of regret. Why the hell didn’t I stay away from that God damn cheese?

The house is empty. Reinout left this evening. His Prada aftershave lingering for a few more moments, as to gently ease the void he’s left behind. Again I feel cheated on the promise we once made to eachother, never to go one night without going to bed and waking up together. But one night becomes easily two, and I’m afraid it’s the beginning of the every day life when husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend says their farewells with all too much ease.

I’m not yet there though, but I fear my husband is. It stings, stirring up feelings of jealousy I try to keep at bay. When he’s left I return to my dinner. The usual steak with green asparagus, which causes my wee to smell of sulphur. Like lighting matches in the toilet bowl (yes I used to do that when I was younger, over roles of toilet paper turning into flames). Before I actually went to the bottom of this mystery, I actually dragged my husband into the toilet one evening, after a urinal session to ask if he could smell anything funny. Little did I know it had to do with a gene I have been cursed with, responsible for breaking down the sulphur compound called mercaptan. Needless to say, my husband was not entirely amused of my experiment worthy an episode of Brainiac.

Sulphur wee, or not, I miss my husband like a mad, as I sit in bed just ready with today’s work. Luckily I have Victoria, Sebastian and an whole army of animals keeping me company. Still…the hours will go by slowly. I will twist and turn in bed, conjuring up nightmares and unrestful dreams. Like the advent of Christmas, I shall count down the hours, minutes, seconds. Only 42 hours to go….

Last days in pictures

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Victoria & Sebastian whilst having lunch at Metz & Co

…the view made up for the bland kitchen

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Sebastian takes on the look of a gangsta rapper

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Waiting for lunch

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Sebastian had his first shot of swine flu vaccination today…all went well!

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Our house is being renovated so currently this is my somwhat messy work view

My wallet was found! Bless you M for finding it! I feel a whole lot better now, especially after a few shots of Baileys Caramel which Reinout made me drink in consecutive order…now time for Cold Case!

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Why is it that shit always happens at ones? Why do I feel like a fat pig, want to pull a sack over my head and pretend I’m not there? Alternatively commit hara-kiri and die an honourable death. PMS seems like a mild term to describing female neurosis compared to the monster that is raging in my war torn psyche.
My original mission, to grow, become a better person and achieve something in my utterly pointless life, is taking a new direction and instead of growing I am diminishing. Two steps forward, one step back, is becoming the reversed and so I descend deeper and deeper to my own personal underworld. When someone called me a “kut wijf” today (freely translated to cunt), I couldn’t hold it in any longer as I pointed out, in front of some amused mixed with horror looking weekend shoppers, that he should “keep his ugly little mouth shut”. Luckily I didn’t descend to his level, but I was fuming and the rest of the afternoon was cloaked in darkness, enveloping my mood.

When I came home, still angry, I found out that my wallet was missing.  I’ve been searching high and low but no results. I’ve called my boss, and his mum is going to look for it as I might have forgotten it at the office. I am now waiting for that call…

But there is more. I’m frustrated, angry by certain events taking place recently. I question things, loyalty, friendship, love…
Even my own feelings towards my family. I see no love in my actions lately. They are instead mechanical, performed without passion or care. Rage, mixed with contempt….

I pause for a while….still waiting for that call. I feel somewhat better. Writing things, however provocative and crazy, which apparently will increase my chances of loosing job, kids and husband according to statistics, makes it feel so much better. Fuck it. I am who I am. Take it or leave it. And in the spirit of my heroine Scarlett O’Hara….Tomorrow is another day!

10.17 am I’m just ready to sit down and actually work and have my breakfast. This after having been up since 6.30 am. My agenda is pretty packed today (for being a housewife and mother anyways). 8.40 I had the consultation bureau for Sebastian (to check his development). Of course I was late and as I always I’m sitting there completely dead as I hadn’t had my coffee yet. Sebastian is crying and no matter what I do (and to be honest it’s not a lot) he won’t stop. Other mothers are looking at me inappropriately.  I should surely show some more comforting feelings to my son. Well they’re not there. Not today anyway. After 5 hours of sleep (and an average of 6 this week), I’m too tired to give a display of emotions.

45 minutes later and I’m happy to be out of there. When I come home Sebastian is crying and I put him to bed whilst gathering all the laundry together. It’s laundry day as Caroline is coming tomorrow (thank God, I don’t know what I would do without her). I quickly tidy the bedroom and go downstairs to finally enjoy my breakfast and start work. I’ve just about sit down when the doorbell rings. It’s Randolph from SalsaRoyale.nl, picking up some equipment for an upcoming congress. We have a good talk about Internet marketing and business models. I’m by no means a pro like my dear husband, but things are starting to become clear. Like my salsa. It’s cool!

Randolph leaves after 11 and I’m back again at my computer. I now have 2 hours to work on my mails and action list before the next meeting with NuGuRu.tv

At 3.30 pm I have another meeting with Victoria’s teacher. God this day is going to be so busy. And yet it hasn’t even started!

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My best friend at work – the agenda

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Lunch meeting with my salsa teacher Nucita from Clubfiera.com

I’m going into a new phase in my dancing. After learning all the basic moves and turn patterns it’s time to get back to basics, and really master what it’s all about: The rhythm and the flow. I really want to improve and as the impatient person as I am, I try to grab every little opportunity…I swing the hips in the shower, I make right turns, left turns whilest preparing dinner, I keep my body erect, abs in, feet pointing outwards whilst I go shopping. As you can see I am on a mission. I’m going to become a great salsa dancer! I feel like Baby in Dirty Dancing, clumsily practising the mambo. Luckily I have passed that stage, but I’m nowhere near where I want to be.

As with most skills one attempts to master, there comes a time when one seems to be getting worse. It’s the time, when instead of excelling one has to learn to master the core essence. Some things cannot be understood nor learnt in the beginning. It only comes with maturity. It’s that AHA moment, when you suddenly seem to grasp the essence of it all. It’s enlightening yet difficult. Because it also means you have to throw out a lot of information and techniques that you once learnt and start all over again. This is the precise moment I’m in right now. It’s all back to basics, wax in wax out, wax in wax out….

Check out this video which is amazing, philosophical and physical, body and mind in total harmony. Boy I’d love to dance like that! The subject of tonigh’t lecture is…….Rhythm

The day Sinterklaas makes his regal entrance through a well orchestrated city parade is the day the pre-Christmas period starts. At least for me, as I’m a Christmas fan and although I wouldn’t dream of going overboard in Christmas decorations, blinking lights and various yuletide bling bling (after all it has to be understated and sophisticated as only the Swedes can do), I love the atmosphere that descends on life, like a red and white wolly blanket.

So I was pleasantly surprised to see Sinterklaas and his little black painted helpers walk in procession down the main street of Haarlem last Sunday. I especially love the Zwarte Piet’s (the white men and women made up to be Africans or Moors as according to tradition Sinterklaas comes with a steamboat from Spain). Every year I amuse myself what would happen if Sinterklaas and his helpers would walk down a street in another Harlem (with one A). I expect the black African American community might not be so amused as their fellow Haarlem citizens in the Netherlands are…

Some pictures of last weekend….

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Saturday shopping… ballerinas from Ab Donker, Gloves V&D, No Wrinkles Now!

skin tratment (this cream actually does work!) and Silk Oil from Shu Uemura

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Preparing myself for Salsa Party at Haarlem station.

Dug out a vintage Gianco Ferre shirt which I haven’t worn since I bought it 10 years ago

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Good shot of Sinterklaas if I may say so myself!

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Sunday afternoon brunch at Dodici

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Victoria checking out the magazines

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Beautiful

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Sebastian found a friend…so cute!

Where did the weekend go? Sooner than I could say TGI Friday, it was once again Monday. I didn’t sleep much last night. A combination of Sebastian’s erratic sleeping habits and my own recurring insomnia makes falling a sleep cumbersome. I recall hearing the church bells at 3 am and thinking this was going to be a long night. I dropped an email to my colleagues that I might be late. But at 8 am I woke up from my husband having a shower. The first shock that facilitated the first adrenaline shot of the day was seeing the over-developed bags under my eyes. A hot shower undid some of that and I went downstairs to fetch a coffee to continue the antidote treatment.  30 seconds later after arriving downstairs the door slammed from Reinout walking out. I stood there speechless not knowing really what the argument had been about, least what had started it in the first place. But I was awake, as my anger mixed with the second adrenaline shot of the day. In front of the mirror applying my make-up, I was planning a lonely night, no dinner and a hell of a lot of work. Arguments does have its arguably positive sides….. jump-start awakening, weight-loss and a positive impact on my action list being some. Thank God it’s Monday!