When I was very young and absurdly anti-social, I remember there was nothing worse for me than when someone wanted to go into a shady looking cafe and have a drink. (They all looked shady to me and none was really.) That, to me, was such a no-no, I think I was way pass twenty when I finally found what the whole point of going out for a drink is and I was about 23 or 24 when I once went out clubbing. Yes, you read that right. Once. I didn't particularly like it. People kept spilling drinks and it was too loud to talk about anything. Eventually everyone got drunk. I simply never understood what the point was. I could never understand what the fun is supposed to be when you're not photographing or having good talks. To this day my clitoris is in my camera. If it can't be photographed, it's not my cup of tea. 

I was just thinking about that as I was walking down a loooong street in the Capitol, looking for a place that doesn't serve 3€ coffee (coffee is supposed to be 1.5€), carring my bag of, oh, about 40 pounds, having just shot in a studio for the past three and a half hours... I needed an hour of *me* time to get my baring, before the next task. The next task in a lecture at five p.m., lasting to nine. I've been up since before sunrise, so one coffee and one hour sit-down is well in order.

        We drove in a van, not really meant for humans transport, full of product, constructed of small, sharp pipes. I am awfully unhappy regarding pipes in traffic. There are too many movies where sharp pipes become projectiles and people get plenty impaled. But, the drive was fine, we were only and hour and a half late. We found the studio, which was fine, too. I was worried. My last experience with a studio was a fucking sham. I had no idea what to expect, nor did I worry too much, as it was not on my coin. Thing is, studios can be shitty. They can charge you for the room, but refuse to warn you that it doesn't include the lights, or they include the lights, but you have to hire the guy to help you handle them... I've been in a studio where we paid decent money for two hours and then cables were nowhere to be found, so we didn't complete the shoot in time and had to add another hour to the bill and nobody wanted to do that. But here, the guy was okay. His gear was mighty and he kept asking if he can add stuff, move stuff, construct stuff and I was like, nah, fuck it, I'll just photoshop the shit out of it. Most of the products were basic industrial pics, but one was bitchy, a large, door-like construct, covered in thick dark glass... Which in other words can be called a mirror. It reflected EVERYTHING. I had to climb up a gallery and shoot it with a telelens to avoid room detail. Indeed I danced, crawled, laid down, knelt, climbed ladders and tiptoed plenty :D Can't recall the last time I had so much fun during such a serious shoot. I worried we'll get charged way above the pre-agreed price, but we didn't at all. And one of the boys who helped with the product construction was mesmerized by the magic of a photo-studio, the mighty lights, umbrellas, pulleys, levers, backgrounds, any number of tiny gadgets. I explained to him that if he thinks this is fun, he should come in on a pin-up session :)) I know now a good studio is a ridiculous investment, but also that I've done fine without it and when I'll get enough reasons, I'll just hire the place for a day and get it out of my system. 

Once it was done, I dragged my tired, sorry ass, bag on my back like a turtle shell, across the city, chatting on the phone with dad and mum, to whom I reported, (the people I always call when I am in between moods, as I can never predict what mood they'll put me in once the talk is finished...) in search of a place where I could sit down for a coffee and write all about it :) The General bought me bagels and chocolate and an energy drink, but forbade me to spend any lunch money on cake and coffee... So we won't tell him I really deserved that cake and coffee. I have about an hour left before the lecture starts. I'm too tired to switch the memory cards in the camera and go out and shoot bits of the city. My head hurts a bit, even though I made sure I hydrated plenty. I'm watching a band of tourists in almost identical travel cases try to fit into a pub called BBQ Kings. An Annie Liebowitz-look alike lady came to the street half of the cafe and unrolled first her small dog's carpet and then her cushy blanket. Smokers, am I right? And someone close by is talking in vehement Italian. The day has been quite lovely, actually. Half done, half to go :)

Another half melancholy half lovey line from the text I'm working on: "Sometimes I miss my husband so badly, I cannot solve a single problem without him."

A pickie of Ema, thoughtful, across from me and my coffee :) I'll make some more, but first, a well deserved Saturday nap..

Later...

In Ljubljana, foggy night, sunny day

Winter architecture of the Capitol

Reading Drive your Plough over The Bones of the Dead, which is really hitting some interesting notes - it is about an old man dead to begin with, which is hitting all the wrong notes in this time of my life, but there is also a lot about loneliness, snow, being away from people, knowing you're right, loving the animals and hating the hunters, loving the dogs, making a stand... I know the book gets even bloodier, but for now, it's pulling me back into that still-frame of my consciousness, that fictional moment of my power, when I am sitting on a train with my hand in my bag, fondling the fabric of my banner. In my half-written novel that is a very important moment, but right now for me, it is a very true moment. It is even possible it will grow into a mental palace type of a moment. And this book tastes similar, when I am reading it and the the weather is dull and grey and there are no colours, because winter. 

It's ... Well, it's nine in the morning and I've slept like the dead, crashing at yet another Maja in my life, which for the purposes of this entry we shall call LjubljanaMaja or SurferMaja, but which the General will forever call after a dry pastry that she was infamous at making. She's the hospitable type and one can tell, because her place is ... Well... Hospitality, and drapes, were probably the reason I slept so well. I seem to be able to sleep a lot better away from home as I do in my own bed, because I'm too edgy over dad. Dad had to see doctors three times yesterday, which is the cosmic opposite of going to coffee with friends three times or seeing three Renaissance paintings... It is so depressing, exhausting and strainous, it makes you want to cry. The waiting, the light, the half-baked, well meaning but soooo narrowminded doctors. I cannot but place my faith in them, because I was raised to respect authority, but every time i suggest anything, it gets dismissed and I believe it is me who is wrong. No, this was the second time I was right and at eleven in the evening, the third time he had to go in, they finally found that, yes, the catheter IS clotting up with oils and filth his body is excreting via liquids. I said that's the most viable option, considering he is much better now and he produces water just fine, and the catheter is just fine, so it must be a mechanical failure. And urine can get fairly greasy, especially after you've been sick.

An hour long breakfast later, during which I've chatted with her roommate about journalism and customers that pissed me off ... I need new woes, I find ... I am going to set out now, into the foggy, smoggy morning of the Capital. I was in a rotten mood yestereve, brought nigh to tears in class when I kept my silence for two hours and after I spoke, someone tutted behind me, muttering, oh, fuck, here she's going to start again... Usually I can ignore it or it even amuses me, but yesterday I was too tired and stressed and the fucking vendor machine ate my last coin, so I was unable to get sugar and caffeine, which I sorely needed. Really, sorely. Not in a spoilt, vain, pleasurable way, but like the hardcore drugs that they were. I opted for not buying a texbook I was supposed to buy and got myself a can of coke and wholewheat cookies with chocolate instead. That saved me. I was back on track. Even though the lecturer picked on the media earlier and I did not fight him on that front. You do not fuck with the media with me. I will defend it till I am unconscious on a bloody tile.

After class I met with LjubljanaMaja and we made a round though the old city, which was dressed in dense fog and garnished with blazing diamonds of Christmas street illumination. They really put a lot of lights up. There are also lots of stands, some of which are adorable, but many of which are just booze and expensive gift program that I can't really relate to. Six bucks hamburgers. Okay. We veered back, I got a hotdog on the all-night train-station vendor and got home, where we talked to about ten or eleven and I passed out. I slept A LOT. Dad sounded okay in the morning. The General left four messages and two missed calls, worried where I might be since the last time I checked in when I went to pee ar six, the adorable mutt. Then he went to sleep and I hate it when he sleeps, because he keeps his phone on and I can't send him photos or texts, knowing it'll wake him every time. I am literally jealous of sleep when it comes to him. If I was at home, I would wake him up after five hours and say: sleep has had you enough, I want you for myself now. That is usually followed by half an hour of crankyness, but mostly I don't care.. Darn the sleep :)

Off to have some dates now, with some big city friends, then it's back to the lectures. Last time we have sociology. About time. I'm getting bored. Eco-crime and ecology crimefighting doesn't sound like a too sexy a class, but I may be wrong.. All in all, regardless of how naive and fast-forward the lecturers at times, I am learning a lot. I mean, I wanna know more. Tell me more. Tell me everything. 

The other day the lecturer argued with me about the free will. I am a great advocate of free will, but he thought I was being naive. I responded that as a white woman, I think there is no limit to what I might achieve if i set to it. I am aware that women of color have is less easy and particularly 3rd world countries females. But he asked what if i wanted to move somewhere and I wouldn't get a job for three months?

I stopped the argument there. I did not have the heart to tell him that a) I've not had a job in a decade, nor have I particularly wanted one. I may choose to find one now, because I feel like shopping.

And b) I live an existence that transcends boundaries, jobs, cultures and obstacles - I am a creative. moreover, I am a portraitist. Wherever I go, I will find a job. It may not be a job of a brain surgeon or a college professor or a pharmaceutical company PR, because that is not what I think I would ever enjoy. I enjoy photographing people, drawing people, interviewing people... and occasional castle or a camera or a rescue dog. (Which reminds me...) It is not likely I will ever get rich on this, because that has never been my reward for the portrait. If I wanted to be rich, I imagine I'd go into stockbroking or something. As an artist, I don't think there's a city, empire, tribe or orbital station that wouldn't have me. It is scary, especially for a capitalist society, I know, to think that I actually like to work for food. Food's awesome. 

:D A pick of treats from Sanela's BD coffee, where my gift was photographing it and her treat was an apple cake slice and it was perfect.