Another bad dream. Consequently, had a ruined morning and almost lost my temper at a woman who handles - or I wish she handled - my unemployment status. G and i agreed that I will continue sending out ten job requests per week and will go to every interview that follows, but will stop at march 11th - an application for a cruise ship photographer being the last one I send. 

Mum loved the idea of me being a pastry chef, and asked me to bake two cakes yesterday after lunch, while the boys watch sky jumps. She wanted me to do a roe-deer's back - for which dad once bought her a mold and she never tried it; and using some of the base dough, I did a cheesecake with apricots. Was gonna put little drops of chocolate on top and run a toothpick over them in a spiral to make them into tiny hearts, but the cake was too cold and so they're more like little hickups :D 

Two more bad dreams - this would make #7 and #8 since I started looking for a job in January. They're anxiety dreams, though mostly they are about the General being disappointed in me. In the first dream one of my teeth fell out and he wanted me to push it back in, but because I was afraid it was going to hurt, I postponed it and as consequence, all of the others on one side followed. I started crying and he was upset with me for not listening. I am so unwilling to have anything to do with my teeth that i haven't seen a dentist in11 years and almost all of my teeth have cavities by now, but the last time I did see one, it was so awful it traumatized me. I am literally rather willing to lose a tooth than see a dentist. The second dream was about ascending a hill, I think we were either hiking or gathering wood or something and I kept taking photos of small things along the path I fancied, until i was way behind. It got dark and the snakes came out and he was yelling at me from way ahead why do I always have to do things my way. I woke up both times, jerking. They're just dumb anxiety dreams. Most of the times when going to these job interviews it feels like I am climbing a shaming podium for strangers to question and doubt me. Tiny rapes indeed, as Tinka said it. 

Wrote this yesterday morning on the train:

Night train down the riverline. More accurately, the first morning train. I am pretty much the only civilian on it; everyone else is railroad employees calling the end of the shift and riding home, tired. It's Saturday. Third job interview, this one for a cake maker. I haven't had anything for breakfast, my tummy aches a little, though this time the only thing I am nervous about is the money. I don't want to be offered minimum wage again, like I am an undereducated just-out of high school or a housewife desperate for slave labor. It shows what sort of people you are getting employed by right at the door, and I don't want that, again. They are asking for a lot of talent and expertise. I am hoping they will match it with decent pay. 

An hour's train ride. Perfect time to read or write or watch an episode of X files. No idea how long this is going to take, though I imagine it's going to be a beautiful day. New snow is falling, second time this season, it's very gentle and pretty. I am going to a neat by-the-river village. Whatever the outcome of this little trip, G is taking me to see Deadpool in the eve, so, all is well that ends well :))

 ...

As soon as I arrived to the pastry cafe, they sent me down to the production basement, where two employees were already in full swing - they begin their work at 4 or 5:30. Earliest train there is 6:30. I have no other means of getting there except the car, but I don't like to drive when I am very tired, after a grueling shift. One of the women instantly asked me to change into my work clothes or whatever it was that I had with me (I improvised, because I long outgrew my baker's uniform broad-wise) and the other sort of questioned me on my abilities, suspiciously. They did not seem to like the fact I was there. I was supposed to make a fresh cake and they had a little ingredients, but most I asked to get from the store. This is the reality of fresh cakes: you work with what you've got. I know the basics by heart, because I photographed Tinka making them a zillion times and it comes down to three catches: cashew nuts galore (or tiger nuts, but I had to make do with almonds), how strong is your blender and making it very cold overnight.

          I ground almonds, dates and cashews for the 'dough' and meshed strawberries over it, then shock-froze it, then poured a paste of cashews, avocado, dates with some spices over it and decorated it with roughly cut almonds and strawberry slices. I had pistachios and some other stuff to use, but I mostly forgot about it. When the woman in charge came to eat a piece, I think she was satisfied, though, and surprised the whole thing was so puffy, light, tall and edible. 

           While I waited for things to cool or blend, they gave me Valentine’s mini cakes to decorate. I could see they were throwing things at me to test me, but anything they threw, I handled. One can instantly see if you've done writing with chocolate before, by the way you make a piece of baking paper into a cone. And I can do that, so they just left me and I did great. They kept asking me where I worked before and what I did there and the more I told them I never worked anywhere before and I am only schooled and passionate, they kept being surprised I can actually do anything they say. They'd say: make a yoghurt-cream strawberry cake. I'd reply: alright, how do you make it? They'd say: how do you make it? I'd say: I've never made it before, but if you tell me, I can do anything you want. 

          We went through this several times. The fact it, absolutely everybody makes every cake differently. And most all cakes are exactly the same: dough, filling, garnish. After they told me: take two yoghurts, one whipped cream and gelatin, which you mix with cold water and microwave into goo, then mix everything, pouring it into a 'cage' of strawberry slices, that's what I did. We all worked until the end of the shift at 1pm, and I think between us we made about 20 cakes. Sometimes my hands would shake and I would mutter and couldn't articulate, but when I was told to decorate a large white cake of whipped cream with a guitar and notes, okay, I just drew everything on baking paper, froze it and then applied it. Seriously. If you tell me what you want done, I can do anything. If they asked me to make another cake of an original recipe, that wouldn't be a problem either. If anything, I have done a LOT of cakes in my life. Especially 'traditional' ones, where you can't do wrong with whipped cream, chocolate or walnuts.

           I also know to always keep my station clean and immediately wash the things I use. It saves you a lot of time. 

            For snack, the ladies shared with me some lettuce and a cooked potato and coffee. I noticed they do not eat a lot of leftovers, and since i can still smell the extracts on my hands, I can understand you get sick of it after a week, no matter how yummy that stuff is. I was so tired - I am out of shape and didn't have proper shoes - that I could barely walk. I got myself a kebab and murdered it in mid air, starved, but mostly really thirsty. The ride back home was a happy pain. G came to get me on the station to carry my basket. We were happy, but I was really beat. They say sitting is the new smoking and yes, I have been sitting down way too much. I need to get my legs in better standing practice.

Life before and after Deadpoool..

G valentined me to see Deadpool. It was awesome :D Am seriously considering switching Goose from PG-13 to R rating....
.... of course, other than myself, I am lacking a yummy villain.

Finally had a good dream. (Dreamed that I was asked to photograph Hillary Clinton and her house was so beautiful I started weeping. I told her aide that I now understand why anyone would want to get into politics.) Beforehand I kept having not good dreams. Not necessarily bad ones, good writing material, to be sure, far from them being nightmares, but they woke me up with a sense of negativity. I told about one of them to G and then cried my eyes out, howling: I've been arogaaaaanttt!... (In that dream I turned an obnoxious neighborhood kid into a small hedgehog and he got stepped on, so I contemplated throwing him into the river to drown. So for his crime of being loud and a child, I made him spend his last hours petrified, in a broken body, his tiny limbs crushed, and then thrown away like garbage. The moral of the dream was - people with power to serve punishment of any kind must be people with very high tolerance for bullshit.) A fucking depressing dream.

       Some part of me is raw with sensitivity and an overabundance of empathy. I sat through some historical lectures to learn of some terrible things that happened, but also read about a beloved local thug who did some pretty awful things. I do believe in vengeance, although I've of late began to trust the system enough to stand against death penalty. In an attempt to explain it, I said to G: since knowing you I understand how horrible it is to be locked away. That came out very weirdly and he was not happy. Of course I meant to say that in my previous life, I was in a small room - my school dorm - then in an even smaller room - my army guard night and days, then at home, which was a small room with curtained windows... So if I was to be locked away in a small room with not much social interaction, I'd feel perfectly at home. But now, when G has taught me to socialize, to go out, have coffee, go to the movies, walk the dog, go hiking, surf the net, pilgrim to buy chalks, go to museums all the time... and my favorite part - sleeping with him (not talking about sex). To be locked away from the things I love would be the ultimate punishment. So I don't believe in killing the guilty anymore. Let them suffer for 50 years, in the worst company imaginable - their conscience. And gangbangers. 

       That said, I understand when in the time when violence was the only means of getting justice, people killed one another. I understand it had to happen sometime. But do it quickly and painlessly and be done with it. Fuck the obscene showmanship of public torture. I am not saying some people don't deserve to get locked in a cage in the middle of the town square to be whipped, spat and pissed on - but I am happy I exist in the time and society when even the worst get punished so that their integrity is not compromised. It says quite a lot about us, and some very bad things about them.

General's line of the week:
Me: Hon hon, do you suppose i could take on a janitor's job in the Capitol?
G: Hell no, I don't have time to drive to the Capitol every time a light bulb needs to be replaced.



...Nice.

Rainy trip to a dripping gig

En route to the capital for a job interview at Home depot-like place, very cute. I suppose I can see myself working there – unless the pay is as ghastly as someone mentioned, in which case I can’t spend all my time away from G for no financial gain, which is why I’m doing this in the first place. I am wearing a costume of my nicest clothes, selling an image of the person furthest removed from my actual mood: I'm in an expensive, large bra with lace so rough they're cutting my underboob. Over it an elegant, tight, pristine white t-shirt that only serves as an accentuation of the bra, because over the lot I have a long, thin beige cardigan with a beautiful lacey back and a lot of fabric going on in the front so as to mostly hide the boobs. Bottoms are my most severe, straight dark gray trousers I usually wear to funerals. There's Drej's best ever made necklace around my neck and fucking makeup plastered to my face. I put on a lot of foundation, because I tend to blush when I talk to strangers  and I expect people will ask me things like Where do you see yourself in five years? or Describe yourself in five words.. And Gods forbid I speak the truth there. Where do I see myself in five years? I'm a fucking hurricane; I see myself burning down my house and dragging my dog and husband across Mongolia, looking for Mammoths. In five words or less? I write BOOKS about myself, man. Books. Five words? "Words are my bitch, dude." How's that?

But the truth is I am bored of having no money for trifles and G refuses to travel penniless, so if I ever want to see another country while my husband is in it, I will have to pay for it. Hence I am going furthest removed from my actuality, putting on a regalia that includes a tame, reliable, bland me. The t-shirt stinks, because I wanted to wash it by hands in a hurry and it didn't work out, and I have my hair up in a sexy bun or so I thought: G said I look like Mary Poppins. That much about that. There are chinks in my costume, to be sure. The third episode of the new X files that I saw last night couldn't come at a better time. I am pretending to be human.

…  Well, that was … interesting. Either the easiest thing I’ve ever done or the most depressing, depending on the outcome. It’s been a while since I felt so out of place.

        I arrived an hour and a half early, having just ridden the local city bus, for which I had to pay twice as I would if I didn’t forget my wallet at home. You can only pay with a small plastic card for the rides and I have one, but at home, so I had to buy another. I haven’t been on a local bus in ten years. But because this was the capital and the actual job was to be had on the other side of the country, several people didn’t come for the interview. The depot will hire a few hundred, I assume, so the frequence was 10 minutes for each call. A cheerful young woman came out to meet everyone individually, except me, whom she saw read, and asked to come in ahead, since I’m here and there’s an opening. She led me to the coldest, least pleasant looking individual I’ve met, who never smiled once or did anything to show he’s interested in talking to another human being at all – we were all beggars and underlings to him. So, there really was absolutely no way of knowing whether they stamped a big FUCK NO on my resume or OKAY, YEA, SURE, INTERESTING.

        It was a good thing I wore foundation – when I went to the restroom to pee I saw that I was blushed red under the thick layer of powder. The overall experience, first as it was for me, felt violating and dehumanizing, <sic>. I called G and offed to an adjacent Lidl, where you always get the weirdest sense of displacement. Lidls are all EXACTLY the same. I think I even started crying a little, because I really, really, really wanted this to be a teleportation device and when I walk out, I will be outside my home Lidl. I really did. It was dusky, raining, cold and windy in Ljubljana. I wanted to be home.

        As a lucky turn of event – no, the teleportation spell didn’t quite work, but Hermes did hear me – as I was exiting with my last buck’s worth of chocolate, I saw three young men that I saw when they were just coming in for the interview. I spoke to them while I was getting dressed, telling them what the job givers ask, how it goes and they thanked me for the heads up. Now I called out to them if they’ll happen to be passing by my town by any chance and they said for sure. Thus I hitched a ride in a large comfortable Audi, which got me home four hours sooner than I planned. Grandma was pissed at me, barking into the phone: how dare you get into the car with strange men! and everyone using the highway is still a little shaken by a horrendous chain-collision that took place last week, but the three guys told me loads about working for similar establishments and they put me down a minute away from my house, so it was great. Because it was raining so heavily, the town was seemingly deserted at 18:20. I took off the jewelry and wiped the make-up off my face while still in the car.

        It was good schooling, though. I have another one of these in Friday, though mayhap it will be more than a few minutes, since we already had to do some elaborate mock-ups and suchlike via email. I’ve no idea if there will be fifty applicants for that one or two. I feel like Karen and Ivy in Smash, both being good at what they do and neither being right.

The cold has shifted to the General and the cat. I don't think I sneezed once today, though getting up the stairs is still an awful thing to do - and I smell. Seriously, I don't normally smell bad, as I don't eat meat and tend not to sweat much, but these days I REEK. Like a shelf of dead bacteria. Blewh.

     I have a job interview tomorrow. I've applied to about fifteen or so random positions all over the country and I'm getting responds now, which is fun. Even people who have no position to offer and - I literally applied to the wrong position for a company that I didn't mail the right application to, and THEY called me back and told me that if I'm interested, they'll be looking for a designer in a few days. It feels funny. I am so used to being on my own, a nobody, so introvert, that this sudden interest in me and my work is quite endearing. I may actually end up getting a job. I've already made a list of things that I would buy if I ever had any money. There are a lot of books on it. Maybe a lens or two. Maybe a house at some point, or at least a car, though the General refuses to allow me to choose a cute one, like Juke or a Mini. 

     Anyhoo, I've one interview tomorrow, wondering if I should dress up; I've another on Friday. For that one I had to write two press releases and design a small newspaper. This is so much fun, I'm telling ya! It's like someone asking a penguin: could you walk around the ice for a little bit? Great! Can I design a small newspaper? Lady, I design small newspapers when I'm bored with crossword puzzles. Oh, on a related subject, they finally designed a program to beat a human at Go. Go programmers. Good job. ...The rest of my tasks include making more pickies for a band, making more pickies for the climbers, making Tinka's video, which I can see more clearly in my head now; making more pickies for the collectors people, also a photoshoot of Tinka's hubby's band in a studio, which I am looking forward to - studio stuff; I've to call a lady about a picturebook, take books uphill to mum, and I'm behind on my writing. Not because I'd be too busy, but because I've been distracted and unchallenged since I've been sick. Also retarded.

       This will someday be my reality - my brain will diminish and I'll only be able to hold one mundane thought in it at a time. Hopefully I still have a few years beforehand, though, still. It's an odd feeling, being dimwitted. If nobody expects anything of you, then it's not a grave fuss at all.