Life purposes

I keep waking up, wanting to write something meaningful. I end up picking on my boyfriend and moaning about it to my cats. Cat’s, I might add, who see me as a walking vending machine. Push enough buttons and food  will come out. We play this game all day.

Staring at the blank page continues. First I wanted to write about all the funny (in hindsight) arguments my boyfriend Daan and I had whilst we were travelling. We get so childish, we make other couples feel good about themselves. I thought this was hysterical. ..he did not.

He’s been thrown in like 10.000 projects at once when we got home and he’s working around the clock. I feel bad complaining about hardly seeing each other. However,  it turns out he takes me for lunch during the night.

The other night around 3 a.m.:

D: Ains! (Nudging me with his elbow) You need to pick a sandwich!                                   Me:(Sleepy but entertained immediately) Eh..ok. .which one are you having?               D: Hmmmmmm….that one!                             Me: OK, I’ll take the other one. So where are we now?                                                       D: (Matter of factly ) In town of course!       Me: Oh yes I see.

I like to keep the impression that I’m a busy, responsible adult. For example. .my mum left me the watch her house and cats while she was away on holiday. She managed to use all forms of communication to tell me to not let one of the cats upstairs.  Obviously I did ( not on purpose) let him upstairs for 3 whole seconds. And in this time he managed to pee on my bed and clothes. I must say, I’m impressed by his accuracy and speed. However I did not find the time to write about anything meaningful or life changing.

The only thing I’ll be changing today are my sheets.

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Mandatory dating

On the day of your 29th birthday something amazing happens. You magically skip a year and become 30. Even though your birth certificate says you are 29, to the rest of the world you are now 30. And holy shit, fix that piece of shit life already!

It started the other day with my mum. I caught her mid-sentence “..because now that you are 30..” “Mum, I am 29.” “Yeah so,..you’re thirty.” “Mum …my birthday isn’t for another 6 months yet.” “Ahhgg it’s the same thing.”

So technically I can behave like a complete adolescent for another 6 months. Whenever I get weird stares or shock strangers I can just pull out my ID card and tell them to Relax,..I’m still 29.. But it is a big no no…

Then unfortunately just before I actually turned 29, I became single. And trust me,.before those heartbroken tears have left your chin there is a line of people waiting to jump you with “Soooo…..how’s your love life going?” I can’t figure out what’s worse. Answering that question with “Quiet thanks” or the worried faces people make when they hear me say that. Single at 25 equals freedom and involving a lot of “Good for you girl!” Single at 30 feels like a job interview from hell while someone is pointing a gun at your face.

Suddenly my eggs (What! I have that to worry about too?!) and ovaries are a normal conversation topic. To freeze or not to freeze. My friends take turns in finding random men, sticking a ribbon on their foreheads and dragging them to my doorstep, presenting them to me like: “What about THIS one?” . And what is up with that “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” question. I mean ..WHAT!!?? Can you even imagine what your life looked like if it had turned out exactly as you thought it would be at 18 or so?  Why start planning now?

The last 4 months there hasn’t been a week where someone didn’t bring up my dating life. As if I don’t have anything else to do than manhunt.  Am I supposed to drag my sweaty (Oh,..and it is I can tell you) ass over to guys ..pretend I am interested in so I can calm the world around me and say..It’s ok..I got a live one..just in time hey?

Sometimes I wish I was less complicated. Not always wanting to be/do the opposite of what is expected. Because that is sort of what I like to do. I wish I liked dating, having just one job and settling down. But the truth is….I am going to 29 the shit out of life till it runs dry.

 

The perks of disgustingness

So I am almost 29 and half way through my study to be a veterinary nurse. It sounds very cute and fluffy but really, most my days look like this:                                                                                               Instead of this:  

If anything, people who work in this area have the stronger stomach ever. And I’ve seen some pretty disgusting stuff but last week turned disgusting into a whole new meaning.

I recently started an internship at a local petting zoo/ children’s farm. I needed some experience with animals other than cats and dogs. I had already been turned down by another farm by my appearance. I am 5”2 and look like a 18 year old, which has its advantages, but this farmer just scanned me from top to bottom and said  they were full. (Having just said they were looking for interns a few moments before) So I was really happy that this farm wanted to take me on board.

The most important thing I had to experience was a birth, of any kind, just a birth. Luckily all sheep and goats were with young and due within the next few weeks so I was present with a few.

A very interesting experience obviously. Hard too, because there is no way a goat understands you when you say it’s going to be ok. Talking to goats has become my speciality during this time. And they have been so kind to forgive me of everything I have said to them during  labour, as soon as I presented them their babies.

But as any creature, births are loud and bloody. And a little slimy. To think that humans go through the exact same thing in the same way as sheep and goats is something I’d rather not think too much about at this time. The worst is the ‘afterbirth’. This thick, slimy, bulgy thing mixed with blood and string that sort of hangs out of them for ages. After the whole birthing experience is over we clean up and dump everything on the dung heap.

The next morning all of us working there forget about everything the day before because today we have baby goats and lambs! And every morning as usual, we let out our pigs Haka and Hina. Two very stubborn little Maori-pigs from New Zealand. While we are busy cleaning out stables and before we open to the public they get to run around, eat grass, bug us for food. They usually start with a sprint to the dung heap to sniff out any interesting food. Remember they are pigs, they eat absolutely anything.

After returning with a full wheelbarrow of crap I found Haka and Hina fighting over a bloody piece of afterbirth they had dug up in the hill. Fighting over it like a tug-of-war. Feeling rather sick at the sight I called one of my workmates over. It wouldn’t kill them, but it’s a little unhygienic at the least! Another intern came over and the three of us tried everything to move them out of the dung heap. But pigs are heavy and they just found their gold, they weren’t going anywhere.

So picture three little girls shoving and yelling at two indifferent pigs. Mission impossible. When the other girl finally contained Hina I was giving it everything I had to work Haka out of the heap. Unfortunately as I was pushing him he suddenly moved leaving me face downward in the dung and blood.  Slimy, bloody bits of whatever mixed with shit of at least 15 different animals covered my entire body. I wear huge wellington boots and jeans but I am not prepared for this kind of mess.  The rest of the day I go to smell like sheep ass and look like a chicken during moult.

This week I started my other internship at a vets practice. I was almost relieved that the worst thing that happened on my first day was a dog that pissed on my arm.

It’s a vet nurse’s life for me.

Fartasana

I am pushing my hands into my mat as hard as I can. David, my Ashtanga teacher, is telling me to focus on my breathing, but all I can think of is the burning sensation at the back of my legs. Drops of sweat are making their way up to my hairline and distracting me from “being in the now”. Downward dog is killing me. And so is the battle of keeping my butt-cheeks pressed together like a mother***r to prevent this fart from escaping.

You can laugh all you want. But it’s not like this never happened to you. I know a part of yoga is about detoxifying your body,.. but there is a limit of how much of my detox I want the person next to me to experience.  Yoga just took on a whole new perspective.

Every time I move down into a new version of bending over wide legged I pray to god everything will just stay in place. David makes it worse coming over to adjust my posture by pushing down on my lower back. Meaning well, but inside I am just screaming “GO AWAY!!”

Then, just when the room goes quiet, and I forgot about the trapped air and I felt like I was making this super controlled move,.. It escapes with a noise that’s comparable with the bang a fighter jet makes when it flies through the sound barriers.

I bury my hands in my face wishing the ground would just swallow me up whole right there. But the lady next to me laughs and says: “Ahhh, don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us.”

If anything, Fartsasana  was the most relieving thing I did in class. I could finally relax, and in complete bliss, thinking to myself, I am so happy it didn’t smell.
Note to self: http://manflowyoga.com/7-poses-that-make-you-art/

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No need for a good deed.

We all have those moments when we feel we are a genuinely good person. Whether it’s because we gave the homeless person on the corner our money for  their bus fare or helped the neighbor unload the shopping, it makes you feel good about yourself. Even though this random act of kindness is directed at someone else, it proves we are not as self-involved as we thought, but maybe even a little heroic in some cases. But who are we really helping out?

One night after I finished work I found the neighborhood cat stuck in the tree. Usually he’s a very cool and frequent visitor at the restaurant where I work. Patiently waiting for scraps of Confit de canard from sympathetic diners. But now he was meowing like mad, clinging on to the branch. As I am studying to be a veterinary nurse I felt this was my calling. Humming the Spiderman tune I began my heroic mission.

I forgot to mention I am little on the short side. The cat seemed relieved with my presence but soon broke into a hysterical meow when he noticed I was not even getting close. No matter how much I reached and stretched out to the cat, me and my 5’ 3” were just not going to happen.

I abandoned my rescue attempt after 10 minutes, frustrated and slightly concerned about my own safety and contemplating to maybe…just…leave it. When suddenly a couple walked around the corner. Excitedly I ran over, rambling about the cat stuck in the tree. Glaring at me, like I was the real life crazy cat lady they went along with my, what I felt was a genius plan.

Unfortunately great plans can also go greatly wrong. The moment we walked over to the tree the cat stopped meowing , calmly jumped down and walked off. That bastard! Feeling like a prize idiot I realized maybe not everyone wants to be saved. Maybe just me,…from that moment.