Bottling it up and ranting at random strangers on the street in Dutch worked just fine for me.

Goodness me, it’s been a while. Before inquiring on how you’ve all been, let me stop and change the subject.

School started yesterday, which is a boring fact, other than I’ll most likely be done with the whole experience of getting an education by the end of the year. We can only hope.

For this one course we are to keep a log of a recurring journey – time, day, how long it took, etc. I added another column for ‘roadrage’ as well, cos I feel that in my case it would be extremely valuable data. Yesterday I scored a 3, but that was only for the way back. For the way to school I had no timer set, hence the data is screwed.

By the way, for health purposes, they say it’s better to ‘let it out’ when you’re angry and stuff. Bottling it up and ranting at random strangers on the street in Dutch worked just fine for me, but maybe they have a point.

Back onto the bus. What a joy, people procreating. In this day and age, still, folks choose to surround themselves with a brood 7 – 8 heads large. Remarkable, especially if one is to load it all in the bus. Mother-hen lost track of one of her spawn, heavily gesticulating to a running shadow outside of the bus. Spawn made it in on time, and the the adventure could commence at once. Two bits of spawn had resurfaced on the seats behind me. Mother-hen had to keep an eye on the pram in the corridor, thus ensuring a lively exchange.

Now, my hat of choice has a number of dangling pom-poms -cos that’s how I bought it ages ago at a Beijing subway station. It had recently been restored as it had started to unravel, so you can understand me feeling somewhat protective of my muts. Seeing it being chastised on public transport is something I do not enjoy. I would have turned back to have an encounter, except that I didn’t. The little ones had the ride of their lives and seemed particularly ultrasonic that evening. Ensuring mother would not feel left out, one of the imps had wedged themselves between the seats and was screeching merrily.

Of course, this is what you get on public transport. The Public. If I had a bit more balls on me I would have taken the damn bike all the way to Pasila but winter has kicked in properly at once, and the drive to and from the bus was already pushing it.

I should probably put an end to this but I don’t know how, also I’m tired and feeling particularly fired up.

 

That’s why I cling to it like a maniac.

Today I got to play something extravagant. I got to wear a dress many females would scratch their counterpart’s eyes out for. I had an ok time. The dress looked beautiful, the make-up looked beautiful. I don’t. Everything fitted, and I felt as though I’ll never be good enough.

So then, what’s a lady to do? A lady in distress would wait for a handsome fellow to straighten it all out, to hoist her on his horse and take off for a castle in the clouds. Some say that I ain’t a lady and I tend to agree. I show up to shoots in camouflage cargo pants, heavy duty boots (this is Finland.. it’s getting cold), a lumberjack jacket, and hair in disarray.  People wonder. Feathers ruffle, eyebrows raise.

Though when I wear my lumberjacket, I feel like I am worthy. That’s why I cling to it like  a maniac. It’s this gargantuan, padded thing that’s comfortable and warm, and it shields me. It’s my coat of armor, because armor I need. I feel like I’ll never be good enough, and with my jacket on, and my boots strapped, the pictures matter less. When everyone else is doing better, when everyone else looks so very much better, and I feel almost as if I’m about to shrivel up and disappear, I know I’m only a few steps away from the forest where I can read, and be, and run, and climb, and get messy.

Totally Cap’n Hook and totally not bike-worthy.

It seems that many people have been going on and on about the astonishing fact that they acquired themselves a new pair of boots (horns are-a-tooting. My feeds are speckled like the measles with posts of successful boot-loots), so today I decided to join the chorus.

Folks, I got new boots!!

Not actually and technically new – I got them at Fida (where most of my stuff originates). Black, with a heel, and laces which have gold jiggly bits at the end. As it turns out, they’re made for my feet; getting in is a bit of a skirmish but once the heel is settled I’m only a skip and a jump away from joining a dancing troupe cos boy! Are these heels made for skipping and jumping! Ridiculously comfy. And worth sharing indeed.

I’m not at the breakfast-bowl-sharing part of the photo app yet (rye-bread with peanut butter and egg is not photogenic), however I did try their new poll feature out for a spin today. The simple question was thus: are the new boots Pirate or Wench?

I do have a pair of pirate boots already. They’re amazing, totally Cap’n Hook and totally not bike-worthy. But I don’t know – if you’d have to choose, you’d rather be a pirate. Or, I’d rather be a pirate. Pillaging and plundering across the seven seas. Hanging out on deserted islands with buckets of loot when there’s nothing to do.

Alas. In the year 2017 there’s no real pirates to speak of. Come Halloween, there will be slutty versions and Jack Sparrow lookalikes in itchy looking knock-offs, but other than that it’s slim pickins. Plundering galore, sure, but can you really call yourself a pirate without a proper Pirate’s Code? (guidelines – but still)