Ladybird invasion in my room

Recently I’ve been hearing whispers in my dreams; whispers that are incoherent and have no business in my dreams. Only when dreaming I can figure out the daunting words in the background, but as soon as I wake up I don’t remember a thing of what’s been said. Maybe I’m getting too obsessed with that story of mine from 2006, in which the voice was Peter Pan’s – a fairy tale character that was supposed to teach me how to fly.
It was pretty much inspired by Madame Butterfly. Blindfold the child so it won’t see the tragedy and it shall never learn the word ‘tragedy’.

Yesterday I watched the original opera show, which was breath-taking, mind-blowing, heart-breaking.
The stage was beautifully egg-shaped. In the middle you had Cio Cio-san’s marvellous room surrounded by four ponds with bridge-like crossings built above the water.  The lady who performed as Butterfly was brilliant, but in some ways she didn’t act naturally enough. And using the American flag to blindfold the kid felt a bit wrong.

I had my blood taken today. Blood tests are exciting! I don’t mind needles; I just don’t like watching how they suck some life out of me.
Also what I realised is that British doctors are primarily female and ALL of them have short hair. Are they trying to scare the shit out of me?! The doctor that I see has short hair and totally resembles my paediatrician. This is out of order.
She is not a thorough examiner, either. Why am I to tell her what’s wrong with me? She is supposed to figure it out herself. “Your urine looks perfectly clear – all is fine!” Bullshit.
You think I don’t know my kidney by now? I need an urologist, not to mention a gynaecologist, but they don’t seem to exist in this country or I’m not ill enough to get a transfer. The general doctors and their nurses will take care of it, of course! This is as competent as they can get.

And I will keep drinking London’s metallic water.

I’m still wondering whom to give the 6th kiss to – preferably some lips that don’t taste like poison this time. I remember stroking Dan’s (5th) burnt tongue two years ago. He was also supposed to be #3 in bed, but it never happened. Shortly after the disappointment I wrote the blog entry ‘Absinthe rush’ – one of the best titles I ever came up with. That was an attempt to say ‘Over and done with’ and for some reason it didn’t work; it never seems to work. So I tried fiction last month, which helped a lot more.
Unfortunately it is not yet over. Son of a bitch.

There’s only one week left before spring officially begins. I haven’t even prepared the farewell prayer yet. I haven’t even finished reading Hemingway yet. I haven’t been stalking nesting robins yet. I haven’t done shit.
Only ladybirds pay me regular visits to remind me.
Sometimes I let them play around in my room. And sometimes I flick them out of my window.

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