Confinement Diary - Day X

I want to be somewhere on a warm sunny sandy beach, not too far away...somewhere close. It seems the comfort of home is too easy to get used to and so difficult to break from, I don't feel ready to part yet, I've grown used to my routine, much like inmates...refusing to leave prison at the end of a long sentence served.

We are all inmates, settling into our routines and learning to live in confined spaces and reduced freedoms, I wonder what will become of us all. Will we even go back to the office, will we ever regain our freedom and liberties, will there be long queues at restaurant bathrooms for punters to wash their hands, will there be international travel again? so many questions...

I wish I had George Orwell's foresight or Margaret Atwood's imagination, at least I could capitalise on this mayhem and produce a dystopian plot worthy of our crazy times! So frustrating!

I am a frustrated writer I've come to realise and my imagination refuses to play ball! What a pity...
Oh well back to Netflix.

Stay safe...Stay sane!

A new year and a few positive thoughts...

First day back in the office so effectively first day that counts and I realised I am not totally unhappy about being back in London or the office which is a massive change from previous years where I was often depressed about it and thus wrote more or whinged more, this sprout of positivity I have had over the last year  or so is really hindering my creativity, it seems I am more creatively productive when down or angry.

The decision resolution was made by me and my committee of 7 schizo personalities to try to cultivate a more optimistic and positive creativity that is not necessarily fuelled by anger, depression or lack of sex. And so this is the first instalment.

I have managed to drop the kilos that clung to my hips for the last ten years, which gave me a massive boost in energy and libido confidence, of course now I have a new problem, I can’t shake the boys off my hips! DAMN!  I have also dated interviewed many candidates over the last year, none of which made it past the 2^nd round, on the count of mostly shallow reasons that I won’t mention here, also men are gross (and NO I have not turned gay).

I found being angry and full of sarcasm was funny until it turned against me, although my writing and sense of humour flourished, my personal life suffered visibly from this and I had to choose between being funny or being happy, such seemingly simplistic and silly choices, but the results have been staggering.

I am so full of positivity these days it’s sickening (note picture above as exhibit A), I have to feign some crankiness sometimes just to trick my mind into spurts of creativity so I am able to continue to contribute to the ongoing dialogue on all aspects/dilemmas of the Algerian woman in London or elsewhere.

I have also since come out of anonymity – on this more news to come J

Until the next happy instalment, Happy New Year from me.

The museum of procrastination

As I look around my place, all I see are unfinished projects, half-finished decorating, half-finished painting resting on the radiator, yellowing from the heat, the faint shape of the women seem to shrivel even her breasts are drooping

In the corner gathering dust sit a couple of musical instruments, staring at me, chords sticking out like guts spilling out of a discarded corpse, at least I mastered Frere Jacques and they make for interesting conversations like do you play? NOPE.

Book plots, blogs and essays squiggled on pieces of paper dispersed on my desk, gathering dust, the ink smudged in places and the paper yellowing from different beverages that were spilled on them. Some stories have never even left the confines of my imagination; they just sit there waiting for instructions that won’t come, I promised them …someday!

In the cupboard, half-finished treatments and courses of anti-biotic from my hypochondriac days…all half-finished and expired, even as I look down, I see only one of my legs is waxed because the last time I had to bare my thunder thighs, my skirt only had one opening and I frankly couldn’t be bothered to go on with this charade that is waxing!  But I stand by my choice, it’s both logical and economical and in no way lazy.

Come to think of it, even my dreams are cut-short, I always wake up before the “climax”, I never seem to stop running and get to where I am supposed to get, I always think I can get some amazing fantastica novel from my stupid dreams, if only they’d finish…

My procrastination list goes on, sadly my desire to finish anything doesn’t, but that doesn’t ever discourage me from starting other things again…I came to realise that it doesn’t matter when you get there, as long as you do eventually get there, procrastination is given a bad name, but perhaps it’s a good process for some people! I am sticking to it ya!

The end.

Ps: it took me 2 weeks to write this!! Ooof

The Time Thief

When I went to work this morning it was the 10^th January; then a hundred hour later I looked at the clock to drool over my favourite digits of the day (18h00) flashing at me in that glorious fluorescent green and was met with the 11^th June…Where did it go? Who stole January? Give it back!! Give it back I say!

So I started thinking (more thinking aaaahhhh) about the notion of time, I researched Einstein because I always fancied myself a woman of science (Tozz*). I wanted to understand what makes time feel like it’s passing quickly, flying by and leaving me with unfished tasks, unticked lists and an unfulfilled life …so I started to read about theories!

Apparently this can be down to the different methods the brain uses to judge the passage of time, like the more fun you’re having the faster time is perceived to pass and the more bored and anxious you are, the slower it seems to be, but in reality it’s about the memories you’re making during the passage of this time, so if you are sitting in a waiting room and you’re at all thinking you’d be repeating previous thoughts and it will seem like nothing really happened, a waste of time, and that’s a fact, nothing did happen, nothing new, it’s the same memory so the only indicator of the time is really the making of new memories like it’s 4 o’clock, now it’s 5 o’clock then you look again and it’s the 11^th June.

So if this is in any way sensical and if I go by my random yet effective analytical methods, it would mean that my life is a busy one, full of joy, new memories and stuff! This would explain why time seems to be flying so rapidly and extraordinarily, or there’s a time thief lurking around me stealing my precious time and not giving me memories in exchange!! Well come to think of it, thieves never give you anything in exchange except for grief …and germs!

So that led me to think about how time is somewhat subjectively constructed within the brain…bla bla bla….Gawd I am boring myself!

So the point of this is really to say, I am kind of bored and time is not playing fair! Bored of constructing the same memories or similar ones to the point of having a life of Deja-vus and jaded repetitions, bored of fooling myself into thinking I am leading a worthwhile life (ok maybe I am too hard on myself), bored of waiting for change when I am not doing anything about it and frankly I am boring myself with these same repetitive thoughts and the same faces in the same trains in the same places, even across the globe in distant continents and different time zones, finding the same faces with the same annoying angry ungrateful and uncultured features fill me with dread – thank you shallow globalisation, you bitch!

So whoever stole time; stole particularity and individuality and turned us all into a mushy cloned mess which is getting in the way of my happiness and making me cranky and random. Thank you again mushy cloned brains!

Anyway, I better get on with some stuff or time will never move and I wouldn’t have marked its passage like a needy little achievement-hungry little brat ! Also you know what they say “A watched pot never boils”…

Dz-Chick….time really is of the essence

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*Tozz = a noise that could mean “yeah right”, it could also mean fart but I am too much of a lady for that shit! Obviously...

Are we there yet?

 

I have been known to moan and whinge a fair amount, I've also been known to be sarcastic, ironic and a tad bitchy and that as you all know has served me… and you by extension very well over the last few years.
Unfortunately I have grown out of it, I let go of a lot of my negativity and anger which gave way to sedation and boredom. Dull dull dull

So much to whinge about, so little will to do it, I seem to have developed this thing where I see the better side of things, good side of people, of shit, as a result I became what some would consider a wise person, I try to excuse every prick that says something stupid, I don’t slap the slapables, I smile when annoyed now, I almost made friends with a stingy busy little bee God forbid, I say things like “it’s ok they’re just kids”, or in other words I became a pushover and to overcome that problem I thought it's safer if I stopped hanging out with people who would take advantage of my Buddha-like demeanour (whaaaat?) and eventually I stopped going out altogether.

London has become a challenge to overcome, like a purgatory waiting to know where you'll end up heaven or hell, or maybe that's a bit dramatic!! Alright ....it feels like a groundhog day, repeating itself tirelessly waiting for something to change to break the cycle. Taking the same train to the same job, working with the same insane boss, doing the same workouts yet looking exactly the same even when I dye my hair orange and think I dropped a couple of kilos, walking the same streets, hearing the same natter between the same idiots who still to this day rave about the 70% Sales, about Big Brother and XFactor.

So I take a different walk, try to do something new, see if I can trip this groundhog day up, I decide to walk, I walk in the park, see so many faces and I get the feeling that they’re all new here, I keep walking until I find myself by a pond, I don’t know where I am but you always know you’re in the royal borough when they’re throwing ciabatta at the ducks, so I don't roll my eyes and I just move on, I want to be around people who aren’t fooled by status and possessions, I want my feet to take me somewhere I can meet someone interesting and fun who stands for things and doesn’t run a mile when I open my mouth, who looks beyond what is expected of us and dares to be different.

There’s no shame in saying, I always felt it was ok to talk about this as long as I was writing anonymously but pretty soon everyone else will know who I am and it’s about time I took responsibility for Dz-Chick, maybe Groundhod Day will soon be over…

Until then…still walking in the hope of stumbling on a different path or waking up on a different day!

It all adds up!

There is always an upside to all the dreadful events that happen to you in life; like loosing a job so you can land a better one, getting dumped, so you can depress, loose the weight and gain more confidence (I know: I am shallow) or in my friend Lyna’s case put on the weight (reasoning behind this: somebody has to eat the Ben&Jerry’s), cry about your luck and play victims, loosing a grip is the only one I haven’t found the positive reasoning behind. The search continues…

This is how sayings like “things happen for a reason” and such came to exist.

When things aren’t going your way, like debts AND weight piling up (not me – I am a model I am), country in political perdition, when work is sucking out 10 hours a day of your life, you’re certain of never getting back and dreadful existential questions popping into your head like: “What am I supposed to be doing with my life and what is going to happen to me followed by other nonsensical questions like how it is hanging and who let the dogs out!”.

Right now and after a long, blissful and anxiety-free period, the anticipated wave of gloom strikes! Hurrah I was getting worried my writing Mojo would be gone forever, my evil friend whom I shan’t name, warned me that writers thrived on their tormented souls and that I was far too positive, it was getting worrying.

The upside to this wave of unexplainable (hormones, pre-mature mid-life crisis, low funds, poor faith; to name a few probable sources) is my writing MoJo is back and Safia should be on her way again in no time.

Before we conclude; here’s another nonsensical question for you: Do hummingbirds hum because they don't know the words?

Dz-Chick…so who really let the dogs out?

Dz-chick....four years on!

On the 12th November 2007, I started writing “Dilemmas of a single Algerian girl in London” and four years later I find myself still writing it, same title, same place, same dilemmas, getting actually tired of it and I am sure a few people out there too, thought unlike me, you are not obligated to visit my page, may I suggest cannotstayaway.com – it doesn’t exists? Sure it does, it brings you straight back to dz-chick.com!

Seriously! 4 years! What gives!!! And 3 exclamation points! Wow
I guess a holiday is in order, immediately if not sooner, but you know how it is, coming up to the end of year 2011, so many hard questions

What have I achieved this year?

Did I manage my anger, stress?

Did I do enough to be happy to turn 35? This one is out of line, nobody should be happy to turn 35 and to those who claim they are I say: MYTHO

Did I loose enough weight to fit into that dress I couldn’t afford? the one hanging in the “one day” side of the wardrobe?

Did I come close to meeting someone special? Answer is nope, unless you mean special as in crazy!

Will I make a “new year resolutions” list for 2012? NEVER

Will I look 35? Ask my surgeon in Harley street!

Will I ever meet someone lovely and kind and not totally crazy? I have more chances to meet Budha!

The point is, four years of writing has brought me so much criticism, many fans, many compliments, so many insults and a few admirers, some jealousy with a pinch of nastiness, the marks of a healthy blog I guess. I don’t know how long I am going to continue writing this blog, but if I do branch out, I will make sure to keep you updated.

Happy Birthday “Dilemmas of a single Algerian girl in London”, four already but you don’t look a day over 2.

Dz-Chick ….just like her blog, doesn’t look a day over 25!

Ps: haters: I know it’s hard but please try to contain yourselves! It’s a four year olds' birthday for Gods sake!

8 Days to go…

…I don’t usually write on weekends, and I find myself missing it, I find myself always jotting down ideas, thoughts and listing various things I have to remember, do or write about.

The feeling of having a notepad and a pen in my bag fills me with thrill as I sit down for a coffee, as my fountain Pilot pen 0.6V strokes the sheet and makes that faint sound of metal on paper, ideas rush to my head and I cannot write fast enough before they fade back down to where came from until the next surge to inspiration, writing I fear has become a hedonistic pleasure, along with buttered toast and sleeping.

So I started to write a short story, a story of a girl with a seemingly ordinary life, who is made to believe is ordinary but she always knew she wasn’t, as her life unravels and the ideas jotted down in my notepad and ideas buried deep within me flood back, my fingers pound on the keyboard with such speed, making the most exquisite sound, the sound of a story coming together, the story of Safia.

I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it….coming soon

I digress, Ramadan is on it’s last ten days, and I have yet to make the most of it, I have been quite moody and lazy this Ramadan, and so I’ve decided to make up for it in these last days, starting with being less moody, less grumpy, less cynical and overall a more pleasant person and not just when I’m in the mood to talk or laugh, I’ll try to be less vain as well but that’s difficult when you’re as beautiful as I am, did you know the Arabic word for Narcissus (the flower) is Narjiss….maybe digression is also a new hedonistic pleasure of mine.

Dz-Chick….in a strange mood*

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* what’s new right?