Personal Blog Hygene or How Not to Write an Entry

My Dear Mates at Elte,

Last night I have spent an hour desperately trying to figure out how to start my own blog. If I was to say I have succeeded, I would be lying. I am typing these very lines in Microsoft Word right now, in hope of being able to upload them tommorrow to the class blog. 

Let me start off by telling you how I feel about blogs. It might come as a surprise to you, but I am not a blog fanatic. My life is pretty exciting – at least for me and a few rejects, who care to listen to me – and entertaining, which in itself would be a bountiful foundation for a blog. However, I have no intentions of sharing my life, or anything that particulary interests me with anyone, who I don’t get to talk to in person. The only kind of blog that I believe to be helpful is a research blog. I know, right?

SINCE I am not doing any kind of research at the moment, and even if I were, I don’t think I would share it with the world before getting at least the Nobel Prize, I decided to give a very detailed description of my life as long as this class is due. This way I am going against my own principles, which is a good thing I guess.

Today I got up at half past seven in the morning. As the first rays of the morning sun were reflected on my retina, I sadly realized that I will not have to catch the 8:15 train, and travel to see you guys to have fun, but I will have to go to work. I lifted up my untrained, rapidy aging body and made my way to the toilet. I took a dump. Let me stop you here for a moment. I know it’s shocking but I tend to do this every morning, so I think it’s worth mentioning. Some of you will accuse me of being obsessed with fecal matter, some of you will cry for a psychologist ( a psychiatrist even), but believe me, those fifteen minutes were the least painful part of my day.  I have friends in the theatrical community who would call this act an art in progress.

Afterwards I got dressed, a process challenging enough in itself, since for 20 years I was dressed by a servant my family bought in the Fillippines. He was a nice man, his name was Batu. I even cried when we had to put him down, but early set Alzheimer’s took a toll on his productivity as a servant. I managed to put my boxers on inside out, which is considered a sign of good luck in some cultures. Turns out I represent a different culture. With a quick glance at the clock I discarded the idea of having any breakfast and hurried out of the flat. 

It was cold out there. And dark. Shadowy figures were lurking in the thick morning fog. I tried to blend in. Tried to erase my presence, the urge kick to planet off its axes making our country a tropical paradise forever. My memory gets fuzzy, as I try to remember my march throw the snow and ice, as and old movie that has been cut so many times, that whole minutes are missing from it now. I passed a homeless person, who was fortunately engaged in a heated discussion with some elderly woman carrying a handbag, the ever so classicly annoying companion to old people.

Annyira szeretnék pihenni,

Csak egy napig semmit se tenni,

Aludni, feküdni, ülni,

A világgal mitsem törődni.

Aztán mint kerék indulni,

Felpörögni, az úthoz simulni,

Zötyögni, recsegni, fájni,

Az útból semmitse látni.

De addig is vacogva, ragyogva,

Sörtől és kávétól motyogva,

Megalázkodva és felmagasztalódva

Járok még kicsit.

Excuse my failing English, I am so tired that my brain has finally snapped and conveyed this badly rhymed poem. I also included a picture of myself that was taken while writing this entry for you to be able to grasp the state of mind I was in. No, was neither drunk, nor high when this picture was taken. I kept lying down on my icy futon, but new ideas were popping in my mind by the minute, and I was lured back to my computer time and time again. But lets go back to my day. The rest of it is as shallow as the grave I am digging for myself right now. You’d think the theatre is full of adventure and fun. This is very true. However, two days before premier it is all about doing everything right at the exact right moment. Time and time again. It’s like a treadmill, but worse, since there is no set time to finish. Oh there is a schedule all right, but it’s just for show. Nevertheless, it felt good that we managed to pass such an obsticle. Managed to beat evil sleeplessness, and created something enjoyable. I got home at 23:30. It felt good. Not ’pooping in the morning’ good, but an  ’end of the day good’ that only poets can describe efficiently.

Allright, I lied. You all got me. This little entry was not detailed enough. I talked about lots of unnessesary stuff and there is not even a punchline at the end of my story. I am not sorry, not the least bit. Expect to hear from me in the future. Bad things. Ugly things. A contorted sense of reality...