Dad's birthday

Yesterday was the last day of April 2010. It will never again be April 2010. I had that thought as I was lighting up a candle in the church yesterday. The church that’s close to Grandma K.

For my non-existent readers - I'm not exactly religious but I like the traditional Orthodox church, with its decorations, woodwork, quiet peacefulness, pools of lit candles, and the scent of incense. It's particularly relaxing to go on a work day when most people are at work and the only people are the woman who sells candles in the church, and the old lady sitting on a bench under a blooming cherry tree in the church garden, greeting the occasional visitor with a "Christ resurrected!" 26 days after he did so. That was supposed to be a capital "h", I think. H. Yes.

Dad turns 61 today. Our relationship became a little bumpy a couple of months ago when I - driven by feelings of unactualization, and the typical for me need to avenge people who have hurt me - decided to get even with him for the way he treated me when I was younger. I yelled at him and called him names to show him what it feels like. But the reality is that he is not like that anymore. He is not that aggressive anymore. I don't know if it's because of his disease or because of seeing things differently after you've lived a little longer. Either way, the reality is such that now, no matter how mean I've been to him, he's treating me nicely and he's trying to make amends. And no matter how much I've been disregarding his attempts in the past couple of months, he keeps trying is doesn't give up.

Today is his birthday. Mom has a day shift at the hospital so it's just him and I. In the morning I was thinking about asking him to go to lunch - the two of us, feeling that would be a good thing for both of us. And then, right before I was going to ask him, he asked me the exact same thing. I told him that I was just about to ask him the same thing, and I think he felt good. So did I.

When I was walking with him to the restaurant and back, and while we were having lunch there and the waitress was taking our orders and bringing our food, I didn't feel a string of shame or embarrassment. In fact, I felt proud that I'm going out with my dad to eat out and to mark his day. And I think this is the first time I felt proud instead of ashamed about my dad since I've been back. Of course, I still feel sorry for him sometimes. When I look at him eating slowly - a little older, a little more hunched forward than he was a few years ago; his right hand trembling, his hair a lighter shade of gray. He's the kind of man I would want to make an artistic photograph of. One of those sad ones I used to make. But not anymore. He's my dad. He's my dad and maybe Allen is right - maybe the reason I feel so sad about dad sometimes is maybe because I love him.

Understanding good accidents

Has it happened to you to write an essay, and in the momentum of writing you put together a bunch of cool sounding words and in the end you get this sentence that you don't know exactly what you mean by it, but it just sounds so damn cool you can't get yourself to cut it out from your essay? That just happened to me today again. I have to make myself cut the sentence out, or find a way to understand it. Which one will it be?

Better weekend this weekend

Just noticed my angry/desperate post from this time last week and decided to update my non-existent audience that I had a better weekend. Mostly because I made some new friends. And met some old ones with whom I clicked. Unfortunately the differences between me and my best friend from seven years ago are becoming more and more apparent; I'm starting to doubt we're gonna make it, and that makes me almost as sad as the bumpy, awkward and every so often hurtful relationship I have with my dad - yes I'm the having-daddy-issues kind of girl.

What drives me nuts

Hard breathing these days.

I've started 10+ blogs since 2003. I can never figure out beforehand what direction the blog will take. It always starts out as a specific idea but takes an unplanned route and ends up... well... I don't know. It's like planning to have a blond and blue-eyed child but ending up with a dark/dark one. Or vice versa. And yeah, Make Art Live Life is sooooooo far from talking about making art OR living life it's just plain ridiculous. It's like naming it Chocolate and talking about software.

I've been trying to keep my sanity, and given the two months of loneliness in my rediscovered hometown, I think I'm doing quite well. Except the moments when I feel like breaking things and screaming - impulses to which I haven't given in. Yet.

Today is a day to ask for forgiveness here.

I went to this covered market yesterday - a tiny patch of land in the middle of the city. I suddenly felt happier. I woke up from this delirium. I could breathe easier. And why? I looked around and realized that it was FUCKING CLEAN THERE. And ORGANIZED. God I hate this place. This country is gonna give me a heart attack one of these days just by being such a fucking mess. Why didn't my parents move when they were younger? Now I'm tied down between the desire to escape to a Western European country and the wish and responsibility to stay close to my parents. Pear doesn't fall farther than the tree. Fucking saying is annoyingly right.

Parkinson's Disease & Personality

Since the moment Mom told me about Dad's PD and secretly blamed him for "doing it all to himself", I started seeking information on how one's personality may be related to the chance of developing PD. And yes, it turns out there is a correlation. According to this article, personality traits associated with PD, are:

- introversion
- inflexibility
- low novelty seeking

Traits pointed out here, are:

- ambitious
- industrious
- serious
- single-minded
- rigid
- introverted
- slow-tempered
- harm-avoidant

Needless to say, Dad is most of the above things.

The technical reason PD develops is because of low production of dopamine in the brain. This other article doesn't talk directly about PD but says a thing or two about dopamine and introversion. It turns out that introverts "have a low tolerance to dopamine, the thrill-seeking neurotransmitter. Essentially, introverts need way less of this than do extroverts, and too much dopamine makes them anxious and eventually drained. For introverts, outside stimulation which increases dopamine levels is much like being tickled: not so bad at first, but it can escalate and become very stressful and uncomfortable. Introverts prefer the neurotransmitter acetylcholine, which produces a feeling of calm and wellbeing. This neurotransmitter is raised during calm, reflective activities like reading or drawing."

Unfortunately, I'm not a medical doctor, and I can only draw conclusions based on my common sense, but it sounds like introverts really are sort of "doing it to themselves" by staying in their shell, not getting out there and not seeking new and exciting people and experiences, even if they make them uncomfortable. That did sound like blaming though. I'm more of an introvert myself. Am I at higher risk of getting PD? I was big on novelty-seeking in my late teens (more than my parents could tolerate or were happy with) and maybe the first year or two of college but since then I've become more and more harm-avoidant, single-minded and rigid. I notice my inflexibility with other people, the spontaneity I used to thrive on and now makes me more anxious than excited. I don't consider myself ambitious and industrious but I do beat myself up every so often for not achieving this goal and that goal, so I guess I am ambitious in a way. I feel like it's not too late to fight these tendencies, and I am certainly glad I am able to recognize them. But what am I going to do about them? Do I have the strength to do what it takes? Very often I find myself wanting to be as relaxed, carefree and adventure-seeking as my good old sixteen year old self and I want that girl to come back from where she's hiding and show me how to live.

Adapting vs. Settling

They don't mean the same thing. Then why am I so scared to let myself adapt?

Settling is adapting with a negative connotation to it.

At the same time, I think I need to adapt in order to go forward. I'll give an example.

It's been a month. I stubbornly refuse to accept the ugly realities of this country. I'm afraid if I accept the ugly monster buildings from communist times with their paint peeling off and the large territories of mud and dirt all around them, then I'll stop trying for something better and I'll settle for this. In that way I don't *want* to adapt, it's not that I *can't*. Adapting has become a synonym of settling in my mind. I perceive it as taking a step back from where I am. But maybe it's a step forward. Maybe I have to make this forward step of adapting in order to make the next forward step of moving on. Settling is a step back, adapting is a step forward. I know smart people adapt. Dumb people settle. I'm so scared of not being the dumb one I can't let myself be the smart one. And that makes me mediocre, indifferent, which inevitably is also a step back. There is no stillness in life, there is always change, movement. You're bound to go in some direction and it's your choice which one it'll be.

WHITE HAIR!!!

Ok, so usually I keep my hair on one side. It's been like this for ten years. I switched to the other side today, for a change, and I fell in deep depression right there and then in front of the mirror. On that other side were hiding THREE white hairs! Not one, not two - THREE! One of them is just discolored and dull but the other two are exactly what people call SILVER. They're kind of pretty actually. And sparkly and cute and opinionated! I would love them if they weren't signifying the inevitable elapse of time and all that crap. I'm 26 and living at home with Mom and Dad and growing white hair! God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can't change... courage to change the things I can...