post-holiday blues

Today I will get a call from some stranger, asking to confirm if I was who I am, who will turn out to be the lawyer-executioner of a vast inheritance sum from a long lost grandparent. I'll go downstairs to check my bank account, and my 5-digit savings balloons to 8-digit sums. In real time. As in right before my eyes. A stopwatch on the ATM screen.

I'll walk out of the building not caring about the work I left behind, book a ticket to Prague, then I head home to get some sleep, but on the way I buy a brand new MacBook Pro, a dozen shirts, two dozen books, a king-size bed. A dozen jars of parmesan cheese. I buy a lot of things. I don't have to wake up early tomorrow, I say to myself.

The depths of the lows after the holiday highs. Haaayyy.

a fairy godmother could help

The wedding probably was the most un-magical we've ever seen, so much so that the media did away (thankfully) with any pretensions of a romantic love story and dedicated much of the coverage to what it really was - a marriage of egos. It was a big cathedral and a long procession of egos if you ask me. As if you would.