A Procrastinating Selfish Machine
As I'm... No, the right thing to say is that as I don't know where, who or what I am right now, I'm going to procrastinate.
Well, not so much, I'm intrigued.
I've said many times that people have the impression that there's a slight or strong difference of attitude when I speak and when I write (it depends on the person, I've received very contrasting opinions on that. I go from being an ice cube to a set of fireworks). A while ago I wrote something about that. The point was that my friend had told me it was impossible for us not to be what we write. Now I also remember she had said that people generally believed they would be face to face with a different person, that is, they would never think that your personality is not a fake one intended to impress, show off, be polite, etc., when you write in places such as messenger.
And it was precisely this afternoon that something intriguing happened. I had just published the post below when I logged in on messenger and started a conversation with somebody. Ahh, this is important: he could not have read that post because he would have complained of something I wrote there that has to do with him. Besides, he was about to die because ot the tons of work he had. Haha, anyway, I guess he doesn't read the blog, and just in case he does: don't get mad, it was the truth :P. Well, now I go on (remember, I'm procrastinating). Emmm, ahhh yes, despite the cloud of misery over my head, I was having a cheerful write (hey, I want write to become a noun just as talk) with him. When he wrote goodbye, typed (haha, this is the equivalent of told) this: "it's always great to write (remember, this means talk) with you, it's as if I were actually listening to your voice". Gosh, it's the most marvellous compliment I've ever received!!! Don't you think so? Aghh, I don't care, it seems so to me. Ohh, yes, I'm weird, weird, weird. I mean, he may call the guarra-girl an angel, the bitchy girl innocently sexy (!!!!), and there's a long list (hahaha, yessss, I've seen hi5), but he wrote that thing for me without knowing about my dilemmas on writing and speaking... Dahh, don't you get it? That's the intriguing part. Besides, yeah, I have to say he made an effort to find the appropriate words... The angel or sexy thing is so plain that it becomes vulgar when isolated in that way; with me he had to put his brain to work in order to find more than one or two words to express something nice.
Then, this made me think about my horrible voice. I wouldn't have imagined someone remembered it. And there's also the fact that I had never related what I write to the sound of my voice. Yes, I love reading aloud. Sometimes I read my own writing aloud and find that it's just the same tone, but never think somebody is going to picture me saying this and that. I couldn't help thinking about our times together, and yes, he always listens carefully to me, my laughter makes him laugh too, and everything flows naturally. Our conversations on messenger are just like that; the intentions of our words are clear all the time.
Of course this leads me to a higher level (yeah, I'm still procrastinating)... How do you remember people? For me, sounds are rather difficult to remember. Well, the musicians around have trained my ear, so I know which song is which by hearing the first chords and sometimes I even surprise them by recognizing different songs all in one (haha), or if there's a mistake, or if the mix is strange, or if there's an unpleasant change, etc., etc. But the sounds of people are not that easy. Ohh, I can remember laughters, yes, that's the sound I remember. At times, somebody's laugher reminds me of someone else's and I'm restless until I find out why. Wow, laughters of all kinds, yes people, I remember your laughters!! But, mmm, I remember images, yes, that's my speciality. Faces, specific moments in life, and all that... yeah, I remember in slow motion :P.
Ok, I know this is too much, but I just noticed there's something about remembrance I didn't post. Ouch, it's one of the gaps on this blog. That post isn't finished and it's in Spanish (gosh, I'm a mess!!!), but see:
May, 15th 2010
El otro día (usted disculpe, es que ya perdí la noción del tiempo y por eso no recuerdo cuándo), andaba yo divagando aquí acerca de la gente que nos cambia la vida y preguntándome qué pasa con uno mismo, si alguna persona llega a considerar que le cambiamos la vida de algún modo, el que sea. Yo decía que es muy difícil saberlo y que, en todo caso, hasta da miedo averiguar. Lo sé, esa parece una cuestión egoísta, pero lo que me planteaba no tenía que ver con cuánta importancia me doy a mí misma, sino con la importancia que yo confiero a otras personas. ¿Huh?
Y es que ya saben cómo soy, siempre es la misma escena:
X: Oye, ¿te acuerdas de Tal?
Paola: Ahh, pero claro que sí.
X: Oye, ¿por qué no le hablas? Igual y quiere venir.
Paola: No, seguramente ni se acuerda de mí.
X: ¡Estás loca! Siempre que me l@ encuentro me pregunta por ti y te manda saludos.
Paola: Nahhh, no es cierto, esa es una mentiral vil.
X: Claro que no, siempre se acuerda de cuando fuimos aquí, cuando hicimos esto, cuando dijiste aquello.
Paola: Ok, si tú lo dices.
X: Ayyy, me caes mal.
Conservo mucho de toda la gente a la que he conocido, pero por algún extraño motivo siempre creo que paso desapercibida... y aunque digan lo contrario, yo pienso que así es. Supongo que es por la maldita timidez que me hace quedarme tranquilita. Y no me sabe mal. A mí me parece más importante recordar que ser recordada. Lo curioso es que puedo olvidar mucho, pero hay momentos específicos que se graban y no hay forma de borrarlos. Por ejemplo, pude llegar a olvidar los rasgos de alguien, pero no el aroma de su perfume (¿al de hombre se le llama colonia?) y, a su vez, eso me remite a momentos como alguna plática seria o a un abrazo de consuelo. Ahora que estoy con eso de los perfumes, recuerdo que mi amiga Diana y yo por casualidad usábamos el mismo perfume, pero el aroma era muy distinto. En mí, era muy dulce, pero en ella era una mezcla entre tabaco y papel; las copias que me prestaba y hasta el coche de su novio olían igual, era el aroma Diana. Bueno, en realidad ese tipo de cosas no son tan importantes, pero son un indicador de que yo siempre me acuerdo de los pequeños detalles que casi nadie nota.
How about that? You see, that's how I remember. And this is how I procrastinate.
*Tonight I'm afraid of going to bed. I don't want to dream.
Well, not so much, I'm intrigued.
I've said many times that people have the impression that there's a slight or strong difference of attitude when I speak and when I write (it depends on the person, I've received very contrasting opinions on that. I go from being an ice cube to a set of fireworks). A while ago I wrote something about that. The point was that my friend had told me it was impossible for us not to be what we write. Now I also remember she had said that people generally believed they would be face to face with a different person, that is, they would never think that your personality is not a fake one intended to impress, show off, be polite, etc., when you write in places such as messenger.
And it was precisely this afternoon that something intriguing happened. I had just published the post below when I logged in on messenger and started a conversation with somebody. Ahh, this is important: he could not have read that post because he would have complained of something I wrote there that has to do with him. Besides, he was about to die because ot the tons of work he had. Haha, anyway, I guess he doesn't read the blog, and just in case he does: don't get mad, it was the truth :P. Well, now I go on (remember, I'm procrastinating). Emmm, ahhh yes, despite the cloud of misery over my head, I was having a cheerful write (hey, I want write to become a noun just as talk) with him. When he wrote goodbye, typed (haha, this is the equivalent of told) this: "it's always great to write (remember, this means talk) with you, it's as if I were actually listening to your voice". Gosh, it's the most marvellous compliment I've ever received!!! Don't you think so? Aghh, I don't care, it seems so to me. Ohh, yes, I'm weird, weird, weird. I mean, he may call the guarra-girl an angel, the bitchy girl innocently sexy (!!!!), and there's a long list (hahaha, yessss, I've seen hi5), but he wrote that thing for me without knowing about my dilemmas on writing and speaking... Dahh, don't you get it? That's the intriguing part. Besides, yeah, I have to say he made an effort to find the appropriate words... The angel or sexy thing is so plain that it becomes vulgar when isolated in that way; with me he had to put his brain to work in order to find more than one or two words to express something nice.
Then, this made me think about my horrible voice. I wouldn't have imagined someone remembered it. And there's also the fact that I had never related what I write to the sound of my voice. Yes, I love reading aloud. Sometimes I read my own writing aloud and find that it's just the same tone, but never think somebody is going to picture me saying this and that. I couldn't help thinking about our times together, and yes, he always listens carefully to me, my laughter makes him laugh too, and everything flows naturally. Our conversations on messenger are just like that; the intentions of our words are clear all the time.
Of course this leads me to a higher level (yeah, I'm still procrastinating)... How do you remember people? For me, sounds are rather difficult to remember. Well, the musicians around have trained my ear, so I know which song is which by hearing the first chords and sometimes I even surprise them by recognizing different songs all in one (haha), or if there's a mistake, or if the mix is strange, or if there's an unpleasant change, etc., etc. But the sounds of people are not that easy. Ohh, I can remember laughters, yes, that's the sound I remember. At times, somebody's laugher reminds me of someone else's and I'm restless until I find out why. Wow, laughters of all kinds, yes people, I remember your laughters!! But, mmm, I remember images, yes, that's my speciality. Faces, specific moments in life, and all that... yeah, I remember in slow motion :P.
Ok, I know this is too much, but I just noticed there's something about remembrance I didn't post. Ouch, it's one of the gaps on this blog. That post isn't finished and it's in Spanish (gosh, I'm a mess!!!), but see:
May, 15th 2010
El otro día (usted disculpe, es que ya perdí la noción del tiempo y por eso no recuerdo cuándo), andaba yo divagando aquí acerca de la gente que nos cambia la vida y preguntándome qué pasa con uno mismo, si alguna persona llega a considerar que le cambiamos la vida de algún modo, el que sea. Yo decía que es muy difícil saberlo y que, en todo caso, hasta da miedo averiguar. Lo sé, esa parece una cuestión egoísta, pero lo que me planteaba no tenía que ver con cuánta importancia me doy a mí misma, sino con la importancia que yo confiero a otras personas. ¿Huh?
Y es que ya saben cómo soy, siempre es la misma escena:
X: Oye, ¿te acuerdas de Tal?
Paola: Ahh, pero claro que sí.
X: Oye, ¿por qué no le hablas? Igual y quiere venir.
Paola: No, seguramente ni se acuerda de mí.
X: ¡Estás loca! Siempre que me l@ encuentro me pregunta por ti y te manda saludos.
Paola: Nahhh, no es cierto, esa es una mentiral vil.
X: Claro que no, siempre se acuerda de cuando fuimos aquí, cuando hicimos esto, cuando dijiste aquello.
Paola: Ok, si tú lo dices.
X: Ayyy, me caes mal.
Conservo mucho de toda la gente a la que he conocido, pero por algún extraño motivo siempre creo que paso desapercibida... y aunque digan lo contrario, yo pienso que así es. Supongo que es por la maldita timidez que me hace quedarme tranquilita. Y no me sabe mal. A mí me parece más importante recordar que ser recordada. Lo curioso es que puedo olvidar mucho, pero hay momentos específicos que se graban y no hay forma de borrarlos. Por ejemplo, pude llegar a olvidar los rasgos de alguien, pero no el aroma de su perfume (¿al de hombre se le llama colonia?) y, a su vez, eso me remite a momentos como alguna plática seria o a un abrazo de consuelo. Ahora que estoy con eso de los perfumes, recuerdo que mi amiga Diana y yo por casualidad usábamos el mismo perfume, pero el aroma era muy distinto. En mí, era muy dulce, pero en ella era una mezcla entre tabaco y papel; las copias que me prestaba y hasta el coche de su novio olían igual, era el aroma Diana. Bueno, en realidad ese tipo de cosas no son tan importantes, pero son un indicador de que yo siempre me acuerdo de los pequeños detalles que casi nadie nota.
How about that? You see, that's how I remember. And this is how I procrastinate.
*Tonight I'm afraid of going to bed. I don't want to dream.
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