Where is my broom?
There is a subtle yet wide gap between reality and expectations, the projection of reality into the future. No matter how cautious you are while setting those expectations, how very little hope you put into it, once reality meets the future (people call this the present, lame), it is unsettling, if not disappointing.
See, I made plans for my autumn, very academic, library-type of plans, but ended up running drunk in the woods. Metaphorically. It has been dark and feral, I have been channelling my inner witch or underground goddess, whichever speaks to you the most. Instead of soft gold light, it has been deep dark velvet. Instead of hours of writing at my desk, studiously, with lit-up candles and comfy clothes, I have been writing in pubs, with loud noise and leather trousers.
It is a sinuous path, the one to meet your expectations. And maybe it is because I keep getting lost on the way, but it feels more real like this. It is more like me. Creativity is a wild beast. Surging late at night, you can only hope it will last long enough to grab something to scribble those brilliant ideas on before it disappears. As if it was just a dream.
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And I have been lazy. So lazy I convinced myself I had already posted September’s edition, then realised I procrastinated a little too hard. See, I had another version of this prepared (lol, I had three paragraphs. Enough with the lies now) but I got stuck and deleted it. And that’s growth and progress because I would never have deleted three precious paragraphs a few months ago, fearing that I may not be able to write anything else to replace it.
Instead, I reframe my writer’s block: I am writing because I enjoy it and it is my playtime. In adulthood, it is as easy to forget how essential playing is, as it is hard to figure out what playing means. I guess that is why hobbies, with the sole purpose of being a hobby, are so important.
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In other news, Max Verstappen was crowned world champion for the third consecutive time1, I cut my hair into a bob embracing my jawline (hairdresser words), and I have been working on the launch of the bartender. “Carole. I hear you say. What is the bartender?" I’m glad you asked. Every other Sunday, you’ll get a short - bordering on very short - story from the bar. I wanted to practice my creativity by inventing characters and letting them tell their stories and other bits to a fictional bartender.
Pubs and bars2 are essential community places and often the heart of town life, because is a town any good if it doesn’t have at least one nice pub? Let’s not forget, to reinforce my argument, that pub is the abbreviation for public house. Yet more and more are closing due to the cost of living, leaving towns in a zombie state of what they were BC (before COVID). So here I am, writing you these words, a pint in my hand, in an empty pub, on a Saturday. Yes, maybe it is empty because it is 13:23, but maybe it is empty because people cannot afford to come this early.
Despite the weather being perfect for a pub day, it is rainy and gloomy. All this place needs is a fireplace, some old chairs and books, every place needs books. Instead, it’s got a massive bright neon sign saying “good vibes only”, and that is not a good vibe sir. At least I can enjoy the dark, carved wood, of the bar and the miniature boats atop it. It is our local and J. and I do spend a lot of time (and money, rip) here, so much so that I found myself washing glasses on a busy Saturday night. Why and how do I always find myself behind the bar?
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Moving on. Here’s the recipe for the cocktail above, that I have not tried yet. For the full effect and maximum drama, I would drink it on a stormy day, in a candle-lit room (we keep getting back to that candlelight) while casting a curse.
sweet cherry italian margarita
5 dark and sweet cherries
15 ml of agave syrup
20 ml of lime juice
30 ml of Amaretto
40 ml of blanco tequila
I tried to keep it light, but the recent events (and it keeps piling up) are making me wonder if I should be a journalist and do my job3 by providing resources to explain the situation. In Iran, where the revolution continues one year after the death of Mahsa Amini. In Palestine, where civilians are considered collateral damage of the revolution4. In Europe, where the rule of law is damaged and autocrats are rising5. And the list goes on and on and on.
One of the main reasons I studied journalism was to become a facilitator between the news and people, to make it more comprehensible and explain complex events in a language everyone can understand. Maybe next time.
I initially was not a Red Bull fan, until I embraced my chaotic evil side. This is an F1 newsletter.
Smooth transition huh.
Because of my degree, because I am still passionate, because it is needed.
Not as much a revolution as the consequences of oppression, but poetry won.
Signs of hope in Poland where the opposition secured a win, after 8 years of PiS ruling and the erosion of rights. It is a massive victory. One day I’ll take you into a deep dive into the amazing world that is the Copenhagen dilemma and the rule of law in the EU.
P.S. I realise this is more of a journal, or diary, than my last publications under Journal of a procrastinator, I go with the flow.