Traduceri legalizate

Salonul era mai mare decât sala paşilor pierduţi a unui palat de justiţie. Când te mişcai prin el, tocurile îţi pocneau pe dalele de marmură neagră, stârnind ecouri care se traduceri autorizate repetau la nesfârşit. Tavanul acoperit de casetoa-ne îşi înălţa bolta la zece metri de podea, conferind ansamblu-lui înfăţişarea unei catedrale. Era frig chiar şi în plină vară, căci soarele nu reuşea să treacă prin sticla colorată a vitraliilor care traduceri legalizate acopereau fiecare fereastră. O casă construită pentru un colos de doi metri şi zece, o eroare a naturii. Un... monstru?
Acest gând îl făcu pe Georges să-şi muşte buzele şi să arunce din nou o privire pe deasupra umărului stâng. Cărţile, ca nişte cărămizi groase îmbrăcate în piele, tapisau zidul din spatele lui. Rafturile se ridicau până la tavan, ca într-o venera-bilă bibliolecă universitară. Unele dintre ele erau foarte vechi şi valorau azi o adevărată avere. Toate se refereau la vânătoare sau la zoologie.
Erau grele, imposibil de transportat. Câteva, care datau din Evul Mediu, aveau chiar scoarţe din lemn ferecat, cu închiză-tori de oţel. îţi trebuia întreaga forţă pentru a le deplasa. Când încercai să le tragi de pe raftul lor, aveai senzaţia că smulgi o piatră din zid. Georges se rănise foarte grav în copilărie, pro-vocând prăbuşirea unui raft plin cu volume enorme. Tatăl său râsese de el şi îl rugase să se ducă să sângereze în altă parte, nu pe covoarele lui orientale.
O casă construită pentru un uriaş, plină de şifoniere uriaşe, ticsite de costume uriaşe. O casă în care erai condamnat să trăieşti în pielea unui pitic. Totuşi, Georges avea un metru optzeci, ceea ce nu era deloc neglijabil. Când i se întâmpla să traduceri legalizate se aventureze în afara casei, pe străzi şi prin magazine, constata cu o oarecare satisfacţie ca îi domina pe mulţi dintre semenii lui şi că era înalt... Din păcate, această iluzie înceta imediat ce se întorcea acasă, imediat ce era confruntat cu acele fotolii

Scoala de soferi Bucuresti

Mijlocul marii biblioteci. La miezul nopţii, casa va începe sâ transpire... Totdeauna îneepea aşa. Sudoarea brobonea pielea fotoliilor, îmbrăcămintea cărţilor. EI Ie ştergea frenetic cu o batistă, agitându-se şi suflând zgomotos. Ea stăteaîn umbră, ca de fiecare dată, până în momentul când trebuia să intre în scenă. Fiindcă era şi puţin actriţă, nu-i aşa? Dacă nu vrei să-i superi pe nebuni şi să le stârneşti mânia, trebuie, evident, să ştii să joci teatru.
O pală de vânt agită revistele dintr-un chioşc. Unul dintre titluri o făcu să zâmbească: Jupuitorul umblă pe străzile noastre...
Suna ca un roman-foileton de prin anii treizeci. Un titlu scoala de soferi melodramatic, pentru o poveste incredibilă despre care se vorbea în toată presa, fericindu-i pe ziarişti. Jupuitorul umbla pe străzi, iar ea era într-un... salon de ceai, în compania unor burgheze grase, severe şi puţin cam moleşite.
Pisica siameză adulmeca pachetele îngrămădite Ia piciorul mesei. Acum, lui Sarah i-ar fi fost cam greu să-şi aducă aminte ce anume cumpărase în cursul după-amiezei. Hainele, lenjeria deveneau la apropierea serii nişte accesorii lipsite de impor-tanţă. Le-ar fi putut face cadou unei trecătoare sau le-ar fi putut îngrâmădi în prima pubelă ieşită în cale, dacă nu s-ar fi temut că în felul acesta va atrage atenţia. Pentru că nu-şi putea permite cu nici un preţ să atragă atenţia. De altfel, ăsta şi era motivui pentru care ieşea atât de puţin în oraş.
Se aprinseseră felinarele. Se făcea noapte. în curând vor veni iama, Crăciunul, goana după cadouri, după cumpărături, un ritual de la care ea era exciusă. Dădu resemnată din umeri, plăti şi işi luă de jos pachetele. Pisica mieună deranjată. Ii veni să-i şoptească: ,,Taci. Taci, că altfel îi chem pe Jupuitor..."
Ieşi. Bulevardul şi valul de maşini încă o mai despărţeau de zidul înalt şi cenuşiu. O cazarmă? Un institut?

The decline of June 21st

I took the day off from work today after waking up around 3am with a sore throat and sinus headache that kept me gazing at the ceiling for hours. Eventually around 5am I picked up my blackberry, emailed-in sick, popped two Tylenol PM and plopped back into bed for a restful, drug-induced sleep. Flash-forward to 10am and I'm awake, stalling from calling in to my office and wondering "am I really sick like *cough, cough* sick, or could I merely be exhausted?"

Work has literally been kicking my ass over the past few months and I fear the non-stop 8am-thru-7pm schedule I've been keeping may be catching up with me. Problem is, I don't know really how to tear myself away from it. To me, an idle mind means rampant opportunity to wallow in self-pity at my failure as a fertile female and fuck, I've been getting plenty of time to do that during waiting-room downtime at my Doctor's office as I've been going in and out for blood work.

Speaking of blood work, we're all done with that now. Just waiting on results and then (oh joy), I get to do the sono-hysterogram. My crazy-mother's best advise to me on all this is that I should just hold off on all this medical-tra-la-la and put my faith into the hands of "The Infant Baby Jesus". How I came out of that woman's womb astonishes me but I have taken her little amulet and put it on my keychain since I like the way it jingles when it bounces around on all the other mojos I have on there.

In other news my fuck-head superintendent just called to announce that he has given away the 2-bedroom apartment I have been waiting on to another couple that has been living in the building for a longer time than we have which means we now have to move.
I just can't seem to get a break.

Later on this day....

It's now 12:30pm and June 21st is rapidly rising the ranks on my "Suckiest-Days-Ever" list with bad news after bad news trickling in slowly through my cell phone, the most recent being just a little more near and dear to all of our hearts : I have just received a call that my friend Jill who is 36 and has been trying to get pregnant for almost 2 years has been hiding a secret pregnancy which she now seems to be losing at 2 months.

Jill is one of those uber-spiritual gals who love her as I do, annoys the hell out me with her religious mind trips against IVF. The interesting part of her argument is that she isn't overly bothered about the possibility of having to do a reduction due to IVF but is instead hung up over the thought of what she would do with the harvested eggs that she perhaps may not end up fertilizing.

Do you see why this infuriates me.
In my (perhaps damned) mind, it's just an egg, and the fact that is hasn't been fertilized should be a good thing no? I mean, it would've just ended up on a tampon anyways right? I say if you really feel the need, bless it and bury it... shit I think she could probably even donate the damn thing couldn't she?

But no, Jill has decided that IVF defies all of her religious beliefs due to egg-abandonment and refuses to undergo the procedure. Meanwhile, the clocks keep ticking, and now this.

I'm concerned about her. Jill has been an emotional mishmash of a woman over the past few years and while I think it's great that she now knows she can get pregnant, I fear our chances of talking her into IVF have now greatly depreciated due to this pregnancy, and who knows how long it'll take her to conceive again.

It seems the minute we think we're up, life turns around and issues a swift kick right in the ass, lest we get too caught up in our good fortune.

Because I know you'll understand

To my Dearest "K"....

Eleven months ago we sat in the bodega, drinking wine and smoking butts, cracking up with each other as we admitted to ourselves that our lives had become pointless materialistic voids centered around superficial NYC bullshit with no real meaning or purpose. It was that evening over two (6) bottles of wine that we both admitted that we needed to take our lives to the next level... babies were in the near future for us both and oh did we have grand plans!

Within 2 months - was it even that long? - you busted me and outed my early pregnancy (you're so damn perceptive) and you delighted in my joy, toasting my apple juice with your glasses of bubbly. We giggled and hooted about how fertile I was and agonized over your own fertility issues, googling and questioning what could be wrong... why weren't you conceiving?

And then while you were on vacation I lost the baby. That was one of the hardest parts of that loss... and you knew it. The timing was horrible since you were my closest local accomplice and I know it killed us both that we were apart for that. Nevertheless, you came back and we delved into the reasons why, fought back the tears, clinked our glasses and vowed to continue our struggles.. both of us.

And then finally in January you giddily announced your impending arrival to me. I want you to know that I was excited for you.. and still am, and I apologize if I was distant at times. My hurt was still fresh and my tears still not dry.
......And then you moved.
......And then I got pregnant again.
......And then I lost it again.
Today you are 7 months pregnant and now live 4 hours away from me. Your life sounds fabulous and I am so excited every time I speak to you and you tell me more about Isabella-Rose and how much she's growing and wiggling inside of you. I love hearing about baby-yoga and all of the fabulous classes you're taking as you near your due date. I wish nothing but the best for you, E and the baby who is destined to be a knockout, not to mention a scholar.

So here is where my problem lies "K"....

I have recently received your baby shower invitation which is beautiful and so "you". I want so badly to share in your joy but shamefully I must ask you to excuse me since apparantly I am still a selfish, immature, self-centered, egotistical ass and cannot bring myself to sit in a room filled with the joy I so desperatly wanted for myself.

I promise to you that I will come visit you later this year after your little one arrives. Hopefully by then "Dad" and I will have some more concrete reasons as to why this keeps happening and the envy would have subsided with the knowledge of what needs to be done. For now we are living way too much in the unknown and that makes this all the more hard.

I know you get it, coz you're "K" and you're a fabulously understanding, supportive, compassionate and beautiful friend. I know you won't hold this against me and I want you to know it's not that I don't want to be there, I just don't think that I am emotionally ready to be there yet.

I love you girl and again, I'm sorry.