I can feel my brain shrinking, maybe somebody should scan it and check.
I am in a permanent zap mode. I never read anything completely from beginning to end but skim it diagonally. I am not sure half of the time if the source of what I read is reliable but I just go on and remain skeptic.
Mara makes me reread the same story over and over and I jump sentences just so it finishes faster. I also eat her candy behind her back. It’s part of the paradoxes of being a loving parent.
mașinăria birocratică infernală m-a scuipat din nou afară. toți cei din sistem merită un fir de păr alb pentru asta.
Sens : Avoir trop bu.
Origine : Avoir mal au cheveux n’est rien d’autre qu’une métonymie qui sous-entend que l’on a mal à la tête pour avoir trop bu.
Ours mal léché
Sens : Personne rustre, grossière.
Origine : Cette expression du XVIIIe siècle qualifie une personne qui ne se mêle pas à la société, et qui fait preuve d’un comportement quelque peu rustre. La formulation „mal léché” signifie „mal élevé, sans éducation”. Autrefois, on pensait que les oursons n’étaient pas complètement formés et que leur mère devait les lécher pour qu’ils soient complètement achevés. Ainsi, un „ours mal léché” est une personne dont la „formation” aux règles de vie en société n’a pas été entièrement accomplie.
Even though the case was heavy I carried it by the handle as I walked into the departure hall. I detested the tiny wheels, first of all because they were feminine, thus not worthy of a man, a man should carry, not roll, secondly because they suggested easy options, short cuts, savings, rationality, which I despised and opposed wherever I could, even where it was of the most trivial significance. Why should you live in a world without feeling its weight? Were we just images? And what were we actually saving energy for with these energy-saving devices?
– Karl Ove Knausgaard, Death in the Family (My Struggle, Book One), p. 210
The family is not my goal either. If it had been, and I could have devoted all my energy to it, we would have had a fantastic time, of that I am sure…Every day I see families who successfully organize their lives in this way. The children are clean, their clothes nice, the parents are happy and although once in a while they might raise their voices they never stand there like idiots bawling at them…Why should the fact that I am a writer exclude me from that world? Why should the fact that I am a writer mean our strollers all look like junk we found on a junk heap? Why should the fact that I am a writer mean I turn up at the nursery with crazed eyes and a face stiffened into a mask of frustration? Why should the fact that I am a writer mean that our children do their utmost to get their own way, whatever the consequences? Where does all this mess in our lives come from? I know I can change all this, I know we too can become that kind of family, but then I would have to want it and in which case life would have to revolve around nothing else. And that is not what I want.
Gertrude Stein – The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas