From Britain

Mostly Harmless

So I guess this is the last entry from my british IP address; from now on (or if you like from tomorrow, eventually Friday very morning) it will be exchanged for the Kuwaiti one. Sounds exotic, doesn’t it?
But don’t panic! It will mean just mere geographical shifting over anything else. At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell to myself, repeatedly, a bit of matra of a lunatic.
Trying to reminisce with the past three years of our lives in here, I really can’t come up with anything to say now, at least not in a nutshell. Mostly harmless, perhaps; to quote my favourite novelist. I promise I will try to catch up on some “memories” later on, when settled down again.

picture by Wikipedia

Looking forward to a very, very long trip, with me still not fully (physically) recovered from a surgery, the baby suffering from an ear-infection for already almost a week and still on antibiotics – please, tell me, they won’t force us to throw them as an excessive liquid even though I managed to make a random doctor to give us a paper clearly stating she needs them and carries them with her, and a nervous husband; I may guess this trip will be surely an adventure. I will try to capture some of the moments with my camera, but as I have to have mounted the biggest lens I own for the travel (so I can stack the two small ones in a case and be capable to stuff the Pentax with them) I might not be really taking shots too much. The lens seems to be fairly intimidating to many people and makes me more visible rather than invisible. Being dressed in a black abaya and hijab, I can also just run around the airport and frantically scream: “Arrest me, I’m taking pictures to blow this damn place to smithereens!” No need for bad ass cameras and lenses for that matter – there’s always an easy way how to get locked up, and it’s way easier dressed in the Middle Eastern, trust me. Call me a xenophobe, but it’s true.
Being not freaked out enough I started on my husband’s initiative to negotiate Maine Coon kittens purchase from a renown and good-famed cattery in Czech and actually laid eye on two male sweeties with whom I instantly fell in love (yet I have to persuade my husband that the red-haired one really does have a soul and will be a lovely companion for his darker brother – way too much South Park, really). Hopefully we will be able to get them to Kuwait safe and sound and to all sides’ satisfaction. The tom-cats look really great, the owners seem to be really nice, and their reputation among the cat breeders is quite high.
Tomorrow will be really lengthy and I can only pray that we will survive it all – especially Dori, who was warned by that random doctor that her infected ear-drum might or might not burst open when the plane is landing. That would, honestly, be not only painful and bad for her, but terrible news for us, as looking for an otorhinolaryngocology in Emirates while we should be actually boarding yet another plane heading to Kuwait would make it all much, much more complicated than it already is… And probably make me seek a medical advice in Dubai as well; in some cosy, welcoming mental institute.


And Taken Away

The shipping company picked up our living (about half an hour before they announced they will come) and also managed to get right into the time period when hubby was out, so I had to move the heavy stuffed paper alone. I didn’t fail, at least.
Dori’s ear infection went drastically worse and we ended up at A&E in hospital during the night due to her ever-raising fever getting to quite unbearable level. Finally we managed to get antibiotics for her and it seems that it was all she actually needed – not these 5 days of suffering with bare Paracetamol…
Hopefully it will go better now, with her recovering and our departure getting really close (and me getting nervous as a mouse near a snake).



Unfortunately not really with money but more like with lotsa boxes. They are stocked in my way to the bed in bedroom – wonder why.
Tomorrow we wil call the transporting company and than pray for few days that they deliver everything safely and unbroken (especially my flutes and cups).


Than only waiting for Thursday, to depart in the noon and get to Kuwait next day in the very morning…


Getting it Prepared

Hubby leaves to London tomorrow to pick up our accidentally-allowed tourist visas with a fine hope of legalising our stay in Kuwait later on, during the three months of their duration, and was half packing (for moving) and half picking clothes (to wear for the trip), when he stumbled upon his only dishdasha he brought to England just for my sake, when I was intending to shoot some pics with it. He forgot to bring his kufi the first time so it wasn’t possible and when he brought it a year later, I already forgot about my desire (obviously it wasn’t so strong).


Now, when going through the hills of our clothes we managed to gather in three years of living in Britain, he found the whole set and put it on, just for me. I have that weird thing for traditional Gulf attire, I find it more sexy than jeans and a T-shirt. It just looks so clean and nice. And Abood definitely looks really shmexy in it – for me, that is!


Reading and Felting Through the Time

As the date for moving from country to country comes closer and closer, I get more and more anxious – together with my slow recovery from yet another tiny human being passing away, not really a pleasant combination for me neither for the peeps around me.
I re-found one of my hobbies from some time ago and that is reading till I drop. Abood was so good to supply me with enough crimi and suspense stories (because right now I’m mysteriously allergic on anything even remotely close to romance and Harlequines), and put up with my random outbursts of crying whenever the book finished and I found out that I have no other to read (that’s the pregnancy hormones fading and sorrow talking – quite unpredictable and dangerous, I might add). He eventually gave up and bought me a whole bunch, so I won’t run out of them for a moment. My reading speed in English is much, much slower than in Czech, where I was capable to crunch through one or two novels (of 400 pages each) in one day. Now it’s more like one book in two days, talking intensive reading. Casual reading speed and I’m up to four, five days per novel. Good. That means I won’t run outta books till we move to Kuwait, inshallah.
I also gave up on running around Newcastle in a vain try to stumble upon a carfts shop which will have any felting supplies, or at least know there’s a craft called felting. It took me several hours, many miles in my feet and a mild headache to realize it’s a pure waste of time (although also slightly therapeutic as I had a purpose and no need to think around) and I ordered them online. Some Merino wool tops, true fleece and few extremely sharp needles specially shaped for felting. I still lack finer needle which wasn’t in stock, but obviously it doesn’t really stop me in attempts to commit a suicide through stabbing my poor fingers uncountable times, eventually creating some furry ball or furry human-resembling statue. Lacking the needle for finishing moves, I can easily say: “It’s not my fault it looks so coarse, it’s the needle.” What will I do when the needles actually arrive, that is the question. Probably find another excuse. “I’m too sad to do it better,” or “I’m too stressed from moving to a desert country.”
Felting, especially for beginner, is rather time consuming and I find myself easily lost in repetitive stabbing, when I realize I should actually cook dinner and stop revenging myself on the poor shaved sheep. Reading is, as widely known, a time-killing hobby as well, so with these two on programme most of the day I am managing not to go loony, not to sadden way too much or make my hubby hate my whiny presence.


I’ve Got Another Angel…

Podruhé za poslední půlrok se dostavila depka. Na ultrazvuku ve třinácti týdnech jsem se místo toho, jestli je mimi zdravé, dozvěděla zase jednou, že srdíčko nebije, miminko umřelo už před několika týdny a jen moje hloupé tělo si pořád jede podle svého. Tudíž, somaticky – hormonálně, fyzickou stavbou i vývojem jsem sice již ve čtvrtém měsíci těhotenství, leč pro nic za nic, jsem chodící hrobeček. Mám malé bříško odpovídající třetímu těhu ve třinácti týdnech, pořád trpím hroznými ranními nevolnostmi celý den, a hormony rozhodně neubývají. Prý se říká, že čím horší příznaky, tím lepší výsledek; nu, zdá se, že já jsem ta výjimka potvrzující pravidlo… De facto jsem začala zvracet kvůli všemu až v době, kdy baby už nežilo… Hloupý organismus mám, vskutku. Nebo tvrdohlavý, prostě se jede naostro, mimino nemimino, nezájem. Mé psychice to rozhodně nesvědčí.
Za čtyři dny jdu na kyretáž, děsím se jak celkové anestezie, tak výsledků histologie plodu, za jedno jsem nikdy nebyla v bezvědomí, řízeném či ne, zadruhé, že histologie klasicky nic neukáže a já se jen budu ptát, proč, proč zase, co se podělalo.


Představda mrtvolky ve mně mi vyvolává konstantní depku a nechuť sama k sobě, chlap hraje mrtvýho brouka a snaží se mne povzbudit k “síle”, rozuměj, abych neronila slzy, takže nepláču, abych manžela nerozrušovala svou ženskostí a zhrzenou mateřskostí, nemyslím, odmítám myslet a zabývám se čtením o plstění, o kterém jsem se momentálně rozhodla, že bude skvělý koníček “to keep busy”. Trpím konstantní migrénou ze zadržovaného úpění nad mou malou osobní tragédií a snažím se hyenisticky utěšit osudy lidí, kteří jsou na tom mnohem hůř než já, například děti nemají vůbec, já už dcerku přeci mám. K té se naopak začínám chovat více ochranitelsky, až se obávám, že skončím jako jedna z těch nenáviděných matek, co nenechají děcko ani nadechnout a vztahy mezi nimi končí letitou nenávistí a mlčením…
Abdullah musel odjet do Londýna kvůli ambasádě a pobude tam až do čtvrtka, dnes je úterý, v pátek brzy ráno musím být na RVI, Ward 40, nahlásit se k operaci. Jsem doma sama a stejně jako mně nechali čekat hodinu samotnou v prázdném nemocničním pokoji hned po tom, co mi řekli, že baby nežije, mám pocit, že se zcvoknu, jak přestanu psát, číst, hrát; prostě se zastavím a začnu myslet.
Tak snad již dvakrát bylo dost, a více andílků mít nebudu, vždyť bych to měla být já, kdo na ně čeká, ne oni na mě…