If you are a smoker you would have noticed how frequently you are asked for a Spare Cigarette. While most of my smoking friends willingly give away some cigarettes from their own packets, I never do. I know that this cigarette that I am giving away will be the very same one I will be cursing that I no longer have once cash runs out. It will be that cigarette that I will crave for at an ungodly hour of the morning when everything is closed. And above all it will never be a Spare Cigarette, it will be simple one of mine that I will not smoke.

I have recently read (after being pointed to it multiple times by various blogs) a very interesting article in the Washington Post (link below). The article is about a man who compulsively hoarded items and found it difficult to throw anything out, to the point where items took over his life. He tried his best to fight this compulsion and ultimately, failed.

His mantra, when he fought his compulsion, was "I am not my stuff".

Now, I am not that bad. I like my stuff, but I don't have that much. I pile things up, but unpile and repile frequently. I guess it's mainly because it's impractical for me to own too much: it is expensive to buy stuff that I don't need, also, my apartment is very small and I like my living space more than my stuff, and above all stuff is an anchor that ties you to a place where your stuff is - it limits my freedom. But I can't say for sure I am not my stuff.

I was making myself a cup of coffee few hours earlier and the most beautiful evening light came trough my kitchen window.
It was a funny day, I spent it all working on my computer and therefore didn't even notice the fluctuating weather much, not until I looked out my kitchen window as I was waiting for the kettle to boil.

There is a tall birch outside and the wind was playing with it softly in the sharp bright sunset light. There were clouds gathering far in the east providing dark violet and ultramarine backdrop for the vivid fresh green leaves dancing on the other side of the window. There was no one on the street and I felt as if it was a personal show just for me.

Since I have been rendered unemployed, I have registered to FAS and been picking up the Dole every wednesday.

My story on friendships is a truly miserable one. I've had friends in school and we grew apart - I wanted to change the world and they wanted to cut hair/sell ice-cream/marry a Spanish guy.

First of all, they say:

"Never tell anyone that you're writing a book, going on a diet, exercising, taking a course, or quitting smoking. They'll encourage you to death."

Recently I cried not knowing where my pain comes from, I cried and there was nothing to comfort me, nothing to ease the pain.

When I sleep well and nobody wakes me up in the morning, I have very nice lucid dreams.

I knew a man once who laughed after sex.

The annual Autumn Depression has arrived resulting in re-thinking the entire life and making rather serious and rather life changing decisions, including these that will make one rich, these that will make one a better person and these that will make one a happier person, none of which involve sexual favors.