Meanwhile, in Karachi, the times were changing...

I got up 3 times this morning. Once at 6.20 (which I thought to be 7.20) to decide it was definitely a bit to early to be moving about. Again at 6.40 (which I thought to be 7.40), when I jumped out of bed and into almost all of my clothes, only to realise halfway down the stairs that something was fishy. At 7.40 (which I thought, correctly, to be 7.40) I then rolled out of bed again, to make tea and find those crucial pieces of underwear I missed in my first attempt to get dressed. The core-problem is this: Time changed this weekend. Why? no-one knows. One of the more direct consequences of this charade (besides the multiple getting up):

I lost my cover-of-darkness, under which I usually lurk to work on mondaymornings. I like lurking under cover of darkness. It's what I do. It's been totally ruined by some oil-crisis in the seventies.

But don't let this grumpiness about the absence of lurking-possibilities fool you, I am actually in a rather good mood, all things taken into account. I spent most of my weekend sleeping and eating, with the occasional intermezzo of roleplaying, jogging, and being paid to watch one of the better symphonic orchestras in Belgium perform. Sometimes life isn't so bad... Still, it is mondaymorning (shudder), so everyone who wants to come and console the working classes by giving me coffee, chocolate and/or compliments: please do.

Time is money, or how pretending to live in Kabul influences ones daily life

Most of my fans will have noticed by now that there is something quite fishy about my relationship with time. For example: why do I post things about mondays on sundaynights? and always in the middle of the night? I've decided to try and correct this, by changing my location in my profile from Afghanistan to Belgium. Lets see if it works...

It didn't work... Can one of you guys please tell me what I could try next to correct my time-gap? (And don't even try to suggest I move to Kabul.)

Now imagine the 'boekentoren'...

Sometimes dancing in front of a security camera is the best way to get over a monday-morning-hickup...
(I must, however, apologize for the slightly crappy music.)

PS: For really WRONG lyrics you should you-tube her: cascada - bad boy.

Out and about

I blog to you today with very good news indeed: From november the 30eth to december the 3th I will be out of the country! I am going to London for half a day, and then on to Cambridge! Why? Well... 'tis a secret mission, so don't tell anyone: I'm going to visit Laura (yes, Laura Crafty, see a few blogposts down) who is making her way up the academic ladder over there in the UK. My job is to find the secret documents, and flush them down the second loo on the right at Kings Cross station, so as to send them through the pipes to the top secret archives of the KGB. In this process I will probably be drinking some guinness. If I tell you guys anymore, I shall have to kill you. Or perhaps I could just wipe your memory, with one of those Men-in-Black-thingies... or with a matrix-manoevre.

This exciting prospect however, has completely depleted my capital resources, by which I mean to say: I'm broke. I must therefor ask everyone to refrain from inviting me for activities that cost money. If you are willing to pay in my stead (nice expression, is it not? "If you are willing to pay for me" sounded all wrong...) that's fine, I shall think very fondly of you in my cardboard box under a Parisian/Antwerpian bridge, but paying you back might just have to wait a while...
So well, well so... I'll be of again. I'll report back to you when I've got something to report, or when I'm bored. Give my regards to all your grandparents... Good day.

O yes, about the picture: I typed in KGB in google-picture-search, and this is what I got... No reason in arguing with the internet, is there? It appears to be a man with a fish... a very large fish... and the man doesn't look very happy... Perhaps there's a secret meaning, or perhaps it's some very twisted kind of porn (you never know on the internet)... I haven't figured it out yet. Suggestions always welcome.

boomtown rats - I dont like mondays

I don't think this needs much explanation... It's monday again. I feel the way these guys look (okay, perhaps I'm exagerating a little now).

Welcome to Neverland, may I take your coat?

I'm in doubt... The dilemma is this: There's this party tonight (in 3 hours), and I'm allready tired. Should I try to sleep for an hour or two, or should I just put on loud music, drink coffee (or tao, or burn, or red bull, or nalu), and jump around to get me psyched for tonight? At the moment, I'm postponing the moment of decisionmaking truth, by posting on this blog.

The partyplan for tonight goes as follows: party 'till 1, in bed by 1:30, up again by 7:45. And ONLY COKE!!! (the drink, not the icing-sugar)
The partyproblem for tonight goes as follows: people don't come to parties before 12. So if I stick to the plan, I'll be getting my coat at the moment when everyone else starts dancing. But, if I don't stick to the plan, I won't be able to survive my friday (7 hours of developmentstrategies and projectmanagement, followed by 4 hours of standing in front of a door for money).
The partysolutions for tonight are two-fold: 1. cafeine 2. A united nations resolution that parties should start at 8, and end at midnight... Something tells me I shouldn't put any money on 2...

So, enough of this nagging, or this will be the loneliest blog ever. Wish me luck (ONLY COKE)...

david gray- please forgive me

Cactus 2006 is a long time ago

I can't think of a deep title... just imagine one, okay

It's been almost a week since my last post (trumpets out (or is it horns?)). Some say silence is golden... In my case, silence indicates the fact that I've been extremely busy studying and making money, and subsequently even more busy spending even more money than I've earned in this past week by going to Antwerp and shopping for rubbish big time. But you won't believe what great things I found, hidden away in sleazy, punky and plainly WRONG shops on saturday. Amongst various other priceless objects, I have purchased: Black wings, a very hip hipflask (currently filled with vodka, because I haven't got the money to buy a new bottle of gin), a course in modern persian (farsi), and a playmobile plumber. The WRONG shop spoken about above was the place I found my hipflask: picture in your mind a shadowy, maffia-meets-neoconcowboy-y gunshop. Now picture me and my accomplice for the day ('Aunty' Morgan) in it... yes, I know, I told you it was WRONG. Not convinced? Then you should take into account that the man also sells plastic pidgeons, katana's and model-tanks.. PLASTIC PIDGEONS for Christs sake! Come on, honestly, what's the use of plastic pidgeons? Any suggestions are more than welcome, my current guess is it's got to do something with sick guncowboyporn I know nothing about. Did I mention my new horsey-keychain and my 'great-ass'-mints? You see: I never buy things I don't really REALLY need...

I got trough my courses on wednesday and friday okay, so that's good, although I can't seem to shake off the urge to eat floorcoverings entirely just yet... So if you meet me next week: hide your rugs, that's all I'm saying. It'll be more quiet this week however, seeing that I've almost succeeded in setting my administration right. The only problem now is the fact that I won't be able to pay for my books and courses, since I've bought the above rubbish, and payed for my new laptop...

Soooo, for all my groupies and fans: I'll be working every monday, tuesday and thursday from 8.30 'till 12.30. Visitors are very welcome, especially when carrying food and/or drinks, or when interesting... I'll show you all my mints and flask!
Enough banter, I've got to go and prepare for the fantasy-roleplay-and-pizza-eating-activities of tonight (i.e. in thirty minutes).

Sooooo.....

Before I start this blogpost, I shall pose you the question that struck me on my way here an hour ago:

The city rieks of chickenstock... Why is that?

I'm out and about again. Today started out marvelously foggy and dreary, which is so good, in so many ways... The vending machine gave me 30cts change, just because I smiled at it. Lovely. I spent the last hour computer-bashing, because my internet wouldn't work (yes, I bash computers for money nowadays), and now, I'm waiting for a phone call, with nothing else to do than youtube (yes, it's a verb as well) a bit of rubbish. Life is good, though early...

Work is better than my studies though. I'm still not sure I really want to continue Arabic, or if I want to do Conflict and Development in one year or two. Perhaps I should've started something else, or nothing at all. Or both. Still, the damage has now been done (533.10 euros worth of damage, to be exact), so there is no point in nagging to you guys about it, is there? My first ManaMa lesson was about the worldbanks development schemes. It had a definite 'god I'm stupid'-feel to it, and after two and a half hours, all I wanted to do was lie on the floor and eat carpet (which is not a constructive thing to do). The lesson after that was even worse... Project management... economics...shiver... Everything is very interesting though. I see three possible forecasts:
1. In a year, I'll have learned more than in the past 4 years together
2. In a year, there won't be any carpet left in a wide area 'round Ghent
3. In a year, I'll be working in the supermarket, trying to ignore reality completely as I stack tins of cat food, and think about what lies to tell my psychiatrists on our next consultation.
Let the betting begin...

For those who have noticed that I haven't spoken about my first lessons Modern Arabic: Well done (and let's leave it at that). Tomorrow is my first lesson ever at the department of law studies. That'll be something to write about on Thursday morning, I guess. If I survive... If I don't: My will: all my stuff is to be handed out on a strict first come, first serve-basis. So start running. See ya!

Why oh why?

Some of my closer friends may know about my love for black skirts, strange-patterned panties and black-rimmed glasses. At this precise moment, I am living it: I am a secretary. Why am I a secretary at eight in the morning? That, my dear friends, is a different question. It is, in fact, a question I have been pondering over exceedingly in the past few days. I work for DSA (Student Activities Service)... Which self-respecting student could possibly be awake at this hour of night!? So on my first day as Student Activities Secretary I shall have to conclude: There is no student activity whatsoever at eight in the bleeding fucking morning, if this dark time can in fact be called that.

The Coke Light man (see picture) doesn't come at 11:30 here either. He just rushed in ten minutes ago. It was a mousy skinny type of cokelightman, with a tattoo (possible redeeming feature, but not in this case). This specimen did not cause me to giggle in elevators or whatever happens in the commercial. I strongly suspected him to be on speed. So there you have it: I start working in the dead of night, and my cokelightman is actually an unattractive drug addict (here he comes again now, btw) who comes prematurely. I shall mail the Coca Cola Company about this later today.

This day keeps on getting stranger and stranger: in the last 5 minutes two things happened I did not consider possible before ten o'clock: 1. The bookshop called to inform me that my Egyptian dialect course book has appeared (at 8:30) 2. Cokelightman came to give me his phone number (if ever I run out of cokelight...) (8:32). What's the matter with these people? Shouldn't they be asleep? Perhaps they don't need to sleep... Perhaps the're undead. That would explain a lot.

Allright you lot, I am going to watch the ceiling for a bit (I don't want people to think all I do at work is blog...). I work on Tuesday and Thursday as well, so I'll probably blog more than usual this week... If you behave today, then perhaps tomorrow I'll tell you the exiting tale of my first lessons of the term.