Old diary entry:
"If the walls of our apartment could talk, they would probably report us to the police (or have us institutionalized). We have been living here for about 6 months and they have probably seen more drunken and naked asses in here than they would on the Michigan naked mile run.
Honestly, sometimes I think we're no better than those homeless people who inhabit our central bus station. The only difference between us and them is that we pay the rent. Few months back, I had been exchanging e-mails with a young man from Manchester. In one of his e-mails, he had asked me if there was something typical for Croatian people. He exemplified, stating that the French were considered very passionate, the Japanese hard working, the British mostly reserved, etc., and he was interested to know if there was something like that reserved for Croatian people. My reply to him was: "No, we just drink a lot." After that, he mysteriously disappeared and I never heard from him again."
I'm a big sissy. Exposed blood and I don't get along too well. It's not a big deal if it's gushing from, let's say; a scraped knee or a wounded arm. I don't feel comfortable, of course, but I'm able to overcome the feeling of nausea. However, when it comes to body parts overflowing with blood like finger tips or veins, I become mortified when I see them bleed and I immediately faint. The last two times I had to get my blood extracted were hilarious (only to my audience, of course). Two years ago, I chose to go alone, which proved to be the stupidest idea I could have produced at the time. I came to the hospital and sat in the waiting room, along with a huge group of retired people. I watched them pass by me, tightly grasping those little cups of urine. When the nurse called my last name, I froze. Even while I had been sitting there, I didn't feel too well. There wasn't much oxygen in that basement and the smells were overwhelming. It was a concoction of smells; death, sweat, urine and hospital - all in one. Stomach turning, I assure you. On shaky legs, I stumbled inside and sat. I forced myself to think happy thoughts while the nurse did her work and I even lived through the entire procedure without fainting. However, after finishing, the stupid cow handed me some papers and those vials containing my own blood, telling me to carry them into the back room. I stood up, went pale, made few steps and crashed against one of the metal hospital beds resting against the wall of the room. Needless to say, I injured my head and got laughed at by at least 20 pensioners and 5 nurses.
Oh, and another incident. This last summer a friend of mine and I got a job. We were subtitling movies at a film festival as they were being played to the audience. Most of my late night projections ended around 2 AM. Well, one Thursday, I came home around 2, sneaked into the house since my parents had already been asleep, and then went up to my room. I started feeling hungry so I tiptoed back into the kitchen to grab something to eat. My choice was a pate (suitably packed in a can) and a slice of bread. I took the meal up to my room. I sat on the floor in front of my television (I do everything on the floor) and grabbed the can of pate. I struggled with the lid while trying to open it and it slipped out of my hand, half-opened. The edge of that lid was sharp and it cut through one of my finger tips. Blood started gushing all over my laptop and I barely dragged myself into the bathroom to get some toilet paper to wrap the finger. Soon enough I started feeling sick. I yelled and yelled, but my parents couldn't hear me. Just before moving down the stairs, I offered them couple of profanities for not hearing me. Somewhere along the way, I fainted and fell down the stairs. Nothing serious happened. I woke up later, but couldn't find strength to get up, so I slept through the night on the staircase. My mom found me there in the morning. Needless to say, when they were all convinced that I was alright, the whole family laughed at me. Bummer!
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