Lucius Malfoy's recently acquired Mansion somewhere in Central Europe

Much as I enjoyed the weekend with my friend Elena -- Friday afternoon till Monday morning -- I was in dire need of some me-time yesterday. Almost 72 hours of communication (interrupted by sleep, but still) are, for me, hard work. Fortunately my friends know me sufficiently well to know that my "sorry, no communication today" isn't personal.
Today I'm ok again, though, and back at work.
Nothing much to report, except that I'm fine, ze boyz (version 2.0) are fine, spring is coming back after taking a short break on Sunday and yesterday, and I spent today's lunch break at the gym.
Brother will be in Vienna from Friday till Monday, so I hope I can induce him to come to my place and help me put up a few mirrors and pictures. I intend to bribe him with food, which almost always works. Once the deed is done, I also intend to post piccies of, well piccies and mirrors. And possibly boyz.

Or rather, filling in a few blanks.
What I didn't mention in yesterday's post was work: there has been a slight improvement, or rather two.
1) Since our new minister came with a whole new department (integration) as his dowry, there's a bit of a space shortage at the ministry. So, they put my highly annoying, and now thankfully former, office mate next door together with her boss (who previously hadn't shared his office with anybody), and replaced her with an older guy from a different department. The advantages are manifold: a) he doesn't have a shrill voice, and doesn't conduct his private phone calls at the office, b) he's pretty quiet but freindly, i.e. occasional breif conversations and otherwise silence, and c) he works from 6.30 (no typo) to 14.30, which means no raised eyebrows if I leave early.
2) It's still only cut-and-paste, but I have been blessed with a bit more work.
All in all, I really can't complain anymore. Especially considering that my parents moving into my building is going to take a lot of preparatory work; also I'll probably be glad of the opportunity to have longer lunch breaks or leave early once they actually live there.

It was funny, really, how this whole moving thing started: since November (or was it October? Not sure.) I've been seeing my "old" therapist, i.e. the one I'd been going to before leaving for Ankara. What with coming back to Vienna, and work, and pretty much everything, seeing him again seemed like an excellent idea. (Privately of course -- I don't trust Public Health Care any more than my employer and would never get therapy on prescription) Among many other things, I became gradually aware that my father isn't really an issue anymore. I mean, I'm not overly keen to have him back in my life, but it's not a problem anymore.
And so, when I went to have coffee with my mum, we somehow talked about her oldest friend, who is the same age as her: she lives in a converted farmhouse, together with her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Of whom there are many. My mother remarked, a little wistfully, that, while it's certainly not always harmonious, what with four generations under the same roof, it does have its perks. Slightly nonplussed, I asked whether that was something she'd like, living in close proximity, because if she wanted to, it would definitely be possible. It was as if a light had been switched on in her eyes. So I got the whole project going.

And, since I'm a slightly crazy cat lady (with only two cats now, but undiminished craziness), one word about the Lola business: I know I ought to feel a bit guilty for talking Irene into taking Lola, but I don't. She wanted a cat only once she retired (i.e. in slightly less than a year), and maybe she wouldn't even have got one then, but frankly, my being completely stressed-out was stronger than any friendly concern. What definitely helped was the fact that I was looking awful the day I finally broached the subject: the day before, I'd picked up Rambo to cuddle him, standing with my back turned, so I didn't see Lucius preparing to attack Lola. Rambo saw, though, panicked, and fled, scratching my face in the process. That may have helped... Then again, I am completely sure that Irene and Lola will be very happy together; without that certainty I wouldn't have foisted Lola on her.

Now I actually have some work to do, but there's still time to say this: if you're suffering from (pre-)menopause symptoms, especially hot flashes, try evening primrose (Oenothera biennis) oil. After about a month of taking it (once daily, in capsule form) my hot flashes have stopped completely.

Almost-postscript: SSHG promptfest? I'm still undecided...

Since returning to Vienna I've been doing my own cleaning and, strangely and surprisingly, finding some sort of pleasure in doing so. Well, good for me, I say.
Due to feline presence, and also because I want to do my bit for our planet, I try to use the strong stuff (i.e. those sprays etc. which contain lots of chlorine) as rarely and sparingly as possible. Nevertheless, I also want a clean, mould-free bathroom -- nothing is more unappealing, not to mention a health hazard, than a mildew-infested shower. Yuck. On the other hand, I really, really don't like cleaning the shower screen from inside: I have to step into the tub (it's a combined bathtub-cum-shower), and it's just, well unpleasant. BUT, I've found a way to avoid that almost completely, meaning that really serious cleaning with some sort of strong chemical has to take place only once every two months or six weeks, which is a distinct improvement. Plus, it's cheap. Really, really cheap. It also requires a bit of discipline, but since I'm the only one using the shower I don't have to enforce discipline with recalcitrant spouses or children. Anyway, here's what I do:
I keep a kitchen sponge and a bottle of the cheapest possible white vinegar in the shower; after finishing my ablutions, I simply drench the sponge with vinegar, wipe down the inside of the screen, taps and edge of the bathtub, and rinse. If you do it every day (if there are more people using the shower, you just do it after the last one, of course), it works most effectively against limescale and the residues of shampoos, conditioners etc., which means, in turn, that there are no breeding spots for mildew.
In other housewifely news, yesterday I tried a variation on my cabbage soup, leaving out the fennel and bell peppers and adding instead green and Chinese cabbage and red beet. Oh the yummyness.
Oh, and something else: if, like me, you absolutely can't abide the (IMO strangely soapy) taste of Hungarian salami or pepperoni on pizza -- I think salami is good only when cold -- then try to get Spanish Chorizo and give it a go. I fried thin slices of Chorizo yesterday in a minuscule amount of olive oil, until they were crunchy, and sprinkled the soup with these chorizo crisps. Apart from having the advantage of getting rid of most of the fat (chorizos are *very* fat), you also have the taste, which is a bit like fried bacon but better.
So now I'm drooling, which is the ideal state in which to communicate to all and sundry that, in my opinion, Jon Hamm who plays Don Draper in "Mad Men" is quite possibly the sexiest man alive. He looks -- and here I have to give a variation of something I said to mundungus42 about John Miller -- like the result of mixing Jason Isaac's and Timothy Dalton's genes in a genetic cocktail shaker. For those still unaware of the man's mind-boggling dishiness, here's a link: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0358316/?ref_=nv_sr_1 Go forth, ye children, ogle and drool. And watch "Mad Men", because it's really, really good -- those who are about my age or older will get the bonus kick of recognizing lots of things from our childhood.

I think my idea re separate areas for the cats' dry food may actually be working. I put the boys' kibbles in the living room, and theyy seem to have understood and approved. Wish me luck!

Posted via m.livejournal.com.

...to all of you who commented on my last post. Your support and understanding helped me a lot.
By now, I've reached the stage where thinking of Cornelius doesn't make me cry any more, but smile. He did, after all, have a wonderful life with lots of love and very little stress, and the fact that I could be there for him when he died does, in the end, make it easier for me to cope with the fact that he left me far too soon. He wasn't even eleven yet. But better this way -- i.e. no illness, no endless trips to the vet, no pain -- than drawn-out suffering, ending in a last trip to the vet's.
When I took Rambo to be neutered, on December 12, I'd agreed with the vet to take Cornelius as well, because his teeth had to be fixed, and I wanted a complete blood test -- from age 10 on, this is what ought to be done every year, mostly to make sure the kidneys are ok. Which they weren't, in Cornelius' case; it was just the beginning of the usual kidney problems most older cats have, and therefore not overly alarming. For the time being, the doctor said, giving him heart-strengthening pills should easily do the trick. Fortunately giving Cornelius pills had never been a problem (with Lucius or, god forbid, Lola, I'd end up as minced meat), and so he took his one pill a day like a good boy. Still, I was observing him closely, and it was fairly evident that 1) his liquid intake was still too high, and 2) his breathing was the slightest bit laboured. (Not audibly, but visibly -- the rising and falling of his flanks was a bit more pronounced.)
Having nothing to do at work proved to be a good thing, for on January 2 I called the vet to ask him whether I was being paranoid or not, and he said, "Look, there's nothing going on here, so if you have time, grab Cornelius and just come." So that's what I did, and the blood test was much, much better than in December. However, we also did an X-ray, and while the heart's size was perfectly normal, he pointed out that the pulmonary artery was looking as if there might be a slight anomaly.
Had Cornelius been human there would've been surgery. But you don't do that sort of surgery on a cat, and besides, even if I'd had the possibility I would have declined. So much trauma and stress for an uncertain result -- it's just not worth it.
So I suppose that what ended Cornelius' life was either a heart attack or a pulmonary embolism. And while not the peaceful death I would've wanted for him, it was at least quick -- it can't have lasted more than a minute, maybe two; it's difficult to say in retrospect. I tried to help him breathe, but when I saw that it was useless, I just held and stroked him until it was over.
I have no idea whether cats do or don't still recognize a dead fellow cat as such, and whether they're still able to identify it by its smell, but on the whole I daresay it was a good thing not to keep Lucius and Rambo away from him, but let them see and sniff him. (Lola didn't come near the bed.)
What was also very lucky was that Janine, the notorious night owl, was still awake and came over right away. Of course one has to bear one's sadness, shock and pain alone, but a comforting presence does help.
Although already cooling, Cornelius' body was still warm and soft, and I couldn't bring myself to put it between the windows where it would've been cool -- even knowing rationally that he was dead, it seemed a terrible thing to do, to put him in a cold place. So I put him on a towel and in the bathtub, and closed the shower screen. That way the others couldn't get to him, and he was resting in a place he liked, because brushing (which he loved) always took place in the bathtub.
I finally fell asleep around 5 a.m. and woke at 7 -- that was probably the most horrible moment, when everything came back to me, and I knew it hadn't been a bad dream. I don't think I've ever felt so tired, body, mind and soul, so heavy and almost unable to move. Still, I had to feed the trio and clean their toilets, and then to call the vet, because they had to take care of the body.
Taking Cornelius there was also horrible, and taking him out of the bag and giving him to the assistant (who is a lovely, wonderful girl and behaved in the sweetest, most considerate way possible) maybe even more so. When I'd stopped crying I walked home -- the fresh air and cold did have a somewhat beneficial effect.
As for Lucius, Lola and Rambo, I'm not quite sure yet how things are going to play out.
Fortunately, Lucius and Rambo do have a close bond, although not as close as either of them used to have with Cornelius. But at least they're not alone; there's sparring, and running, and sleeping next to each other. Both are eating normally, which is good, because Lucius is thin and Rambo still growing. Also, they have me, and they make ample use of it.
Lola, that antisocial monster, certainly doesn't feel the loss; what might take effect, at some point in time, is the realization that 2 vs. 1 is less threatening than 3 vs. 1. What is causing me great worries, however, is her behaviour towards Rambo, and the lack of change therein. I'd hesitate to call it "aggressive", because hissing isn't aggressive but defensive, but OTOH she actively seeks him out to back him into corners, and then hiss and bat at him. I know it's a horrible thing to say, and I *do* feel ashamed of even thinking it, but if I had a possibility of giving her away, I would. Her social intelligence is nonexistent, and I'm sure she would be much, much happier being a single cat. I'll continue to monitor the situation, and if nothing changes I'm going to ask Klaus whether he'd take her. Or maybe Irene. Both want to get a cat eventually, and I would of course pay for any necessary adaptations in their respective flats (mainly cat-proofing the windows, and in Klaus' case also the balcony).

So this is it. Other stuff -- not that there's anything exciting -- will have to wait until a later post.

Because I'm feeling negative, and whiny. So why not share?

I already heard it yesterday, inofficially, and today I got the official confirmation: I didn't get the job I applied for. So yesterday I was, while not exactly in a bad mood, certainly not feeling on top of the world. After taking Rambo to the vet -- 3,11 kg, and he'll be neutered on December, 12 -- I therefore decided to wallow. Which means a bottle of wine, junk food and watching tv. Followed by whisky, more junk food and more tv. It also means that I absolutely don't think about how many calories I actually ingested, because 1) I don't do this often, 2) it was 100% justified, and 3) I'm suffering from a food-and-alcohol hangover today anyway, and can't wait to play badminton at 12.30 with Klaus, to sweat it all out. After work, one of the more hardcore classes at the gym.
So, apart from the short-term consequences, what I have to think about now is the long-term perspective.
I'm not going to leave Vienna within the next two years, that's a given. Partly because I don't want to move again so soon, and partly because next year's list of available places is already out and it was shit. So 2015 is the first possibility, which means I have to think about at least two years. A bit less, considering that the big caroussel usually moves in summer. So let's say 1,5 years.
The question I have to contemplate is, what do I want out of life for the next 1,5 -- maybe 2,5 -- years? Not one of life's trivial questions, certainly. Also because I'll have to be very, very honest with myself about a few things: how much do I *really* mind having the job I currently have? Apart from the boredom, that is. Also, are there ways to make it less boring? (Think writing o-fic at work, for example). Also: does the doubtlessly negative, but perhaps avoidable, boredom outweigh the advantages, like e.g. not having to show up at 8 a.m. on the dot, not having to stay till 4 p.m., going home during lunch break -- these are big advantages also in the money-saving department, because I'm able to do the cleaning myself and can have lunch at home.
Had they given me the job, I wouldn't have needed to think about money overly much; if, on the other hand, I merely apply for a transfer to another, more interesting job in a different department, I might be exchanging the frying pan for the fire: the job might be more interesting, but not necessarily come with better payment, which means I'd land myself in a situation where I don't have more money but considerably fewer possibilities for saving money.
Besides, there aren't *that* many interesting jobs to be had at this ministry; of course, from the perspective of terminal boredom even toilet-cleaning looks attractive, but what about three months into the new job? It wouldn't look so shiny anymore, and then it's be difficult to ask for yet another transfer, and then I'd really be up the proverbial shit creek.
So, wouldn't the really clever thing to do be this: stick it out till next summer. Next summer another interesting job will become available -- it's one I've held before, i.e. head of the visa department, but at least this way I know I like it. Apply for it. If I get it, fine, end of trouble. If I don't, not so fine, but then I can still a) apply for transfer within the ministry (easier because that's the time the caroussel moves), or b) wait another two or three months until the list for 2015 comes out and apply for a function abroad, or c) not give a shit because I'm writing my second novel.
Apart from the fact that my employers and boss are complete idiots for letting my qualifications and motivation go to waste, which is deplorable but can't be changed, I'll also have to admit to myself that my attitude is part of the problem. Part of my own problem, that is. Being clever, willing to work, and qualified doesn't automatically entitle me to a job I want, or The Perfect Job. Not within this system, anyway. Of course I'm feeling disappointed, which is absolutely ok, but feeling forever disappointed doesn't make things better or me happier. On the contrary. So I'll have to work through these negative feelings -- by myself or with help from outside if necessary -- and develop an attitude which, while not suppressing any justified, negative feelings which are bound to come up every now and then, makes it possible for me to enjoy what I've got. I think that bringing creativity into the equation would be excellent -- why not use the time I've got on my hands here and write that o-fic, or that screenplay I've always wanted to write? Or go back to the idea of getting a degree?

Ahem. This negative, whiny post is turning into something positive. OMG. My glass-half-full, optimistic side is as tough as a cockroach, really.

So I'll finish this post with a little more whining, merely to keep the subject line's promise:
I am, by and large, a supporter of the EU. Greatest peace project ever, liberty of movement, bla-bla, etc.etc.
BUT: now they are considering a new regulation forbidding vacuum cleaners stronger than 1600 W, as a first step, and later on 900 W. To make people save energy. Really? REALLY????? Why not put creativity and money into finding a way of doing away with stand-by LED-lights on electronic devices, which consume enormous amounts of electricity (not individually, but as a whole, in the whole EU) but are no use at all? (Just to name one example) Of course, the people who came up with this cretinous idea probably haven't handled a vacuum cleaner in decades, if ever, and are therefore not aware that you need a powerful v.c. if, e.g., you have children and/or pets and/or carpet floors. Allergies are on the increase -- do we really want to spent billions on health care, because less/worse domestic hygiene will surely lead to more people needing medication? Or will there be another regulation forbidding carpet floors and pets? Children, too, maybe? Oh, or maybe we could have another regulation stipulating that from now on one partner (preferably the woman of course) mustn't work, so they can stay home all day, sweeping with a broom, which takes care, in one fell swoop, of the hygiene problem *and* unemployment?!
Stupidity, thy name is Brussels...

...and I'd like to post about it, but still have to mull it all over in my head a few times, in order to get my thoughts more neatly arranged.
All in all it was good, though, and Janine and Irene took care of the Critters in the most wonderful manner.
Might call in sick tomorrow, because I really don't want to face work just yet, but we'll see about that. Plenty of time to decide.
Right now I'm waiting for the washing machine to finish, and then I'll go buy groceries. Badminton at 1 p.m. with Klaus, and after that lunch together, which will certainly help with the arranging of thoughts and feelings.

Being the responsible adult I am, and also because I needed prescriptions for my medication, I went to se the pulmologist yesterday. I hadn't been there for four years -- last time was during the month I spent in Vienna between Ankara and Skopje -- and so of course there was the obligatory spirometer (that the word?) test. Which, I hasten to add, was fine.
( Fewer cigarettes )

A further step towards cost-cutting was made today: I went to see my insurance guy. As I expected, there isn't much I can do about my household insurance -- if my flat is completely destroyed, I'm going to need the € 93.000 to rebuild and rebuy everything. The accident insurance, however, is a different matter (and more fool me, because I never really looked into it...): I got it in 1986, i.e. almost 30 years ago, when I wasn't yet employed, and when it was still unclear whether I'd marry and/or have a family. Hence the astronomic sum of € 435.000 I'd get in case of total invalidity, plus the insurance money for whoever inherits after me, and the guarantees for income, rent payments, etc. Given that I don't have children and am a civil servant, I don't need most of that. So we'll wait till next spring, and then look for a model that fits and will of course be less expensive. Also, I'll be paying monthly rates (without additional cost, because I've been their client for almost 30 years), which is preferable to having to shell out a few hundred Euros once a year.

In jeans-buying news, I got a new pair on Friday. I hate trying clothes on at the shop, and so I just bought a size 40 at Zara and tried them on at home. My eyes almost popped out from the surprise -- the bastards were TOO BIG!!! So I went back today and, because I couldn't find any jeans I liked, I bought two tops. I'm not very well equipped with elegant-ish, long-sleeved tops you don't have to iron, so I was glad to find two of those. I reckon I'll be needing them also in winter, because if the hot flashes continue, turtlenecks are impossible to wear, even the feel-good, viscose ones.

Time for a chewing gum, I think.
So this means no more ten-minute-escapes from my reflux-ridden office mate??!! Bugger. I hadn't thought of that...

The 3,5 hrs cleaning on Saturday definitely do count as exercise, though. Sweaty, grubby, occasionally swear-y business, but ultimately worth it. While having a thoroughly deserved cup of coffee and cigarette after finishing, I zapped idly through the cable channels and realized that the Swiss Indoors semi-finals were about to begin in less than thirty minutes. So I decided to postpone showering, have eggs with chili sauce and black coffee instead (I know. I know, but we all do have our dark sides don't we? Not much delights me beyond a cup of lukewarm French-press coffee paired with soft-boiled eggs, some cheese and chili sauce) and watch.
Watch I did, indeed, from 2.30 to past 8 p.m., first Del Potro vs. Roger-Vasselin, and then Federer vs. Pospisil.
So of course I had to see yesterday's final as well, which was Del Potro vs. Federer and, I'm sad to say, which Federer lost.
I wonder who convinced him to go on playing after Wimbledon 2012. It would've been the absolutely best moment for quitting -- back at no.1, with the most prestigious tennis trophy under his belt... Or maybe he's the one who doesn't know how and when best to quit, and he doesn't listen to other people. No idea. Whatever the reason for continuing, he really, really shouldn't have. His ranking has dropped to 6, and even though he's still one of the, if not THE, finest players I've ever seen, at age 32 (and height 6'2'' or 3'' -- that's a pretty important factor in tennis) he simply can't stand up to Del Potro's 6'7'', built like a brick shithouse, too, and 25 years. Or rather, he probably could, but he would've had to win the first two sets right away. As things were, he lost the first and won the second, and 25-year-old stamine triumphed over 32 in the third set. Not by much, but with his height, weight and stature Del Potro's first serves come in at 225 km/h, when he really puts everything he's got behind them, which he did in the third set, and you simply can't afford to lose a fraction of a second, if you want to return them.
Pity. But still, watching great tennis players play great tennis is always an inspiration. And I may have garnered some important insight into the art of serving well -- we'll see the next time I try it.

In completely different, and only very slightly TMI-ish news, I'm seriously considering the advice Janine gave me re. hot flushes. Up till now I didn't really mind them, but now they're getting very, very annoying and unpleasant. During daytime it's... well not really ok, but bearable. But what I'm really beginning to resent, not to say hate with a passion, is waking up twice or three times every night, literally dripping with sweat, and then having to go through the whole rigmarole of "throw back bedclothes, get up, open window, stand at open window till cooled-down, wait till bed cool again, go drink something cold, try going back to sleep".
Janine, however, has been practically symptom-free since she was being bled -- you know, the procedure where they put upside-down, heated cups on certain strategic areas of the body. She says she still feels nauseous just thinking about the sludge that came out of her, but the hot flushes were gone. So I think I'm going to try it -- if it doesn't help, it certainly won't hurt.

The little bastards.
I do understand that, after being much subdued and quite inactive (due to having been vaccinated on Monday) Rambo had to catch up on his daily Being-A-Menace Quota, but did he really have to get started at 3 a.m.? My flat, while spacious enough for me and four Critters, doesn't really allow for locking them out of the bedroom. Besides, I hate closed doors with a vengeance, so keeping them closed wouldn't make for very sound sleep anyway. And I suppose the Critters' attempts at opening them wouldnt be conducive to sleeping well, either.
I tried to go back to sleep between 3 and 4, but I'd like to see the superhuman who is able to fall asleep, while two cats (Lucius and Rambo) are racing across the bed every 30 seconds or so. When they were done racing, Rambo proceeded to the kitchen in search of whichever objects lend themselves to playing -- unsurprisingly pretty much everything except for the furniture and appliances -- and when the sound of empty plastic bottles being chased across a tiled floor was becoming too much, I simply got up. At 4 a.m.
Needless to mention, around 6 a.m. every single cat was peacefully snoozing in a favourite spot, while I was trying to convince myself that I was feeling soooo much better after showering.
I think I'll just go home in the afternoon and have a nap.
Even if I had work to do, I doubt I'd make a good job of it, and since I don't have any... well, why should I try to stay awake while sitting at my desk? The only pro argument for going back to work after lunch break would be my office mate's continued absence, which I'm enjoying; I'm confident, though, that I'll enjoy a nap at home a *lot* more. Also, I need to take that nap in order to be awake beyond 8 p.m. -- if I fall asleep that early, I'll wake up at 3 a.m. tomorrow even without crazy Critters, and I don't want to fuck up my sleeping pattern. (Which is already fucked-up enough, thank you very much)

I am, of course, going to leave a review on Amazon for "Thoroughly Modern Monsters", but only once I've actually finished the book. For now, all I can say is that I'm enjoying it enormously, although it's short stories, of which I'm not usually a fan. (I prefer bricks with at least 600 pages, the more the better) And I'm hugely impressed by the sheer talent, and proud to say that some of these incredibly gifted writers are my friends :-)