Fatherhood

Since late adolescence I have been sure one day I want to become a father. Not because it is a socially acceptable model, but out of a primeval instinct, probably not to let my genes go to waste.

My mother was 37 and my father was 38 when I was born. In late 1980s that was considered late parenthood. I actually was not their first child. My mother gave birth to a dead infant nearly 4 years before I was born. The age difference has made itself over my entire lifetime, especially in recent years when my parents' health is no longer enviable. I have always wanted to become a father earlier than my father did and the moment draws near. My goal was to bring up children in good health and not to be a burden for them as long as possible.

You could go on about philosophical consideration on the optimum age a male should become a father. Unlike with women, biology allows men to have offspring into an old age (albeit I believe natural erectile dysfunctions work to prevent this), but I don't think deferring the fatherhood, provided you have a younger female to become a mother, is a preferable solution. A slider needs to be set between maturity and ability to provide for a family (the older, the better) and a male's body ability to regenerate and stamina (the younger, the better).

Definitely a birth of a child is a game-changer in life which turns all routines upside down, prompts you to give up for a while on some pastime activities and lose sleep. An infant needs to be looked after 24/7, hence it is a timesuck for parents, but as many of my friends say, also the biggest pride and joy they have had in their lives.

Given the hardship of early years with the offspring might give a hard time, a reliable life companion is crucial. I am still fighting my fear I will be the one who takes care of most things and is burdened with most duties, which is a sort of strange, since such worries are typical for women who statistically less often can count on their partners than the other way round.

Although three paragraphs earlier I mentioned a male's responsibility to ensure financial stability of a family, I am avidly in favour of a modern family model in which partners roughly equally share household and children-related duties.

Currently the biggest pain in the neck of my girlfriend and mine is workload. I have never had to work as much as these days for a prolonged period and never got behind with work despite working 50 - 55 hours a week. When a weekend comes I am exhausted. I need to sort this out before becoming a parent, however have a prospect of a transfer to a different team with the beginning of 2024, with a scope of duties confined to client-related stuff (current I look after a junior analyst and co-ordinate a multinational project on Poland level). Again, I have written this note from the underground train to optimise my time...

Finanse-wise, my current salary is suffient to provide for a family (assuming my girlfriend reduces her wages to mine on account of changing a job to a less time-consuming), with a decent degree of comfort, hence my strategic goal is to save possibly much money for a bigger property and be less burdened by mortgage repayments once children-related expenses appear.

Having written it all, I bear in mind it takes two to tango...

The Asperger syndrome – diagnosed

Since early childhood I have felt a kind of different. I have long felt my perception of the world differs from the way the surrounding reality is seen by other people. Years went by, the sense of difference has lingered, yet no longer bothered me. In the adulthood I have been mature enough to foster my distinct personality and learnt not to try hard to fit in where I do not.

With hindsight I believe this blog, which I run mostly for myself and for posterity rather than for a handful of readers, also reflects the syndrome I have.

At the beginning of the relationship with my girlfriend I told her I considered myself a weirdo (dziwadło). It got on her nerves when I called myself a weirdo, yet she noticed in some ways I am unlike other people. She spent hours digging up the Internet and her supposition fell on mild autism or Asperger syndrome. To cut the long story short, I went through a comprehensive (and not inexpensive) diagnosis and have been officially diagnosed with Asperger syndrome.

If you know me well, how would you recognise I am afflicted with this inborn and incurable syndrome (I prefer not to use the word “disorder”)? I am fascinated with everything which can be described with numbers (including the pandemic), memorise them easily, have strong analytical and problem-solving skills, I have specific uncanny interests (recall my winter timelines?), tend to focus on ideas and am guided by principles. Unlike most people with the syndrome, I have no major problems with communication, empathy, recognising emotions or fostering relationships, nevertheless I tend to get stressed when facing new situations or people too intensely.

The team who have diagnosed me told I me I was doing reasonably well and actually did not need therapy to function well in the society. I just have the Asperger syndrome and need to get on with it. They claim I have put in a lot of hard work to develop social skills which come naturally to other people, but for an observer unfamiliar with the syndrome the difference between me and a neurotypical person is hard to grasp.

I should not attempt to change myself, rather embrace myself with all skills and deficiencies which are a part of me. I only somewhat fear my children might inherit the syndrome as forms of autism are generally hereditary.

Frankly speaking, I am still coming to terms with the diagnosis, climbing into a higher level of self-awareness and self-development.

Delfin - book review

The book has become famous for mere one sentence which, if my memory serves me right (after reading the book myself, my copy changes hands and a queue of people waiting their turn to borrow it from is long enough for me to keep a list), can be found in the last paragraph at the bottom of page 239, in which the author mentions in passing Mr Morawiecki (current prime minister) and his wife have adopted two younger of their four children (one of tabloids has highlighted the piece of news which allegedly had been known publicly).

Conspiracy theorists (on whose side I am this time) claim the tabloid’s publication has fortuitously coincided with release of another book (I have also read it), by Tomasz Piątek, Morawiecki i jego tajemnice, which explores and backs by references links between Mr Morawiecki, his father Kornel and several people from Mr Morawiecki’s milieu with… Kremlin. Just like Mr Macierewicz, whose secrets, including ties with the Russia Mr Piątek had discovered, Mr Morawiecki does not feel like commenting on the book (suing for a libel does not come into play, since Mr Piątek brings up facts, ask numerous questions, but does not make affirmative statements).

Returning to Delfin, the author, Piotr Gajdziński, formerly a chief public relations officer of Bank Zachodni WBK (whose CEO Mr Morawiecki was between 2007 and 2015) and a close workmate of the current prime minister, actually washes the dirty linen in public. Shedding light on events from corporate past of Mr Morawiecki which took place more than a decade ago (Mr Gajdziński was fired by Mr Morawiecki in November 2010 for lack of line-toeing submission) does not take my fancy, but the end of familiarising ordinary people with what Mr Morawiecki is like, justifies the means. In this instance I believe the effort of the author has definitely been the lesser of two evils (the bigger would be keeping it to himself).

I will not divulge the content of the book, nor will paint the picture of Mr Morawiecki’s traits. I want you to reach out for the book and find it out yourselves! Cross my heart, to my best knowledge, which goes beyond what is written in the book, the picture painted there is accurate and by no means exaggerated. Those who know my identity realise what I wish to put across…

The transfer of Mr Morawiecki to politics was a great relief to Bank Zachodni WBK. Sadly, at the expense of the entire country. Mr Morawiecki has the right to have his own views (even despite pretending to have been someone else before his shift to politics), yet his traits of character should disqualify his from being a statesman (but make him a perfectly suitable candidate to perform managerial roles in wicked corporations). Each day of his premiership goes to the detriment of Poland not because of his views (which do currently do not square with mine, but did twice when I had chances to talk to him face to face), but because of what he is like.

Poised for failure?

The question above pertains to Donald Trump’s candidacy in the oncoming US presidential election. Despite recent serious slip-ups which arguably could disqualify him straight away, he is not yet bound to lose it all.

According to a popular (don’t know to how extent it is true) belief, a president of the United States should boast of set if traits which pre-destine them to take this office. To cut the long story short, the president should be successful in all areas of life: should have a first spouse (to whom they are faithful) and children, boast about brilliant professional / academic / political career, be an exemplary citizen (e.g. not evade taxation, donate money to charities), crystal-clear in terms of honesty (no outstanding criminal charges / accusations), plus they should display impeccable manners and class.

Even if the description above is just a stereotype, it would not hurt if the bar for the president of the United States was raised that high. Bearing in mind the above, they very nomination of Donald Trump as Republican Party’s candidate has been mind-boggling. The very list of his numerous wrong-doings (BTW, an excellent summary containg what I miss in Polish journalism, i.e. citing sources substantiating each paragraph, hats down to the author):

- allegations of several attempts of sexual harassment,

- tax evasion,

- mistreating his wives, cheating on them,

- four bankruptcies of casinos he controlled,

- various cases of misconduct in running real estate business (dealing with tenants),

- mistreating his employees, including failing to pay contractors and workers, or hiring migrants illegally,

- running shady businesses, including a foundation, an university and an institute, all Trump-named,

is long enough to put a bunch of ordinary people into prisons, yet despite unprecedented slew of controversies around his name, the republicans decided he would run for presidency.

The recordings disclosed over a week ago, caused more uproar, but have not been a nail to his coffin. I would safety bet as the tapes of Mr Trump bragging about seducing married women and telling technical details on how he was making a pass on them could win some voters.

There will always be voters who would expect someone akin to them to hold such office. Mr Trump did what several males do when females are not around, proved he is a regular guy, not a spick-and-span well-mannered politician, but an ordinary chap from the neighbourhood, some who despite his richness has common ground with the underclass.

There is a theory that a statesman should adhere to higher moral standards than an ordinary citizen. The concept holds water in general, but conduct which is acceptable cannot be unambiguously defined. I am a straightforward man and never take umbrage when public figures commit the same sins as I do in their private time. I swear like a trooper (as many educated people in this Poland), even when there is no reason to use foul language. Swear words have become for me a part of communication with all people who have developed the same despicable habit, especially in the workplace (unfortunately foul language is tolerated there by everyone and hence thrives). I should be ashamed of it, yet if I broach this topic, I prefer to admit it that to pretend my civility is beyond reproach. Besides, I might not disapprove of eavesdropped politicians who swear in private conversations; by stooping so low, I have denied myself that right. The locker-room talks also do not shock me, since though I have never talked about any particular woman in such vulgar way, I am familiar with that style of language, but use it rather in self-deprecatory context (e.g. asked my a mate if I am fine, instead of straightforwardly confessing it could be better I tell him that “nobody wants to do me a blow-job”).

What might really drag down Mr Trump’s chances in the race of presidency was his declaration in the last debate he would not accept the victory of Mrs Clinton and would look into it fairness of the election procedure. By undercutting the foundations of democracy, Mr Trump moved closer to Mr Kaczynski who also implied several times elections won by PO or its nominees had been rigged.

Incidentally, Mr Kaczynski, as a bachelor, having no children, having not accumulated any property over more than 40 years of adult life, never taking private travels abroad as an adult, not having a driving license and not fending for himself over most of his adult life, also does not fit the profile of a statesman, yet for totally different reasons than Mr Trump.

The very existence of Donald Trump is not a problem, as there are many freaks roaming around our planet. His very willingness to run for presidency, if he can afford it, is not a problem as well. The issue is that for some reason he earned the nomination of the Republican Party and the biggest issue and a puzzle is why people want to vote for him. We need to bear in mind he does not tread the path of PiS in Poland and does not pamper the poorest with benefits raising their standard of living and does not resort to the most blatant economic populism for masses. The possible answers lean towards ideological reasons: Mr Trump wants to reinstate law and order, lift America from its knees, revise relationships with other countries, wants to make the United States an empire again, is a backbone of conservatism, finally some voters would sooner kiss their own arse than vote for a democrat.

Not being actually fond of Mrs Clinton, I keep fingers crossed for her victory on 8 November, thus I am keeping fingers crossed for well-being of the whole civilised world.

In the future, in the past, going nowhere, much too fast

Perfect, clement weather. A whiff of late summer in early October (day-time high of +23C, not much short of October heat record for Warsaw of +24.5C, set on 5 October 1983). Spent most of the day outdoors, lazily or actively, yet in the great companion. Reflective mood has kept me company while I was basking in the autumn sun anyway…

Today is the sixth anniversary of my mother’s best friend’s death. 4 October in 2009 also fell on Sunday. She passed away late in the evening, thus losing a battle against cancer she had fought for months ahead of the sad day. Back in the early years of blogging I followed the principle to keep the private stuff away from the PES. I do not regret abiding by the self-imposed rules at that time, yet regret not putting in words my feelings at that time and confining only to succinct coverage of the funeral. Our families used to be friends over the period of my childhood and teenage years. Ciocia Magda used to be one of my nearest and dearest, closer and more trusted than most relatives. Piece of life, hundreds of memories turned into ashes, yet alive as reminiscences of her survivors.

Today also falls the third anniversary of most crucial conversations I had with three people which three days later were compiled into the timeless Guardian Angel conversation, the post on PES I most frequently revert to. With hindsight, as three years passed by, I am immensely grateful to myself for picking up courage to face up to all the bitter feelings overwhelming me at that moment. Freeing the thoughts, putting them into order, confronting them with I had been told by wiser fellows sobering me up have helped reach the turning point in breaking free from that hapless affection.

Getting over that miserable infatuation took me good six months. For the last year of working at the Employer’s, my professional relationship with Her was correct. While seeing Her for the last time on 31 July 2014, on my last day of work, I did not resent Her for what we had been through. Yet She was the only person deliberately I cut off. I have met or spoken to all my immediate co-workers; all, except Her. Oddly enough though before I had been in much closer relationships with girls / women than in that dead-end something I would not call a relationship, I still feel She was a piece of my life. She has not left a wound, yet a scar remains.

The Soulmate (a work-mate at the Employer’s today a friend) while we met last month told me She had probably broken up with that guy. “A pity, She will turn 32 soon, She will find it only harder to find a decent boyfriend, this is not the state of affairs I would wish on Her”, I replied. I sincerely wish Her all the best, yet I felt a twitch of twofold nature: I felt this could be chance to start over and to be honest with you, I smirked at thought She got the well-deserved punishment (for what?). I was curious whether Soulmate mentioned this to chin me up (I am not the only one who has it uphill with the opposite sex) or to gently hint starting over. Two weeks later I outspokenly told the Soulmate I actually had not been indifferent to the news she had passed to me, yet…

Let’s face the truth. Lighting never strikes in the same place twice, as the saying goes. You could argue, we are both three years older, more mature, wiser, our lives have moved on, we have experienced more. We are both three years older, but She still is four years older than me. We have no common source of income, I earn more than twice as much as in 2012 and for some reason She and her ex-boyfriend are no longer together – if anyone thinks these developments make a fundamental difference – shame on you! We could forget who hurt who in the past and discover each other as if we just met, but we would not erase what set us apart from each other. I have my pride. Being second-best does not make sense!

Guardian Angel conversation – follow-up

Exactly six months have gone by since I posted here the memorable (imaginary) dialogue between my Guardian Angel and me. One could argue whether it makes any sense to revert to it, my Guardian Angel has seen everything from above, the affection even half a year ago was in a point of no return, so why? Firstly, to satisfy curiosity of those readers who wonder how I’ve moved on; secondly (and mostly, given number of understatements in this post and how much is written between the lines) for myself, to bear testimony of my state of mind and to save it for posterity.

Chapter 1 – “No pieces to pick up”

October 2012

First days are an intense battle with several ups and downs. I tell my Soulmate about the dream of bleeding. To my surprise, she changed her mind very quickly. She had persuaded me to fight till I hit the wall and now she claims the purport of the dream is not coincidental – I should stop bleeding, any sacrifices will get me nowhere, I need to purify my soul…

With time I learn to control my psyche. Whatever it is – defence mechanisms, coping strategies or resilience, I learn how to cope with emotional pain. A friend interested in psychology tells me these mental safety valves I’ve taken control of should work in my subconscious and if a human learns how to manipulate them to ease the pain, it’s a pathology. Her claim makes sense, I’ve grown immune to some emotions, but on other hand I’ve become emotionally numb. Have I been actually doing well? I could tell everyone znieczulenie (literally: anaesthesia) worked fine… Side effect – three kilograms down within one month and I’m on the verge of being underweight according to Body Mass Index (by today I’m put on only two out of those three).

November 2012

The znieczulenie seems to work well, but some days I feel like somebody cuts off morphine… One day I hear this and it brings about revelation – I embrace the naturalness and indispensability of what I feel…

Around the middle of the month defence mechanisms break down, coping strategies pack up and resilience is called into question. For the last two days before leaving for two weeks off before the exam I simply feel like yelling… Two days of separation and it ceases to haunt me. I manage to focus on learning and swot up at full steam.

1 December 2012

Exam day. I turn up to the exam centre far before check-in gates open, just like a Pole cautiously arriving early at the airport :) During the wait I recall Her words “You’re young, you have to learn a lot to earn a livelihood for a family, I still hope somebody will earn a livelihood for Me”. Was I supposed to read between the lines the message She wanted me to do it for Her, or was it just a general statement? Here and now I can be only sure I’m taking this exam for myself. During the midday break my thought again drift away in the wrong direction… I ask myself why? She doesn’t care… I return to the cold room, pull myself together and get ahead.

Chapter 2 – “No dust to sweep”

First week of December 2012. Upon my return She tells me she hopes I pass it and doesn’t want me bring shame on our employer. I smirk… From the very beginning I’m overloaded with work and catch-up for the “holiday” period. In a surge of laziness I tell my Soulmate I lack energy to plug away. She advises me to take a sick leave. I say there is no reason why any doctor would write it out for me. The Soulmate points out her friend got it for a “broken heart”, so why I couldn’t I. I reply immersing in work might be a cure for a broken heart, but not in my case. Everyone around can hear it, some look at us with dread or astonishment. There’s nothing to be proud about, but have I done something I should be ashamed of?

11 December 2012

My 25th birthday. She stand-offishly congratulates me on entering the adulthood and shakes my hand. Her palm is cold and bony, her grip no longer gentle and delicate. The distance between us is longer than ever…

Soon after

Her birthday. She’s older than me. In a year it will be a round number. I wish Her that all He dreams come true and that She is always happy, minding myself to stay at least one and a half metres away from Her. In Scandinavian culture this is the borderline of intimacy I promise myself not to overstep (never again). This all plunges me into another yelling phase.

I return home and begin to browse job advertisements… I find an opening for a very similar position with a renowned competitors of my employer. I update my CV and string together a very decent letter of application, then send the set of documents. When I realise I’ve done it not for job-related reason, but in a fit of pique, a potential employer has my application in its HR inbox.

When I return to the state of full sanity it occurs maybe new job is not a bad idea. I begin to play hard with my current employer – if I’m about to stay, why not getting a compensation for having to see Her? I bluff to my manager I’m about to have a commitment letter from another employer and threaten to potentially leave in February. My declaration strikes him out of the blue and wipes the smile off his face. He seems determined to keep me in…

In the meantime the “Natalia story” plays out in the background. There were two other women I met at that time, one before Natalia, one before it falls apart and after. Lesson learnt: never try going out with somebody out of desperation.

January 2013

I accept an invitation for an interview with another employer. I think I’m doing quite well, because I’m warned by would-be manager is an arsehole. I’m self-assured, self-confident and at times rude. This impresses him… I ask myself whether I’d want to sell my soul to a devil. My current boss is anything, but complex-ridden, we have the same sense of humour, are generally on the same wavelength and he instantly launched the process of persuading me to stay… Is it worth losing it? Lesson learnt: decisions impacting career should not be taken when you’re overcome by emotions.

22 January 2013

I get the exam results. I call my manager to pass on the good news, in return he informs he’s received all approvals for my promotion and pay rise. I ask him to make this pass unnoticed, he agrees. I step up efforts not to let Her find out about my successes. Seemingly it’s over, so why do I act like this? Tit for tat? My boss hands me annex to job contract in private, news of passed exam are dosed selectively – those who ask get the news, She doesn’t… Promotion and considerable salary hike are not a breakthrough, nor add me any self-confidence. Nothing actually changed. What a funny twist of fate…

Chapter 3 – “Not a single particle of oxygen to let it breathe”

For all this time life has run its course. Heart and mind had parted company long before and their path have not converged till now. It’s even better, I’ve always stayed totally sane (with a small exception of applying for a job, but that’s done me only good), done well at work and in everyday life.

Let’s face the truth. It not only couldn’t work out… It not only stood no chance to work out… It had no accursed right to work out and on top was doomed to fail…

She wouldn’t be happy with me. I wouldn’t be happy with Her. For Her part, She needed somebody of Her age, offering Her stability and financial safety, something I could give Her within a few years, but not when I was 24… and not when we had a “common” source of income. And for She was on that stage of life when a woman runs out of time for waiting… Formal obstacles can be gone around, if you want, you’ll always find a way, but age difference does matter and will always make itself felt. For my part, there’s one fundamental reason why there was no chance for a happy ending – you can’t be with somebody you don’t trust… I’d never really trusted Her and time only proved my intuition right…

It no longer hurts, but it still itches. We see each other almost every day, but apart from “hi” we talk only when we really have to. I still find this mind-boggling… She would whisper to me about Her inmost desires, fears and plans for future. We both were gradually cutting short the flow of information between us, now I know nothing about what happened in Her life over the last months. I would hazard a guess She’s generally happy, but judging only by the way She behaves, you wouldn’t tell it. I suppose She’d prefer not to see me any more (I’d also rather not see Her) and given all the circumstances, Her reasoning is to some extent justifiable. To some extent, yet not entirely. The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt Her (and I’ll probably never find out whether I did it) and let’s speak it out… it takes two to tango… So maybe She has remorse…

A few months ago I was telling myself I would break away if I understood what this actually was. I had to give up on it. There are more questions and answers and odds to strike a balance between are close to zero. Understanding is out of reach and despite this I’ve broken away… I’m free, yet wounds haven’t fully healed, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.

Toughness, indifference, or something else

Summer of 2007. The time when my (then) best friend’s mother was terminally ill and finally passed away. Normally a human’s psyche is deeply affected by such traumatic experiences. Usually people react sensitively, can’t help crying, or get carried away by emotions. Most of us do, but not Mateusz (name this time not changed). When I talked to him or met him he showed absolutely no emotions, behaved like a doctor looking after another patient about to die sooner or later. He did take care of his mother, did everything to relieve her pain (she was down with a rare illness, called amyloidosis) and waited patiently for her death. The day it happened, he called me in the evening, announced the wait was over and promised to let me know about the date of the funeral. Before the burial ceremony I visited him in his house. The room where his mother died was tidied up – the hospital bed was pushed aside, all medicines, equipment and other traces of her last days were gone. To mark the mourning, Mateusz wore a black tie and had a black bow attached to the right sleeve of his shirt. His face and so his eyes were as hollow as over the previous weeks. He briefly, with technical details described how she departed. I listed and after a minute it occurred to me I seemed to be more touched then him.

A year or two ago I recalled those days with his grandmother (whose daughter deceased). Matuesz and his grandma have broken up any bonds soon after the funeral but both cited different reasons and accounts of event after Mateusz’s mother’s death. The grandma with dread recalled how Mateusz behaved on those days, chiefly his absolute lack of emotionality. It all prompted me to consider whether this has not been inhuman. Today Mateusz’s father is dying from cancer and Mateusz acts in exactly the same way…

In some cases getting immune to other people’s suffering is the only way to avoid going crazy. Imagine an oncologist who works every day with people terminally ill on cancer. Such person, even if they care for their patients, can’t be oversensitive. Otherwise, they would have to go through bereavement every few weeks or so.

Whenever a difficult situation strikes us for the first time, we are more likely to fail do deal with successfully. Each next occurrence of a similar experience finds us more accustomed to face the hardships and better prepared to overcome them.

The key concept, crucial to understand what I’m getting at, is the hackneyed adage “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. I’ve been pondering upon this for weeks and reached a conclusion that as long as the pain, trauma, suffering, etc. is not overwhelming, it should add us resilience. The magnitude of experiences we’re exposed to determines the way they shape us. Life without suffering is impossible, so life must toughen us up. Of course there are situations which would bring even mentally toughest people to their knees and there are individuals who let insignificant hardships overpower them.

Again, I began to draw comparisons between the moment I was hired where I work now and today. This time I focused only on my psyche and toughness. I evolved from a moderately fragile person, prone to give up in stressful situations to the strongest link in the chain. Spontaneously I’ve taken up the role of the person in the team and in the department who takes stuff on the chin, often even if someone else has been assigned to deal with it. For instance, for my colleagues going to a credit committee meeting and presenting a transaction to a group of nine decision-makers, including three management board members and then responding to their questions, is a very stressful experience. The tension paralyses them, they shudder before going there and agonise over what they are going to tell and even after they come back and it is over, they take their speech and the whole meeting to the pieces. For me such task involves a dose of stress that stimulates me, motivates me and sends my adrenaline rise a bit. I doesn’t mean I’m totally laid back, credit committee meeting involves a lot of responsibility. The way I present a deal may influence the committee’s decision and this in turn may lead to losses of millions of zlotys, so I can’t be indifferent, I just don’t let stress take hold of me.

If you’re tough, it doesn’t mean you’re indifferent. If you’re tough, it doesn’t mean you’re devoid of any emotions. It may mean so, but usually doesn’t. Your toughness just proves you’ve learnt how to cope with emotions and bears out your maturity, it also predestines you to become a leader and to assume responsibilities. At work emotions shouldn’t play a role, this is obvious, in private life it’s not that easy, but it’s good to try. Sometimes, when push comes to shove, in emergency situations, such toughness helps take wise decisions swiftly and doesn’t let you fall into panic. Again, keeping a cool head, keeping your distance, should not be mistaken for indifference.

Funnily enough, these weren’t several stressful situations I have been exposed to that have toughened me up. I intended not to revert to it, but to complete this post, I need to. It was the violation of a good practice that one should separate private and professional life, in particular not to start intimate relationships with workmates. Quite predictably, the forbidden fruit was delicious, but such affections, full of twists and turns are clearly asking for troubles. I haven’t fallen in any real troubles, but the by-product of this God only knows if actually reciprocated affection was the rise of my strength. Oddly enough, I feel more than ever before and act as if I felt less than ever before. I sometimes have remorse on account of appearing to be stone-cold, but at the end of the day I think I’ve pursued the best face-saving strategy that helped me avert going mad.

I actually planned to examine the new economic agenda of PiS, presented last Sunday and again ended up compiling a post akin to a page torn away from a teenager’s diary. One day I’ll mend my ways and return to the original formula of this blog.

Confession

Outside +33C, inside +28.5C, despite external rollers pulled down. I dread to think how hot it would be in my room without them. But some five months ago when temperatures in the morning were hitting minus twenties, I promised not to gripe about the heat wave when it comes. Frost has one advantage over heat – you can take shelter from it at home, assuming you have heating put in. Air-conditioning in private houses is not popular in Poland, so we swelter, but don’t have to think about the coming heating bill, wear several layers of clothing, wait for a public transport vehicle that fails to run according to timetable, etc.

In this temperature I feel like taking a nap; I even understand why siesta is so common in southern Europe in the summer months – when it’s above +30C you simply get drowsy.

Yawn… Not a temperature conducive to thinking, nor the time is right. I’ve had more than enough time to think many aspect of my life over when I had to stay in bed for some nine days in June.

Was it all just a coincidence? My first true holidays since September 2009, carefully planned, long awaited and two weeks before the departure, probably on my way to and from Poznań by train I contracted an illness. I blame this journey, because on my way to Poznań air-con was cooling the compartment at full blast, while on my way back it wasn’t running at all, windows were locked and inside the carriage you could breath in a abhorrent stench of fungus…

Then I disregarded problems with sore throat, they didn’t pass as they’d come, a small illness developed into a bigger one, I got one antibiotic, it helped for a while, but didn’t fully cure me. On the eve of my departure I came down with high fever and the next day it turned out I had the accursed laryngitis. The second antibiotic, despite staying in bed, didn’t help as well. Finally the third one, in the third week of my struggle against disease, set me free from the illness, but knocked me down solidly and played havoc with my heart and muscles (thank God it left out my digestive system…) and left me stranded at home, unable to do any physical exercise, not to drive car for a few days. Eventually, I recuperated…

So why did it strike in the period of holidays and in warm June, not when weather can contribute to catching a cold? Was it a punishment?

Could it be a punishment for the idea to go on holidays completely on my own for the first time? For the plan to do spend time exactly the way I want, without taking heed of other people’s opinions and without having to put up with their habits, whims, shortcomings? Many people spend holidays in such way, many would never try to go alone, but is something condemnable in it?

Could it be a punishment for being at loggerheads with my parents? For falling out over every smallest thing, just as a matter of principle? After all they’ve always wished me well and when we disagreed and eventually I reluctantly followed their advice, with hindsight they were proven right. And even if not, they had the courage admit their mistake and advise me not to listen to them every time. Now we all decided to mend our ways and get along quite well, but for how long?

Could it be the punishment for how I foster relationships? Isn’t it true that I meet and talk to people I call my friends too infrequently? With time most friendships have all loosed up, especially I began to feel it upon finishing the studies. How many times have I rejected meeting proposals just because I was too busy, too tired, short of time? How come relationships between people can fall apart so easily? Do social media replace real world – I checked today I have 113 friends on facebook, while many of them I haven’t seen for ages and I haven’t invited many people I know well and meet every day. Facebook doesn’t reflect reality. Real friends matter, not boosting your friend count on social networking portal.

Now a message dear fellow bloggers. In February I was giving a lift to Michael, the same day he met Scatts and Paddy. They all agreed we should call a blogmeet. Four months have passed since then, fourteen months have elapsed since the last blogmeet and… silence…

Could it be the punishment for my (excessive?) commitment to work? For trying to stand out, present myself as reliable and knowledgeable employee at the expense of my private life? Staying overtime, taking up more duties – it was always obvious to me, I could not refuse. Actually I learnt a lot, developed a lot, built a network of professional relationships and gained exposure to influential people in my organisation that can give me a stepping stone for a future promotion. Can I build such valuable relationships in a private life? Were those sacrifices justifiable? Until now, I received no financial reward for my endeavours, prospects of promotion or a pay rise are remote and I seem to appear as someone always eager to do the most unrewarding tasks without a murmur…

Could it… No, start the sentence over a different way… Isn’t it the punishment, maybe even a well-deserved punishment for falling in love with that (don’t try to recall, I haven’t broached that topic and don’t plan to revert to it) girl so senselessly. It’s lasted for too long, I should have got her out of my mind, but well, sometimes you just can’t help yourself. It’s weird given that from the beginning I knew this was not someone I would like to spend my life with, not someone with who I could build a happy marriage. Well, there are situations when people can’t resist to make a step forward, even if they fully realise they’re on the verge of a precipice.

Was it reciprocated – I’ll probably never find it out. So many times I could easily say so, but equally many times, she would be indifferent or turned me away. Her attitude to me chopped and changed, within hours, not even days. I know she can pretend very well, not a good trait for a partner, so it’s impossible to find out what she really felt.

Was it she who hurt me, or wasn’t it me who hurt her as well, maybe even more? If it was reciprocated, I should also blame myself. Under certain circumstances I had to build a smokescreen (e.g. by flirting with other women) just to nip in the bud others’ suppositions there was something between us. But could she see through the smokescreen, or did she suffocate with the smoke? And didn’t I, in the meantime, hurt someone else, didn’t I waste another chance in an unforgivably silly way?

Could there be a future for us? Without a significant reshuffle in either her or my life, in the long run, surely not. In many aspects we are similar, in many aspects we could complement each other, but at the end of the day we are worlds apart. She is full of contradictions (like every woman to some extent), surely fragile and quite sensitive. And here the red light goes on – she’s sensitive only when harm is inflicted to her. I realised it upon compiling this post. If she read it, she’d just pull a face and what actually I was getting at and why I cared about those worse-off people.

I believe like many people, she’s so afraid that somebody can hurt her that she hurts someone else? She’s built a shell surrounding her not to let other people find out what she really feels. I could have enough power and determination to break through this shell, but my hands were tied and they still are. I could only bang my head against it, but is it worth the effort?

I treat this post like a katharsis. I need to break away.

A year ago if somebody had told I would go crazy about somebody with such abandon, I would have ridiculed them, call a downright idiot and bet all my savings they were an idiot. Fortunately, such opportunity didn’t arise and at least I’m not out of money on top of that.

So it stands to reason that my recent apathy is a consequence of this senseless affection. For some time, probably since early spring, I haven’t discerned the beauty in the world, until then I could see it in simple things, such as the sunset I’d lapped up a year ago, nor in magnificent ones. Everything in the world seems to me ugly.

When staying in bed I spotted this on my friend’s (we’ve been trying to arrange a meeting for half a year and guess if we met) wall on facebook. This might suggest another explanation. In late winter, when it sank in to me the senseless affection is beyond all doubt senseless, I resolved to be stronger than ever and than everyone around. I decided not to let any emotions overcome nor overwhelm me, I decided to be the last to lay down weapons on the battlefield, to be the captain the last to escape the sinking ship. I wanted to be bullet-proof, like in the song played so frequently in the radio those days. With time I realised it might be easy to deceive other people, but hard to deceive myself. I had moments when I was near breakdown, there were days when I got in to the car after work and yelled for half a minute to disgorge the negative emotions. It’s over. I haven’t experienced depression – I still feel a lot of energy and according to on-line tests, I have no or almost no signs of it. I haven’t experienced a single panic attack, but anxiety has kept me company for months, if not years. Perhaps this is the price to pay for some choices.

From now it’ll get better. It must…