New people

I hate people. Not in some specific way, I don't have any objections against you, you and you back there. Nor would I want to get rid of them somehow or hurt them or some such, I actually like people... but, somehow, not too close, not too many, not between me and the doorway. And as long as they do not want to interact..

Which is why back at home, I have that magic paper with an official stamp that says The carrier of this flat piece of cellulose is weird, when hiding in the shrubbery, place noms and coffe nearby and leave quietly; absolutely no poking with a stick, no, not even a little bit.
I need to get similar piece of paper or some other credentials here and so far, I haven't really understood how the system works, I'm going to the cripple office tomorrow to find out.

Today, I went to register my temporary residence here. I had a nice walk around Mariahilf in the morning, found the municipal offices, got my numbered piece of paper and after waiting for some 10 minutes, my hands were trembling and I had an urge to run away.
The office lady was nice, after all, daily dealings with foreigners, citizens and other random idiots makes one be sorta nice as it's the easiest way of handling them. I got my paper and went to the university instead of running back home and hiding for the rest of the week, which cost me quite a bit of effort.

At the uni, my Prague eduroam credentials seemed to be working just fine so in the lecture room full of people, I could pretend to myself that I wasn't really there but the introduction was quite short and then the classes started.

I don't talk to strangers unless in dire need.
I talked to the teacher explaining that, well, autism spectrum disorder, I'm doing my best not to run away, sorry, I appear dumber than I really am. She took it easy and said that I don't need to talk if I don't feel comfortable. Good.

Course ended, I ran away in case some of my classmates would want to interact, had a walk and awarded myself with some food.

Now I'm happily locked in my room now feeling guilty - I could live on dried apples for the whole week, right? and mailing around 14 people regarding my courses and won't get out until tomorrow.

Could be worse.

Same shit, different place

I had a temp job at the main Erasmus office and whined to my boss and a long-time friend that I should do a German exam. And back in the day, at the high school, I spent four years of German classes with a psychotic teacher whose method was 50 % grammar drill and 50 % yelling that we're incompetent lazy stupid useless semiliterate chimpanzees who will never accomplish anything. I thus have a somewhat complicated attitude towards Goethe's and Schiller's language. Practically, I prefer to avoid it unless it has to be used and in that case, I prefer to find someone who would do the using for me, thank you very much.

(A few months ago, I was in Zürich and I found out that I'm not able to understand their variety of German at all. I decided that I can fight back and speak Italian because they should at least sort of know and it's them who will be ashamed. Which is better than me being ashamed.)

So, I did my bit of whining and said friend poured some more tea and said And why don't you go to Vienna? The Austrians are sorta cool, it's almost next door, let me see, your department doesn't have an agreement with the Vienna university, that's odd, one would think that they would, but you can go via some other department, try Theatre Studies or Archaeology, they've always had free spots in the last few years.

It has to be noted that at my department, they found out that I speak French. Not that it would be difficult, I list it in my CV, in very small letters because the only reason that I actually speak French is my lack of inhibitions, my level being somewhere between sort of passable and halfway Italian. The professors were enthused that there's finally someone who can go to École des Chartes. Not sure how happy they were when I told them that I'm going to Vienna instead but after all, it's useful because the Vienna University has courses in Latin papyrology and... anyway.
And the Theatre Studies guy was only too happy to sign my papers, basically saying that they get whined at for not sending any students over, good that there's someone at last.

The paperwork is a major pain in the arse.
I got a paper with a big round stamp that says that I'm an Officially Recognised Cripple, or a special needs student. It's entered in the information system that people are officially required to be nice at me or I may run away and hide in the shrubbery behind the building, just in more formal words. It has a great placebo effect - when things are getting on my nerves too much, I tell myself that I have that magic paper so what. I thus take the liberty to politely annoy people until I understand the effing forms and how to fill them in. It's good.

So, I did the Prague bit of my paperwork and now it's time for the Vienna bit. Oh, the good old days in Italy where nobody cared whether I actually registered somewhere and when I did, for a proof of income, a debit card was just fine. (No, I'm not going to try and find out what mind was behind this idea.) But the thorough and industrious red tape at least gives clear instructions - or has given them so far. I really liked the Vienna University application process - I got an email saying Follow this link and fill in your name. Do not enter any other data until further notice. A few days later, I got an email saying Follow this link and fill in your domicile. Do not enter any other data until further notice. You get the gist.
Thorough and industrious red tape at the Vienna University has a problem, though - I can't register for courses outside the department to which I came to study, which is Theatre Studies as per all the papers, unless I have an explicit approval of the relevant department.

I wanted to take some art history courses because I wanted to take some biology courses and as per the Erasmus rules, 51 % of my credits need to be from my home faculty. Not department, the whole Arts, I asked twice.
Actually, I was copying learning agreements of students coming to Prague and I happened to come across some such that read something like Medical Faculty, courses: virology, infectious diseases, other medical stuff I, other medical stuff II., Medieval French Literature. I remarked that easy credits are acquired from sports, no?, and the more experienced office workers explained the above mentioned requirement. And then I asked twice.
So, well, there were not many useful courses for me and for not that many credits compared to boatloads of damn interesting stuff at Natural Sciences. And most of the courses in botany are in English, even, which would make the whole studying affair a bit less frustrating, wouldn't it. So, art history courses would provide a few extra credits so that I don't get into some red tape mess.
To sum it up, I need an approval from three other persons. Sigh.

And I need to register with some other effing office. Which wants me to prove that I have funds/income/an affidavit from parents that they would cough it up for me equating to something like 1200 euros per month. No way in hell. At least I can go there up to three months after arrival so I can throw all money that I have, plus something from my family on a pile, show them the bank statement, not tell them to shove it up their arses, get my stamp and go home and return the money to where it belongs. (My financial institution called Cash in Cat Food Can works just fine, thank you very much. Feringa has pretty cans and the food rocks, if you add a bit of estragon and pull out those bits that look like arteries, you can serve it as a true unadulterated French delicacy. Just saying.)

I guess I should go and do a bit of accounting. But, there'll be more insane rants, promise. Sooner than in half a year.

'Tis been a while...

... but life got somewhat busy.

I'm doing my Ph. D. Yes, a second attempt. I'm clumsy in some ways. I took that bit of effort and got a magic paper with a big university stamp that says that I'm a student with special needs and that everyone is requested, by order, as certified by said magic paper with a stamp, to be nice to me. I have reasons to believe that the Department of Archival Studies is inhabited by nicer people than my native art history turf but maybe that institutional magic works.
For those who may be interested, I'm working on a very very obscure theme of late Roman/early Mediæval palæography (gotta like me those diphthongs) which I refuse to explain until I feel like explaining it, and it is not right now, because people get lost after second sentence. However, it includes a lot of nerdy statistics - a thing unseen at the Arts Faculty but I apparently have an urge to be odd - and I absolutely need to find a nice Uncial font. Uncial is pretty, that's it, such as in the Vienna Livius. Do browse it, just for the æsthetic pleasure.
I got a teaching assignment, feel free to imagine the usual complaints about how the students are dumb. To be specific, I doubt that certain specimens know the alphabet and when I introduced them to the glory and magic of indices, quite a few were quite a bit lost. Or they looked so.

Cat is doing fine. Dad started training, saying that at least Come here and Sit down and Sit and beg shoud be manageable but at the end, he concluded that he's been trained to Give treat. So, technically, I own two cats, I'm listed in the microchip database and I buy cat food. Practically, nope. Meezer lives with grandma and the old ladies are happy that way, Cat adopted my dad who keeps spoiling her rotten and that's it. Did I already say that blue-eyed cats are ungrateful bastards?

A few months ago I would say that I lived in three places again, as  I did in the glorious academic year of 2003/2004, 2004/2005 and, I think, 2008/2009. Meantime, I had a major argument with my mother which involved core life values, started moving my shit away and sorta crossed out the family house from my present and future calculations. I still live something akin to a logistic nightmare but it's settling down, I already know the train schedules, I spread the everyday stuff like deodorants and underwear evenly - I still lack in a few departments but I guess I'll manage with carrying pointe shoes around, they run on the expensive side and I don't use them up the way I use up toothpaste.

And, at the end, a pretty song for all my past loves and for whomever it may concern:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TuwpWnjg7xc

How I complicate things all by myself.

I wanted to apply for another postgrad programme. My research project being sort of I have a shitload of material, I intend to deal it in this and that way but I'm not sure what would the endpoint be, it took me around a month before I gathered courage and mailed the potential supervisor. There was no reply within a day or two so I was nervous but I thought, I need to submit the application by next Friday, no biggie.
A day later, I saw him on TV, talking from Benoît-sur-Loire, France, where he's with his students on a field trip and they intend to walk (yes, WALK) to Mont Saint Michel... so I sighed that, well, I can't possibly discuss the stuff with him, let's apply without prior approval. It can be done but I'd feel more comfortable if I had the project okayed beforehand.
On I went to the university website to fill in the forms. I had noted down that the deadline was May 12. Twice. It shows that this was the deadline for delivering hard copy documents, not for the application itself, which I found by finding the online forms unavailable.

I got all the bad emotions at once. Cursed myself for not being able to read, I was sad because I'd like to get to that department and then I plainly freaked out because I do such stuff. However, I decided to try and abuse a possibility. I saw a lady from the office for students with special needs last week who was very nice so I thought, after all, I have ADHD in my papers so I may play the I can't read because reasons card. I mailed the lady and asked whether something can be done. She told me to contact Dr. So-and-So, head of the admissions office, she might know about a solution.
I made a cup of coffee and called the admissions lady. She was also very nice, told me to send a request for extending the deadline, letter, not mail, please, adding that the dean doesn't make a fuss about the postgrad students, it will likely be granted and I'll get a bill for admission fees and further instructions, no worries.
I had a bit of hard time to find out how to write formal letters, I've been living in an email time for too long but at the end, I put something together, I explained how I misread the instructions without going into depths of how I cannot read and I'm just a waste of oxygen.

Things are odd. I had a meltdown. I called an unknown person of authority - as in, called on a phone, in circumstances when I had to explain that I made rather a dumb mistake. I didn't worry about it for a month. I do not feel like a waste of oxygen. I'll see where this goes.

Growing a new brain

In November or so, I saw a friend and whined about how I could use some good therapy but therapists are few and far between, I'd need one who takes insurance or at least is affordable and doesn't do some quackery on the side because I wouldn't trust such a person... She said Oh, my friend is a psychologist, she works in the oncology ward but she can take outside patients, I'll mail her if she has a slot for you.
The therapist did have a slot, asked for a note from my shrink so that she could bill my sessions to the insurance and the limit for her is four hours per patient per day. Per day!!! Apparently, there're some different rules for the in-house therapists in the hospitals but I'm not going to look up the whys. It's good enough that I'm getting two or three hour sessions, during the usual one hour, one doesn't get deep enough into the problem du jour.

Something is working.
To start with, I developed emotions. Not that I hadn't had any at all but there was my cold, calculating brain, irony, sarcasm, lack of self-esteem, self-deprecation and occasional destruction of glassware. Then, others started happening. And my, I can't handle them. I've had more than two decades experience of keeping a straight face, pretending to be amicable and smiling at people when dying inside but now there's a shitstorm of something I haven't known. I started sorta liking people - I guess that I'll remain an introvert but not being scared of everyone is quite comfortable.
I decided to move away from parents, panicked at people for a few days and then I calmed down and started looking for a job and thinking about what to move first and I'm actually happy about it even though there will be a major conflict. I'm sure I'll manage it without actually throwing any glassware - note that I have never thrown any glasses at people, usually into the wall and then the Ikea glass was stronger than my office door and made a nice octagonal impression (*). I always turned my aggression towards ugly tableware or myself - and put this way, I did feel about as worthy as ugly tableware.
Speaking of ugly tableware, the other day, I looked at myself in the mirror, thought that I actually had quite a nice face and enjoyed the feeling instead of snarking back at myself. I'm growing self-esteem!

It feels weird and messy and scary. Especially when the damn brain gets high on dopamine or some such and I am unable to handle the storm. My mental templates do not work any more, the depressive patterns of thought are sorely lacking and I just don't have coping mechanisms. I tend to pile all that crap onto those few friends sensitive enough to listen and I feel so sorry for them... at a point, everyone will get a big box of chocolate, right? ------------------------------ (*) which was noticed by my mother who asked. I told her that I threw a glass but somehow, she didn't wonder why so I didn't get told off for being frustrated

And then, enough

My dear mother has been somewhat irritable. It shows, among others, that she gets easily offended by nothing. Today, we had the usual random editors' debate when doing some proofreading and corrections. The text said something about the Renaissance starting in the 13th century, I said It's crap because even Petrarca is not counted as early Renaissance, early Italian Humanism, yes, but that's not Renaissance, mom claimed that it must be right because the author is an expert, I replied Yeah, sure, whatever but still, it's a piece of crap, as emphatically as it gets in the 5827th debate only this year. Mother took offense and yelled at me how do I dare to use that tone! I'm being rude! and that I must be mentally ill to behave this way.
I shrugged it off. The last time, I had to be on drugs to use that tone! which was the last straw when I decided that I've been offended one times too many and decided to quit my job in the dear family business and move away.

Which was some three weeks ago. I got scared because parental units had me manipulated into not moving away or moving back to their house a few times already. I wasn't still very sure how depression-free I was. I talked to the few remaining friends and acquaintances (yes, I brought my father's hotel into black numbers and all I got was minimum wage, snarks, a burnout and my social life got almost entirely destroyed, what a bargain) about it and that I'll need all the mental support I can get. Everyone was pretty positive and when they said that I should have done it years ago, they said it nicely enough.

I started looking for a job and oddly enough, there are jobs where I could use my education and experience and I would get paid more than a cleaner, even! The original plan was to start in around September because I promised some business stuff to mother but then I discovered some ultra-cool openings. I already sent a pile of papers to one place and I'm working on another; it's not that secretary in a back office in some cushy government institution but nice managerial jobs at universities. And then I made another decision: bite it. If I get my nice university job, one of which would include one's own secretary and an office with a view, I'm just packing my purse and leaving. I should have done it years ago indeed.

Sentimental

I studied somewhat erratically. Ended up with three stints at various universities and only one degree but that's besides the point.

In, erm, 2003, I enrolled for art history at the Bratislava university. For the heck of it. I spent only a year there because while the lectures were cool, the exam system was just awful and I decided that the pain in the arse of memorizing hundreds and hundreds of works of art, dates of creations and their authors and then guessing from bad black and white reproductions at the actual exams is not worth it and went elsewhere.
I liked Bratislava, it's not too big for me (I'm a small city girl, not big city girl) and it's just pretty. Interestingly, it was the only time and place where I had something like student life. Hanging out with people and doing that social life stuff, I mean. I lived at the dorms of the traditional sort which included mice, cockroaches and mean receptionists/chaperones/wtf, frequented a selection of cafés, ate at exhibition openings... it was good.
I had been planning to see the Dream x Reality exhibition and as it goes, I kept postponing it until it was almost too late. Meantime, the catalogue sold out, which pissed me because I have a thing for propaganda and the WWII bit of Slovak history is quite interesting for various reasons.

The Central Station is as ugly as it was in 2004 when I was there the last time. The passage to the trams stinks. The city got new trams, though. I wandered through the centre and, well, it was different. All the places where we used to go somehow disappeared. The Architects' gallery moved somewhere, elsewhere... oh, those were the parties! I happened there once and as I used to wear what was then called architects' uniform aka black from head to toe, they thought I was there with those guys who were exhibiting their works, I befriended some people so they would invite me to the following events, one of the architects had a winery so he would bring his own produce.... Then those moments of recollection - oh, we were in the old city hall with the Medieval seminar to see some bits of architecture, how could I have forgotten. And in the, was it Franciscan? church... The usual conclusion: I need to get back to my books.
It was sort of sad. Bratislava has become much more cosmopolitan in the bad way.

I love carnations. For whatever reason, they are totally out of fashion. For whatever reason, I keep telling people that I love carnations and hardly anyone pays attention enough to notice it - yes, I know, people live in their respective universes that revolve around their heads but that's why God gave us notebooks, to note shit down for later use - so when I get flowers, I get either roses which generally suck and wilt within two days or some ugly crap. Or orchids. For some reason, I find cut orchids somewhat pathetic and sad. However, we live in the century of Fruit Bat so ladies are allowed to procure their flowers themselves. And in Bratislava, there used to be a florist's which had carnations in an assortment of colours and they always had green ones. I would buy 10 or 15 of them when I was going home for a longer period of time. Haven't had green carnations for years, I discovered some once in a florist shop in Prague years ago but that was it. I didn't hold hopes but it was there!