Nails
Saint Creature Who said that double-sided tape can only be used for sticking phone screens? 
Preparing my nails for my upcoming work. Testing out methods for attaching them to my fingers so they can be removed quickly ๐
me
Sa wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy nu Year!
My friend wished me a Merry Christmas with a picture of him naked. It struck me as a “nu Year”. So…this work was born thanks to him.
Happy Holidays, my dear friends! ^_^
Perfect Parts
We lose our “perfect parts” throughout our lives. For normal people, it’s probably nothing, but when you’re a perfectionist, it’s like cutting off pieces from a whole person.
Once, as a child, at least as I remember it, I was thrown into a car. More precisely, a car with a cut-off roof. I’m not sure if it was the first injury in my life, but that’s how I got my scar on my left leg and my first four stitches on my body.
Another incident was related to the fact that, while at my grandmother’s, I climbed onto a pipe to call my mother. The reason? Strange and stupid. Ugh… I needed to wipe my ass. So don’t ask about age. My foot slipped off a pipe that was lying on the ground, and…so I got a wound in the scrotum, running into a rebar sticking out of the ground. Everything was sewn up and “put back in place”, but I ended up with another scar in a rather strange place.
The third incident also happened in my childhood. When I was going down a roller coaster. My older brother was having fun from below, who was sitting at its base. When I went down, I was scared that I would drive into him, and my finger got electrocuted between the metal pipe of the swing and the canvas, which was also made of metal. No, my finger wasn’t cut off then. But since then, another scar has been appearing on my little finger.
About 15 years ago, my nose was broken during the New Year holidays. Some bully, because we were relaxing in our informal party. They attacked us and…since then, my nose is the way it is.
Interestingly, throughout my youth I was more careful than before. So I didn’t get any special injuries (except for mental ones, of course). When I was 17, I had a varicocele cut out. About three stitches. But that doesn’t count.
It’s funny, but most of the injuries I got in the city where I live now. Once I almost put my eye out when I put a board on a stone, put a cherry tree on one side, and stepped on the other side with my foot. It’s funny now, but it wasn’t very good then. But it hit me right in the eye. It hurt. A lot. Sometimes it seemed to me that because of this, one of my eyes sees everything in more yellow tones, but over time I learned from the Internet that this is typical for many people.
In the same city, when I was 10-12, I probably filled a plastic bottle with gas from a lighter and… set it on fire. As a result, I had a burn on my finger, but it was relatively minor because it can’t be seen now.
There is a small scar on my left hand – and I remember exactly that it is from a watermelon. More precisely, from a knife that slipped off. Just like there is a scar on my other hand from the same place, which was obtained with an old knife that was used to cut nettles for chickens. I don’t remember exactly how I got that scar.
I have a scar on my eyebrow from hitting a door. It’s from my military days, when I hit my forehead against a wooden door in the dark.
One of the stupidest scars, or rather not scars, but an almost severed part of myself, I got when I was repairing a bicycle. I spun the wheel, tried to stop the disc brake with my hand, and my thumb got caught between the brake and the disc. The tip of my finger was almost cut off. But, thanks to Pavel, we got to the hospital, they treated the wound there and everything went well. I can’t quite feel this tip, but the finger looks like a normal one. It was he who became the reason for this post.
During life, we lose our “perfect parts”. We become destroyed. Not like others or as nature created us. I feel sad that certain parts of me will no longer be the way they should be. But I can’t do anything about it, so should I be sad about it? I’m still looking for an answer to the question of what cuts off parts from us more – iron, or negative experiences received from certain people? I lean more towards the second.
I have a lot of imperfect parts with which I have learned to live. I have come to terms with what they are. I once thought that if I lost even a part of myself – it would be better to die than to remain disabled. But if you think like that – you should have jumped off that bridge at 17, because that’s when I got my first serious disability.
There are many people in the world who are more beautiful than you or me. More perfect than us. But what of it? In a broader sense? It doesn’t make them more important than us. More beautiful (in a broader sense) than us. Better or anything else. Everyone just has their own path, just like everyone was born under certain conditions, in a certain place, and in a certain family. It’s not scary that you may not be rich, or have some flaws – the main thing is not to make these flaws the meaning of your life. Not to focus on them and not to attach more importance to them. My camera is worn out, but it still takes great pictures. I’m worn out too, and sometimes I do great things. It doesn’t depend on my physical condition.
Fun Fiction
Once, in a conversation with her about her feelings after moving, she quoted the movie “Green Book”. In general, the term “Green Book” itself is about a guide for black people, which lists safe places where they could stay for the night. And, in fact, the quote from the movie sounded like “I’m not black enough for blacks and not white enough for whites”. And today I somehow tried it on myself. Apparently, I’m not straight enough for straight, but also not enough…anyone else for someone? Apparently. I don’t use “them/they” in everyday life, not in general. I don’t want to get hung up on something like that. Sometimes I think about what it’s like to be with someone of the same sex, but the problem is that in our country, men are not about sexuality, but about dirt, sloppiness, an unpleasant smell. That is, you can’t somehow visualize this character, if only because you simply don’t have any source from which to draw.
When I put, for example, people I know – the picture comes out too stupid, to be honest. Because I don’t like these people. They don’t evoke anything in me. In my life, there have probably only been a few people who would evoke something. But usually they are very distant.
I don’t want to speculate about anything. As life goes on, so it will be. I guess I’m just too picky. I guess these are strange considerations from a married man. But I perceive it all differently. It’s like a fan fiction for some story.
I’m the leader of my demons in my head today (Oh yeah, oh yeah)..
…At night, I drink until I feel them slowly float away (Oh yeah, oh yeah)…
Always Remember..
..who you are..
I painted white stripes, and on them letters. I wanted these strokes to resemble an old fence, on which someone had painted new letters. In general, it would be ideal to apply another layer of white on top of the letters, but I’m afraid that would ruin everything. I need to learn..
Dressed to kill pt.2
The other day we received some really adorable work pants. With one thing in mind – they are…feminine. What does that say? Well…it’s not convenient to fasten the button, they’re low-cut, plus they have a floral print. It all looks something like…this:
And here’s this magical print:
They are comfortable, they fit like they were made for me. Do things have a gender? I don’t care.
I have a pretty dirty job, and I want to diversify it. I want people to see not a man with a cigarette in his mouth and a smell of sweat from a mile away. Let me be strange. Let me be funny. But I want to be different. I want to be someone who will be perceived positively from the moment they meet. Because it’s about service. You should bring people joy, not a feeling that makes you want to wash yourself three times after meeting a person.
I like these pants and I can’t wait to work in them in the spring. They are thin enough to do it in them now ๐
Dualism
Actually, I would (probably) like it to last longer than a week. Because I feel like I’m in a crowded room. I mean, I’m used to being given attention as if it were me. I usually only communicate with one person at a time. Am I jealous? Yes. I’m the kind of person who wouldn’t be jealous of their partner in terms of sex, because it’s just sex, but I’m… jealous of deep communication with someone? But I don’t think so either. I feel like I’m jealous of people other than my own. That is, I’m jealous of those who should be jealous of me. It’s funny.
I’m glad for the inspiration that these relationships give me, but if you list the works I’ve done, you can come to the conclusion that about 4 out of 5 are created not for joy, but for pain. When you gnaw out an emotion from yourself because of an internal dispute.
And she also agreed that we need a break until the end of the week. So…so, I guess there will be enough communication in the comments. I don’t want personal communication, to get into someone’s life and in general. Because I’m starting to fall in love with a person somehow stupidly, and not in the sense that it’s controlled or uncontrolled – I just know how painful these consequences will be for me. This is not the person I should love – I know that for sure. And “Sa” tells me “if not to love, then what’s the point of it all?” And I don’t know what to answer her. I just feel that this infatuation will come out sideways for me. And I just know that this person doesn’t need me. She’s interested in me as a freak. As something unusual that’s not in her collection yet. That’s why she has such an attitude towards my work. Because it’s atypical for a man. It’s not bad, you just have to understand that we’ll never be friends in the broad sense. Because I’ll always be left at a certain distance. So… a break in communication until the end of the week, but, in general, it doesn’t matter… how long it lasts.
ะกัััะปัะฝะฐ ััะพะฟัั, ะทะฝะฐั…
ะะปะต ะฝะต ะผะพะถั ะฝะต ะดัะผะฐัะธ ะฟัะพ ัะต
ะะฐะปะตะฝัะบั ะปัะดะธ ะฟัะพััะพ ะฒะธะถะธะฒะฐััั
ยซะะตะปะธะบัยป ะฑัะดัััั ะฝะฐ ะบัััะบะฐั
ะะฐะฒััะพ ัะต? (ะะฐะฒััะพ ัะต?)…(c)Redengy
I allowed myself the text and the title in Ukrainian, because it is impossible to translate it meaningfully. Therefore, I decided not to translate it. In general, the main thing in this excerpt is the very question “Why is this?..” – and I thought about it. Why do middle-aged married women seek communication with…other men? I can explain it easily – it has always been easier for me to communicate with women, a very rare man will “put up with” me. Or I him. When and how. It is harder with women. I will not measure it in percentages now, but I know that a certain percentage is connected with the desire to see that her “feminine power” is still working. That she can be interesting. I walk on a sharp edge with all these considerations. But I can’t do without them.
I think that middle-aged women see an opportunity to try something else, and from my feelings they are ready to give up everything for the sake of something else. But on one condition – guarantees. A guarantee that life will not become worse than it was. Although this is a very cynical point of view and I don’t like it. I just feel that something is wrong. That is, the goals and desires of the average middle-aged woman are a mystery to me. I already have several examples of such people, and each time I can’t understand what exactly they need. I remember our communication with Serafima, and that, simply endless feeling of a “spare airfield”. I felt it so much and got so tired of it that I decided to just end the communication. And in these cases I simply can’t understand the goals.
We all know that we are given limited access to information, or rather, exactly as much as we should receive. But why so much of it? Is this an experiment on the topic of reactions to various stimuli? Is it just a mystery in oneself? Or so that, in case of something, you can simply disappear from life without leaving a trace?
Objectively, every person, starting communication, has some goals. We never know them. Goals come at different levels. The minimum goal is pleasant feelings from conversations, new acquaintances. Whatever you call it, it still leads to something like falling in love and novelty. In relationships, we try to find those feelings that we do not already encounter in these relationships. The plus and minus here is one – it is all temporary. So a permanent partner plus “falling in love from time to time” is a completely normal course of events. A person’s goals become clear at the moment when we see how much we are allowed to close people. We need to be introduced somehow. How can a woman introduce her husband to another adult man with whom she communicates? Either as an interlocutor (friend), or a lover. There is no third, neutral option. So when she introduces him to her husband, it is a certain openness, when you have a specific role in their relationship. From the opposite – if she does not introduce him, he may not even guess about this communication in general. And in this case, a person’s goals can be anything. Mostly, it all depends on the man “on the other end of the wire”.
So the starting point of the relationship is how official you are made. Although these are all just my thoughts and only…
Don’t humiliate yourself
You again felt like you missed a chance. But..was there any chance? I continue to reflect on the person’s behaviour, and I understand that it is useless to blame yourself for everything that happened. That is, the person disappeared for no reason. Appeared 3-4 days later in the form of a comment in a completely different place. And you get the feeling that the person is just so comfortable. Not to be interested in others, but to appear when and where it is convenient. When it is convenient for them.
There are many things in which I would like to be wrong. So that I can be a little fool who makes mistakes again. But if not, then I will be a big fool if I decide that the problem is me and start humiliating myself.
I wrote a letter apologizing for the situation and wished the best, just to close this issue for myself. I deleted the message for myself, so as not to go back there, not to look at the profile, not to be interested. Because I told her that I trust the person immediately and completely. Because I fall in love with every interlocutor who answers me more often than others, or rather simply answers. And it’s not about building a future and marriage, but about the fact that you want to maintain communication with a certain periodicity, to which you get used.
I am guilty of actively supporting this communication and believing in it. I was ashamed of the very thought that I could somehow use a person so that he could help with the organisation in a new place if we decided to go there to work.
Sometimes communication for me resembles poison, which I poison myself with every time, forgetting about the consequences. And now I am again raking these consequences and getting from them…