Sunday, 31 July 2011

Everybody deserves a happy weekend

Mr BooHoo's life was not constant boos and hoos. For example, during a dreadful summer he went on vacation, by the sea! He still had some trouble sleeping at night. The forest and the dark made him feel uncomfortable, but during the day he had left all his troubles away! His solemn worry was that the sea might take his flip-flops. Actually this was because on the first morning the sea took two forks, one tea-spoon and four peaches, while he was cleaning his breakfast cutlery. His friend managed to save a metallic cup and a small saucer, that were the most important things. He did not have any more forks or spoons, but he still had enough so as to manage. Being with friends, out in the open, listening to the cicadas and occasionally chatting with his temporary neighbors was adequate to keep him calm and happy.    

Thursday, 28 July 2011

the continuous story of mister BooHoo, chapter 3

The third chapter of the story of Mister BooHoo was written this morning in the previously mentioned notebook. If it the first time you are visiting this blog I would advise you to scroll down and start from the beginning.

Chapter £ (3) Distress

Mr BooHoo was feeling uncomfortable. He had found himself in a tight spot. Something had gone further wrong. What was worst was that he was not sure if he could fix it and he didn't have anyone to ask either. He was sitting with a friend, taking small ships of some transparent liquid from a very small glass, when his phone rung. It was his father.

Like most creatures Mr BooHoo has a father. He is also a BooHoo. Sometimes Mr BooHoo wondered if he would be less of a BooHoo had his father been a different person. Mr BooHoo had grown to accept the fact that this was who his father was and there were little he could do about it. They did not talk or meet that often , anyway. So the opportunities offered to Mr BooHoo's father to make him feel like boohooing were, luckily, limited. Occasionally, Mr BooHoo would think of all the times he had felt that his father had lied to him, insulted him and caused him harm in various ways but he had made an agreement with himself not to get too beaten up over it, neither to think that this was the source of all his problems. Since he had come to this conclusion he was feeling slightly better.

Most of the times Mr BooHoo could tolerate his father all right. Also, he seldom shared his thoughts with him (his father had told him that he made him feel bored because he talked too much when he was little and after that Mr BooHoo kept all his thoughts for himself when he was around him. Now that he was a grown up he did speak a little bit more, though.) Yet, something came to him and he explained his situation. His father responded with vulgar language, telling Mr BooHoo that he was pretty much ....ucked.  This came as a surprise. Mr BooHoo had the tendency of thinking of the worst case scenario but being told the above without any further explanation of what would be the consequences and the course of action broke him. He thought things were about to get better, not worse. Big, salty tears filled his eyes and then they started running on his cheeks and he was ashamed to be crying among all those people and he made a nearby napkin soaking wet. He panicked. He did not breath properly or think clearly. He felt very much like looking for shelter in a closet.

When Mr BooHoo was small he had a brilliant idea. He wished he could shrink on demand. Then he would not need money, as his clothes and food would cost nothing and definitely somebody would like such a sophisticated pet. If only he could become small enough so as to fit in a pocket. But this was only wishful thinking...

Mr BooHoo experienced all these situations as personal failure. Apparently he had failed to fit in the grown up world. He kept changing. He constantly changed houses, friends, places, underwear (this was a good thing). Having spent the first seventeen years of his life in a more or less stable environment, the next ten years of constant flux had start getting on his nerves. A routine is what he looked for. A routine where the changes would come from inside, as choices, because it seemed that lately they were just imposed on him. Further on, whenever things did not go as smoothly as he would like them to, he felt like the biggest looser due to his incompetence to cope. It has been mentioned that Mr BooHoo was not stupid. It was confidence he lacked and not wit. So, panicking over things brought shame upon him. Mr BooHoo needed help. He wished he died and re-incarnated as a dog. Perhaps his dog-loving friend would adopt him.

Mr BooHoo stopped crying after some time. Discussing about his feelings had helped him slightly. Also the bottle that contained the transparent liquid had turned dry and he was slightly numb, that was an improvement. At home his nice bed would wait for him. A rather scary day had come to an end. He would be safe for a little while, he might even dream of something nice. His eyes eventually closed and the morning would be there in a few hours. Things always looked better in the morning.  


Wednesday, 27 July 2011

the story of Mr BooHoo, chapter 2

The second chapter of the sad but fictional story of Mr BooHoo was also written by me, today, on a page of a silly old generic nameless notebook (I have two of these, they have the same cover but one is bigger. I wrote it in the bigger because the smaller one is full).

Chapter @ (2) (the bureaucrats)

There were a few things that made Mr BooHoo feel....welllll, boohoo-er. For example bureaucrats had this effect on him. Perhaps this happened because Mr BooHoo was not particularly tall and their desks intimidated him by comparison. He felt even worst when the large desks were covered with paper, manuals, manuals on the manuals, manuals on how to rephrase the manuals, manual dictionaries and multiple addendums to all the above, stalked around circular official and rectangular semi-official stamps. Or, perhaps this was because they used words like "crime" and "fine" lightheartedly while staring at him with colourless unidentifiable eyes and a scolding expression. As if it was his fault that he wasn't constantly reading their latest manuals. In addition to that, they all seemed to be wearing glasses, even the ones that didn't. More specifically the kind of spectacles that fall to the end of a nose of a sort-sited person.

He was not excessively anti-social. He interacted with people, paid the bills and went to the post-office without any issues what-so-ever. It was the money related business he did not like. He never had much money anyway and he was not particularly fond of them. Yet, he had no issues with them either. He also like numbers, he found them relaxing and he often counted and listed his possessions. Yet, he experienced numbers in the world of bureaucracy quite differently. There, numbers replaced words and remembering meaningless codes is impossible and meaningless in every realm. Further on, there were all those theoretical sums of money that also made little sense to him. Also, Mr BooHoo estimated his time rather highly. He never felt there was enough of it and he didn't like spending it, unless he had it in abundance (like on Sunday afternoons, or when you arrive at the airport too early and you have enough time to look around, or on the bus). At that he resembled to the well-known rabbit that is always soooo late. He detested waiting rooms, and making him wait was the worst. There were times he felt he could not take the stress of waiting to see what would happen to his life and thought of ending it prematurely, so as to see what happens in the very end. Bureaucratic procedures always took too long. He would wait patiently, for the clerks to slowly stir their coffee, talk on the phone about vacation and gossip or re-arrange the manuals on their desks. Then they would type something and make a judgement. Mr BooHoo wanted to hit them on the head with a mallet, or just melt and escape through the sewage.

The story of Mr BooHoo, chapter 1

The first chapter of the story of Mr BooHoo was written today, by me on the last page of my 13nth sketchbook. I drew a picture of him a couple of days ago, on the 23rd of the 7nth month of the current year (2011). It's all fictional and any resemblance with real names, characters and situation is, I repeat, coincidental.

Chapter ! (1) (morning sadness)

Mr BooHoo opened his eyes. He looked at the clock and closed them, again. Usually, the morning was a good hour for Mr BooHoo. He was cheerful in the morning, relatively cheerful this is because his cheerfulness was the frailest thing, and thus tended to evaporate with the passage of time. Yet, lately he was not feeling so good, not even in the morning. As soon as he opened his eyes he thought of all the obligations he had for that day and hesitated to start it. Thus he closed his eyes once more.

He opened them again and rubbed them with his little hands, as if to smudge the tear-stains. Slowly he lowered one foot on the floor, subsequently the second one. He got up and walked to the kitchen. Having put the kettle on the stove he walked to the bathroom to rinse his face. Black shadows encircled his eyes, finishing in tear-like shapes on the top of his cheeks.

All dressed up and with his mask on he sat at the kitchen table to have his morning coffee. He enjoyed this moment. It made him feel less...BooHoo. Some times he took tea and some other days he took hot, sugarless cocoa. Coffee was his all time favorite though. Black aromatic thick coffee, like the one they drink in countries where the climate is warm. He found the smell invigorating and he also liked the shapes that were left on the cup. Meaningless landscapes and animals they were. Most often camels, giraffes and mountains. After taking a good dump (another aspect of life he considered positive) he would start another scary day.