The Lost Ann-Mi

My first day at work was simultaneously interesting and boring. To be honest, It wasn’t really a first day at work - it was a first day at work training. Training will continue for two weeks, and then if we pass an exam, we’ll be deemed ready to begin for real.

I showed up there and met two other foreigners who would be starting in the same position as me. I was quite pleased that the others were around my age, one being a couple years younger and the other being one year older. I had been worried I would be a fish out of water - potentially working with much more experienced strangers who are also much older. But I suppose that certain aspects of the job means that people in my age and position will be the ones most eager to take it.

(It’s a task that will involve lots of traveling abroad, so that means anyone with small children or who is about to get one won’t want to do it. It also involves speaking foreign languages, which means that it requires foreigners.)

Anyway, we three newbies gathered in a small meeting room around an oval table, where several laptops, intimidatingly thick training manuals, and two Israelis were waiting. I was the last to arrive, and even I arrived several minutes before we were meant to be there. The locals had been working for the company for a month, and so seemed quite sympathetic towards us.

The day consisted of a series of lectures. We were introduced to our product, the company layout, basic concepts we needed to learn, and signed a lot of non-disclosure documents and their ilk. We learned that the laptops sitting on the tables in front of us would be ours to use for the time we worked there, and that we had been assigned e-mail addresses already.

We were given a guided tour, and whisked through multiple floors, introduced to new faces and names and departments. Unfortunately, this was all very confusing for me, but I think I’ll get the hang of it soon enough.

Our lunch break was very long. We had more than enough time to wander off to a commercial center nearby and eat. Then we wandered back, I bought candy, and we had some more lectures.

This was all fine and well, but then began the nightmare: the drive home. I had driven there myself, early in the morning, and easily found a parking spot. I came one hour early just to be sure I would get parking. It took half an hour and there was barely any traffic. The way home was another story.

To begin with, the drivers were all extremely rude and aggravated. They did not seem to understand that if they spent five minutes jostling and arguing over who is in the lane, no one can advance. If only one would let the other go, the whole thing would move much more smoothly. 80% of the drivers only cared about themselves, going deliberately out of their way to be rude and spiteful. I spent most of the time driving behind large trucks, because that seemed to be the only position that someone wouldn’t try to ram me out of, since no one wants to be behind a truck.
The whole trip took around an hour, and every minute of it was a battle. Absolutely horrible! Luckily, I had the insane gypsy-esque beats of Shantel escorting me through much of the drive, which made the experience much more pleasant and relaxed. It’s harder to take the insults on the road personally when you have someone singing “Disko Partizani” to you.

Next time, I’ll see if I can take the train to work instead. 

I got a job at the workplace I was hoping to get. It starts this Thursday! I’m excited to see what will happen.

While it’s not what I was educated for (art), I think it’s something that will suit me and that I will enjoy. It’s varied, I get to meet people, travel, and muck about with computers and teach people how to use programs and customize them.

In other words, I’ll get paid to do stuff I seem to find myself doing anyway! The work hours will be quite long, but nothing too drastic. However, it’s an area of the city where I’ll have to drive through traffic every day, so a ½ hour roadtrip might easily turn into a 1 hour one if I’m unlucky. 

The location’s great. It’s right next to a delicatessen chain that actually sells bacon. As you might imagine, finding bacon in a kosher country is quite a challenge. I think I might have to make myself a little bit of bacon with egg tomorrow for breakfast, and toast a piece of bread… and then make a proper cup of tea and pretend I’m in England.

Life seems to be taking me along with it to some new and strange places, and I’m enjoying the ride.

Ann-Mi so tired. Ann-Mi found cool things Ann-Mi wants to share, but Ann-Mi too tired to blog now. Ann-Mi show you tomorrow. Yeees? Yees.

It’s so inspiring to sit outside with the laptop, surfing all kinds of crafty and artsy blogs! It’s just a shame I can’t see a damn thing on this super-reflective screen. Still, at least I’m getting some fresh air and daylight while enjoying myself.

It is done! I have finally applied to all the universities that I was going to this year. Now I just have to wait until next week to find out if I passed through Phase I of one of them… and made it on to the interviews or not. 

To be honest, I expect not to have passed. 
Right now, I’m torn between wanting to get in and wanting to go study abroad. Here it would be relatively close to home, I’d just be studying for 2 years, and they both have good reputations within the country. Abroad, … who knows what would happen, although in England it’d presumably also be 1-2 years. I’m looking at this University in Hungary… 5 years. But that also includes the BA. However, if I went off and got a Master’s in something totally random.. say.. textiles, I’d probably have to do the full 5 years to qualify anyway. 

Since I have a lovely friend in Hungary, I might be able to survive all five years. It might not be as strenuous as 3 years in England. On the other hand, if things went afoul… and I for some reason hadn’t managed to connect with the locals… it would be a suck-tacular time indeed. Do I really want to “waste” three years doing BA-time for a degree I already have before I work my way up to MA-ness? Don’t know, don’t know. Right now, I’d say HELL YEAH. But because the Uni here in Finland has such a good reputation, I’m going to go all in and hope for the best. 
Finally, there is one main problem with studying in Hungary - I would probably have to study IN Hungarian. If it’s anything like the Uni my friend is studying at, even if they do teach in English, their language skills will mostly be Pretty Crappy. 

When have I ever backed away from the challenge of going abroad? 
… plenty of times… to be honest. But not lately. YARR! 

Hoping I get in. If I do, it’ll have been an absolutely phenomenal year of good karma versus bad odds. If I don’t.. well. It won’t be a surprise. Despite my usual pessimistic self, I still find myself really hoping I can do it. 
After all, if I do get in and survive the 2 years, then I can go anywhere after that, even Hungary. 

Woo. What a twitchy post. Can you tell I’m nervous? My fingers are trembling. Now I have to try to sleep so I can get up bright and early to hand in my Portfolio. I somehow don’t think the sleeping part is going to happen.

So. 

A mini-update: 

1) I went on a 2-week epic journey to Hungary where I met 3 very good friends. I took a ton of photos and hope to upload them when I have time. 

2) I went back to my trainee position. I am yet again a sort of art studio technician! 

3) I just registered and bought www.annmi.com ! WOOHOO! I shall be moving out of the basement of parnanen.net, my long-standing, loyal host. I figure it’s time I get my own two legs and come on, I seriously had to get annmi.com before someone else took it. Though judging by google searches, I doubt Lake Ann of Michigan was going to get it any time, but hey! 

Yes. Still alive and breathing!

Note: This post has moved from blog to blog twice, and lost the images associated since then. Sorry!

Last night, my mother wandered into my room looking sad. She carried with her two cards, both mine. One was from an old friend who periodically used to vanish offline, but who now erratically pops up online once in a blue moon. The other was this: 

For the curious, the little poem says something sweet and airy. The original rhymes. My apologies for the dreadful translation. 

Our beautiful seasons 

In the winter, in the winter when everything is the best, 
then we shall have fun and play the most. 
Both iceskating and skiing we shall try, 
and we shall turn round and go around in the ring.

I don’t remember seeing the front. But I remember seeing the back. Like the envelope with Christmas money, my grandmother’s handwriting was disconcertingly wobbly. To misquote Terry Pratchett, it was the handwriting of a spider on a trampoline in the middle of an earthquake. It scared me. 
For all my life, my grandmother never missed sending a card to everyone for Christmas, easter, New Year’s. She remembered everyone’s birthdays. She remembered everyone’s namedays. Heck, I don’t even know when mine is - I don’t know how she kept track of everyone else’s. All these postcards arrived either on the day or one day beforehand. Her timing was impeccable. And never once did she make a mistake when writing in her careful, slanted, curly old-fashioned Scandinavian scrawl. But now… It was far less precise, the a’s on my street were missing their dots (ä), and the postcode was wrong. 

It was a great big stinking sign, and I should have been able to guess. 

February 14th, 2006, I had gotten no sleep and I could not sleep. I was miserable, restless, stressed, and I didn’t know why. Then my family phoned me, and I found out. 

Last night, after my mother brought me my postcards, I dreamt of my grandmother. My mother, father, and I were on vacation, and my mother received a strange phonecall. It slew her smile. Her mother was dead. She slept, and wanted to do nothing other than sleep. I kept her company. Then they rang again. They told her that they were wrong - she hadn’t died… … . . but that now she was dead for real. I woke up and felt afraid of losing my mommo. And then I remembered she has already been gone for almost exactly 11 months. 

It’s a little odd how I can get used to not having someone around for so long, and yet at the same time fail to realize that they’re dead and I’ll never see them again. Not in this world anyway. And to be perfectly honest, the only afterlife I believe in is in other peoples’ memories and in the digestive tract of worms and their ilk. 

So, tomorrow’s my birthday. I keep forgetting. If I were someone else, I would have forgotten to buy me a gift. I’m getting properly into my 20’s now. I’m no longer barely into my second decade now. Sure, I’m still on the light side, but. How did this happen? 

I remember when I met my brother for the first time. My first memory. He was inside this funny-looking aquarium filled with light. I poked him and gurgled at him and was disappointed. He was boring. He didn’t want to do anything. He just lay there. 

I remember when I was 4 and I had my first crush on a boy. He was my knight in shining armor who always rescued me from the bullying, harassing evil Mikke. I remember when he left my school. I kissed his cheek, then wrote him a letter which I never mailed, as I didn’t have his address. I remember being in sixth grade, having a tremendous crush on another boy. This one was shorter than me, but he made my heart do backflips. He was fun to talk to, had a quirky sense of humor. You know the drill. 
Now I’m about twice that age and I’m still no wiser. My mommo and ukki are no longer with me. Mummi and mofa are fading fast. Who will vanish first? Betting starts now! 
I miss them. But the fact is, I grew up mostly without them. Every now and then, like today, I long for their presence, miss them, want them to be here, want to see them with their faults and wrinkles and smiles and warm hands and silly old peoples’ worries. I want to hear her humming and see her wobble her hand as she ambles from room to room, slippers whisking and swishing. When I was smaller, I asked her what she was humming. “Was I humming?” Poor old thing. Didn’t even know. But she still made the world’s best meatball-sauce. 

I wish that when I climb that peeling old tree, there were still someone to stand in the window in her ancient apron to gaze at me with fearful old watery eyes, worried that I should fall and hurt myself. 

So happy birthday to me, but here’s to you, mommo. 

Tack för kortet, den är riktigt vacker.

Hello Alex. 

I don’t suppose you’ll ever read this, but I thought you should know this in any case. I still think about you, even if you never wanted to talk to me again. I went to Amsterdam last week and met another friend called Alex then. He wasn’t into Porcupine Tree or any of that. Don’t worry. He’s not a replacement-Alex, he’s fellow-friend-Alex. There was also an Oscar. How strange is that? I know an Oscar from before too, and he barely talks to me. Kind of funny, isn’t it? How are you these days? Do you feel any better? I don’t think I caught a glimpse of you in Amsterdam, but then, you don’t live there, do you. 

Yes, I finally got a proper infusion of Porcupine Tree as well as a few other bands you used to like at least back then. I wonder what you listen to these days. Are you still alive? Do you ever think of me? Are they at all friendly thoughts or do you thoroughly dislike me? 

I don’t know how to end this thing.. Take care. Stay healthy. Be well. 

-Ann-Mi- 

PS: I thought you should know that at least the Netherlands got some sort of revenge for you, if it matters. I’ve spent the past five days in complete misery, wallowing in my own snot.

Very interesting, I said, for it certainly was. I hesitated about 
pointing his weapon at me? Or rather why you are all pointing your 
Lets do it, Madonette said, admiring her new communicating 
mates, because they nodded agreement. 
was the last one to arrive, womans prerogative. Though I had better 
me in turgid waves and soon had me half-asleep-but the content of his 
the questioning. Sjonvarp. 
machines in my case were immune from detection by any known security 
everything seemed to have slowed and stopped. The artifact had done 
away. It looked like my nerve had indeed failed me completely.

That was some strange e-mail I received. There was a picture attached, but not recognizing the sender and being a paranoid shit, I didn’t want to see it for fear of the havoc it could wreak on my poor little computer. 

What the hell, says I. Has spam suddenly gone sci fi??? “Machines in my case were immune from detection by any known security” seems a little suspicious. It does seem to be randomly generated text, as the lines don’t all hang together. But if monkeys could write Shakespeare, maybe spam-virus-bots could write good sci fi novels. 

Fascinating stuff. 

And what’s a Querulu anyway? Any suggestions? 
My bet is on a type of sparrow… which makes the e-mail sort of cute. “My little sparrow”. I think I could live with that. Or a fruit crow? Even sweeter. 

I trip-trapped my way over to peek at Originalism’s place [taken offline since the writing of this post] and found myself sinking into his words. I’m hungry. Not hungry for food, mind you - just for something good and juicy to read. A little snack (like a children’s book) couldn’t satisfy me now - I’m far too starved. I recently finished reading this fantastic book Consider Phlebas by Ian M. Banks. I think that’s what has left me so ravenous. I’ve tasted blood and I want more… (MORE! MORE! MORE!) 

It was in this state of mind that I sneaked a peek at Jeremy’s blog and began to read. And read. And read. I left few comments - I wasn’t in the mood for writing. I don’t agree with all he says, and I don’t understand his spirituality, but I truly enjoy reading it despite that. It’s similar to when I listen to Ben Harper or Chris Rea. Both have very strong Christian lyrics. Ben in addition seems an avid supporter of ganja. I’m not exactly into either one. (Not that being “into” them is probably the right term - it seems like something you would say about some new hip band. Do you like Neon Teddybears? No. They’re alright, but I’m more into Voloptuous Bossoms.) But the point I make is that despite these differences of opinion, I really love their music. I can’t sing or make music like them, and neither can I write like Jeremy. But that’s alright, it’d just be a poorly made rip-off if I tried. 

To entertain myself, while my head remains in this foggy state of mind, I decided to look up “Originalism” to see if it actually meant something or if I was just dense. I am sure that he has at some point defined his name, but even if I’ve seen it, I’ve the memory of an amoeba. (Maybe I should call myself Ann-Miba?) This is what my beloved Merriam-Webster came up with. 

For some reason, this tickled me muchly. I wonder if any of it fits him. 

Each time I type in originalism.com, I feel compelled to visit a long-time favorite with a similar name but completely different idea: orisinal.com. Incidentally, perhaps my Ann-Miba brain is just making things up now, but I seem to recall seeing a definition of originality on orisinal that somehow portrayed the message of how nothing is actually original and how everything just tries to be so. But for a site that just has cute little games on it, it seems a strangely “deep” message. So surely I must be wrong. 
(Is that what the point of Billy Joel’s We didn’t start the fire is? Or is it as wikipedia speculates “that the world has been in a frenzied and troubled state since before his generation’s birth.”?)