Sleeplessness [en]

Have you seen the film Insomnia? If it is showing anywhere near you, it’s worth seeing. I went to see it last night and really enjoyed it.

While I was struggling with my cold and my soundcard, Stephanie asked us to share our experiences with sleeplessness. Though I have never suffered from insomnia so severe as Al Pacino’s in the movie (he goes without sleep night after night because of the midnight sun in Alaska), I have had my share of sleeping problems.

I remember having trouble going to sleep as a child. I remember being afraid to go to sleep, because I might not wake up. I remember the orange flower syrup. I remember going into my parents’ room to tell them I couldn’t sleep. I was afraid that an atomic bomb might fall on the house while I was asleep. I was afraid I would die if I went to sleep.

I remember my mother lying down beside me in my bed, helping me breathe and relax to go to sleep. I must have been seven or eight. I don’t have many memories of my mother.

In my early teens, I discovered the “empty box” method. To try to stop thoughts spinning through my head, I would try to think of nothing, but that was too difficult. So I would think of an empty box.

I also started staying up late. I would read until I almost fell asleep on the book I was reading. I would listen to music or stay up until I dropped. I fell asleep many times with my headphones on my ears, listening to the radio. The years went by, and I recall that by the time I was twenty I was suffering from chronic fatigue.

When I was about fifteen, I started writing. A diary. When things were troubling me and keeping me awake at night, I would write, and write, and write, until there was nothing left to be written and I fell asleep.

During my teenage years, I perfected the “empty box” and in the end stopped needing the box. I would just breathe, think of nothing, and let passing thoughts do just that—pass. I still use this technique today. Some call it “meditation”.

I have got back out of bed at two o’clock in the morning to cook myself spaghetti. I sleep better on a full stomach.

Today? I usually stay up late, and when I go to bed I am just so tired that I drop. If I have trouble going to sleep and something is bothering me, I write it out of my mind—literally, with a pen and paper. Or, I pick up a book and read: that usually takes my mind off whatever it was on, and allows me to relax enough to find sleep.

A few weeks ago, Danielle told me of a trick that Aleika had given her. When you can’t sleep and the hours are ticking, try the following: instead of thinking “Shit, I only have four hours of sleep left!” think “Oh heck, I have four more hours to wait before morning!”

Hors du quotidien [en]

La journée commence avec un chat déchaîné. Il court partout, fait ses griffes partout, met son museau partout. Rien à  faire, il a décidé qu’il était temps que je me lève.

Je pose une chemise que j’adore au nettoyage à  sec. C’est la première fois de ma vie que j’amène quelque chose au pressing. La chemise a une tache de cire à  épiler. Ça date de « avant l’Inde ». Ça fait un bail.

Envoi d’un colis express à  destination de Birmingham. Le colis contient un livre, une laine polaire noire, des biscuits de Noël, des habits d’enfant, des langes et une feuille de papier sur laquelle j’ai gribouillé quelques mots. Parce que hier, un employé travaillant pour une compagnie d’aviation dont je tairai le nom a pris son temps.

Pendant tout ce temps, c’est le déluge. J’aimerais qu’il neige.

Au travail, surprise : j’ai perdu durant le week-end les droits que j’avais sur la portion de serveur que j’administre. Enfin, les droits sont là , toutes les petites cases sont cochées (eh bien oui, on est sous Windows, nous, il ne faut pas rêver !) mais ce satané ordinateur fait comme s’il ne voyait rien.

L’ostéopathe est content : mon coude droit accepte sans trop rechigner la manipulation qu’il désire lui faire depuis près de six mois. Tout semble fonctionner. Il n’est pas impossible que je puisse bientôt tendre mon coude à  nouveau.

Une voiture est immobilisée juste devant moi à  l’entrée du Pont Chauderon. Un homme et une femme y discutent. La file commence à  s’étirer derrière moi. Un coup de klaxon, pas de réaction. Un deuxième. Conducteur et passagère changent de place. Lorsque je vois enfin clignoter les feux de panne, je sors de ma voiture et demande à  l’homme s’il faut la pousser. Il est déjà  en train de s’y mettre, mais à  deux ça va plus vite. Une fois la voiture sur le trottoir, je reprends place dans la mienne, sans qu’on m’ait fait la grâce d’un « merci » ou d’un « au revoir ».

Les nuages se fendent pour laisser couler sur la ville le soleil jaune d’une fin de journée orageuse. C’est d’abord une petite tache qui éblouit le lac, puis la lumière qui court dans les rues de la ville, peignant les immeubles d’or sur fond de ciel noir, jusque dans mon quartier. J’entre dans mon appartement vide mais propre juste à  temps pour saisir dans ma main la dernière goutte de cette lumière chaude.

The Orange Plastic Bag [en]

I’m walking away from the ticket check when something suddenly feels wrong. I shouldn’t be carrying this big orange plastic bag in my hand. A bag filled mainly with child clothes, nappies, snacks and cookies. I run back. Aleika and Akirno have already disappeared from sight.

The man at the counter tells me to give the bag to the airline so that they can get it on the plane. Off to the check-in desk. The check-in lady makes a phone call while I catch my breath, and we wait as a tall young man with bleached hair strolls across the hall to come and pick up the bag.

I watch him walk off a bit anxiously. He doesn’t seem in a hurry. I feel that the check-in lady hasn’t insisted enough that this was urgent and important. The plane is taking off in twenty-five minutes.

He has stopped not far off and is talking with an old lady. He had brought a wheelchair with him, and is obviously going to help her get into it. I almost walk up to him to make sure he is aware that time is running short—but I don’t.

Ten minutes later, I am back at the desk to ask if Aleika has received her bag. After putting down the phone, the lady tells me that everything is OK. What a relief!

I have almost reached the ticket machine in the parking when I hear somebody call. One minute later, I am back at the check-in desk. There has been a misunderstanding. When the bag reached the plane, the doors had already been shut.

I will skip swiftly through the next forty minutes of disappointment, frustration, and unapologetic staff, at the end of which I found myself where it had all started: walking out of the airport, holding in my hand a big orange plastic bag which should have been on the plane.

Mes nerfs sont en forme [en]

Mes nerfs vont bien. Pas de souci de ce côté-là , dit le neurologue. Soulagement.

Le neurologue est d’ailleurs tout à  fait sympathique. Son cabinet se trouve près de la sortie d’autoroute à  Morges, dans un quartier plein de gros immeubles, des « tours » comme on dit par ici. Entre dix et quinze étages à  vue d’oeil, relativement récentes, plantées par-ci par-là  sur une petite colline décorée d’arbres, de parcs et de promenades.

J’ai l’impression que « habiter dans une tour » a toujours eu pour moi une connotation un peu négative. C’est le genre d’endroit où l’on ne veut pas habiter. Pourtant, en me baladant dans ce petit quartier désert à  deux heures de l’après-midi, j’imaginais les enfants qui couvriraient la colline de leurs jeux une fois l’école finie, les adolescents qui s’assiéraient en grappes pour parler-draguer-flirter, les mères de jeunes enfants qui babilleraient en regardant leurs bambins trébucher dans le parc et faire leurs premières tentatives de socialisation. Une communauté dans laquelle il pourrait faire bon vivre une fois parent.

J’ai été très marquée lors de mon dernier voyage en Inde par les quelques heures que j’ai passées dans un chawl. Un chawl, c’est un HLM à  l’indienne. Une seule petite pièce pour toute la famille, c’est terrible. Mais comme c’est vivant ! Par la force des choses, toutes les portes sont ouvertes, on vit aussi dans les couloirs et chez les voisins, les enfants courent partout.

Loin de moi l’idée de vouloir idéaliser ce type de logement, mais on a certainement quelque chose en apprendre. Lorsque j’étais enfant, on habitait un groupe d’immeubles Forel-Lavaux. J’ai le souvenir que mon frère et moi étions tout le temps dans la cour à  jouer avec les autres enfants du quartier. Dans une villa, il est plus facile de vivre sans ses voisins — c’en est bien là  à  la fois l’avantage et l’inconvénient.

Early Riser [en]

A wasp’s recipe for getting people out of bed on time.

  1. In through the open window, down to the room where the sleeping person lies…
  2. A couple of stings on the shoulder just before she awakes…
  3. Buzz noisily in her ears just after the alarm clock has rung…
  4. Soar out of the window to escape from the deadly cat!

If wasps continue zooming in and out of my neighbour’s shuttered window, I’m going to have to take legal action.

Life News [en]

My appointment at the hairdresser’s was last week, not this week. I learnt that when I called to say I would be a little late because my car battery was dead.

By some sort of miracle (somebody had just canceled their appointment, somebody else managed to make my car start, and I set a record for the distance Lausanne-Vevey) my hair is now somewhat shorter than it was this morning.

This is an important point, because I have my judo black belt exam tomorrow afternoon, and my hair was really getting in my face.

Other than that, I almost completely ripped out the phone cable – I guess another miracle left those two tiny wires connected. I’m astonished the ADSL works.

Aleika and Akirno are coming to spend a few days with me next week. Plans: a trip to France, watch Girl Fight, see some judo (for her) and maybe roll on the mats a bit (I can imagine Akirno tearing round the dojo while we do that), learn how to give punches to a punching-bag. Oh, and talk talk talk talk talk. Of course.

Heat [en]

I left my Easter Bunny on my desk today. Actually, it’s been there these last days and I’ve been steadily nibbling at it.

As the weather was nice and grey this morning, and the building in front of my balcony is getting taller (thus stealing a fair amount of my light), I pulled up the blinds before I left.

When I got back home this evening, the bunny was gone.

Well, there was a pool of warm melted chocolate inside the plastic wrapping.

Swiss Culture Shock [en]

We sometimes feel like the German-speaking part of Switzerland is almost another country. Indeed, we often feel culturally closer to France, which is within eyes reach on the other side of the lake, than to our fellow countrymen who live behind the Röstigraben”.

Maybe “culture shock” is a bit strong to describe what happened to me in Zürich University library – but I was told “welcome to Zürich!” when I told the story back in Lausanne.

First shock: no bags or jackets allowed in the library, compulsory lockers, and a guard in front of the entrance. I used to like guarded entrances in India, because they usually guaranteed “safe space” where I could relax. But in Switzerland, it gave me an uneasy feeling. What is there to guard against here? In Lausanne, the only “entrance guards” I’ve seen are in front of night-clubs or bars in evenings (and preferably in the—relatively—worst areas of town).

Second: no Internet connection at all in the library building (apart from very limited access to the library research site). How do these people do any research? Anyway. It was very bad news for me, because I had forgotten the carefully written-down list of articles I had to photocopy at home, and was hoping it could be quickly scanned and emailed to me. No luck.

(Actually, I had the list dictated to me on the phone, and it was a lot simpler. That shows how web-dependant my thinking is becoming.)

Third: I was allowed to go into the library storeroom myself to retrieve the volumes I needed. (They’d never let you do that in Lausanne, no way!)

Fourth: I was actually allowed to borrow these publication back issues and take them home with me! (I’m almost positive you can’t borrow publication back issues here… I’d have to check. I wasn’t expecting to be able to, anyway.)

Fifth: after having signed up for an account (online!) I asked how many books I was allowed to borrow at the same time: fifty! In Lausanne, I can take 16 (which is really not enough, honestly, especially when you’re doing your dissertation). You get to borrow fifty if you are doing your PhD or teaching.

So, in summary, what seemed to be starting out as a very unpleasant experience indeed ended up being pretty positive. Maybe this strange mixture of “worse than at home” and “better than at home” is characteristic of cultural variations…

English Culture Shock [en]

I don’t often get culture shocks in England. I did get one this time, though.

At the end of a live performance like a concert or a play in Switzerland, the audience applauds the artists until their hands ache too much to continue. The quality of the show usually determines how keen everybody will be to continue clapping despite the pain.

Curtain call follows curtain call until the audience wears out.

So, after the excellent performance that Danielle and I had travelled down to London to see, I was prepared to keep on clapping my hands until my skin went on strike.

I remained in mid-clap with my mouth wide open when after the second curtain call, everybody went silent and started getting out of their seats. They all knew that the artists had left for good.

It took me a couple of minutes to come back to my senses, close my mouth, put my hands on my lap and pick up my jacket. Obviously, two curtain calls was the rule in the country of dreary winter days.

Story Time [en]

I have a little story for you tonight. Just a small one, mind you. Not much to it. You’re warned.

Librarian – the tale of a homeless book.