Monday, April 30, 2012


I am listening to a audio lecture about Psychology and hearing the lecturer say that neurons do cell operations just like normal cells, for example respiration, invoked me to breathe in compulsively, fearing I’m not providing enough oxygen to my nerve cells.

I always enjoyed fresh air and I’m glad that I lived on the sea shore in a little town where there was actually fresh air all day and night. Now in Amman I need to wake up early in the morning to grasp some fresh air. Rarely can I wake up at that time, which means that most of the breaths I take in this polluted city, I guess just like any city in the desert with old cars and big buses running in the street, aren’t fresh and filled with smoke and dust, not the oxygen I need.

I wish, like I have always intensely (read *******) wished, to have a oxygen mask and carry a small tube of liquid oxygen in my backpack and allow my mind not to die breathing the crap in our polluted city air. I really believe that it makes a difference in the quality of my life, since my energy is much greater, I have more optimism, I work harder and more effectively, and have more ideas when the air is fresh and I feel down when someone is smoking a cigarette or the air is too polluted.

My life will be considerably better if I move to a cleaner place, like the suburbs or the sea-side (or another country) or if I just get that oxygen mask that I always wanted (I don't mind the weight of the oxygen tube I'll have to carry around, unless it's very heavy - in which case I'll use it at home).

Sunday, April 29, 2012

غبار برمجي

سينقضي الوقت بسرعة و سأفاجأ في يوم من الأيام من ضُعْفِ تحكمي به و سأبدأ بالتقاط ما تبقى منه بيأس و بشكل مثير للشفقة.

سألني أحد أصدقائي عما حدث بعد غيابٍ طويل, و قد حدث الكثير, لكني لم أجب, فقد ذهب الوقت و ذهبت معه الذكريات و لم يتبقى سوى أنا و ضياع الوقت الذي يتشتت بين وعيي بهذا الشيء و ذاك.

أمضيتُ يوميَ كله و أنا "أحقق أحلامي". جالسٌ بألم في سجن تحقيق الأحلام و منهمك بالضغط على أزرار لوحة المفاتيح و بناء أصرح برمجية قد لا يكون لها دور غير مشاركتي في وحدة هذا الوقت المتبعثر بين الأحلام و جمال الحياة المتغبر, المختبيء خلف فكرة لم تأتي.. بعدْ.