...insanity became a daily companion

 'But hasn't insanity been your daily companion for decades now?' I hear you ask sarcastically while giving me a judgemental look. 

Well, yes and no. I'm not talking about my own insanity here (I'm not crazy, just... eccentric? weird?), although that might factor into it. I'm more concerned about the fact that, in these past few months, I've become somewhat of a magnet for people who... might not be in the best place... mentally. 

'Aren't you working as a psychologist? Doesn't that come with the territory?' I see you point out, ignorantly.

No, no it doesn't. In fact, the people who come to me to get psychological help are among some of the sanest I know. Sure they have their issues, but they know they have issues and seek help and that's what any sane person would do. Nothing crazy about seeing a professional when you realize you're way over your head and need a little bit of support. 

The kind of crazy I'm talking about here is the kind that wanders the streets in the guise of a normal elderly person and you don't know you've been caught in the vortex of insanity until they start talking about how cows become carnivorous over time and kill at least 55 people per year but nobody talks about it because the milk-maffia gets rid of all witnesses. Oh, I am very aware of the fact that not only the elderly are weird and crazy (I've been on tinder - I've seen things...), but recently they seem to be the ones letting their crazy-flag fly like there's no tomorrow. I feel like most elderly people in Estonia used to hide their madness for fear of judgement and social isolation (we are a very judgy people, aren't we?), but after the pandemic started they just... stopped giving a damn. I guess it makes sense: if you're going to be isolated anyway then you might as well adopt a family of hedgehogs, befriend that stain on your wall and burn your neighbor's apple tree. Or whatever crazy people do. It used to be that old people with weird ideas would only talk about those ideas to their equally weird friends or long-suffering family members or to the staff at whatever care-home they currently presided in, but recently they've become more open to sharing their ideas with the general public and, specifically, me. And no, I'm not talking about politics here. 

I feel like in these past few weeks I've become somewhat of a beacon for eccentric people. They tend to find me in a crowd (not that I move in crowds - and maybe that's my problem) or on the street and they just start... talking to me. Which is pretty weird on its own. Estonians don't usually walk up to strangers and start talking to them - we barely even talk to our own family! Now, I am aware that these people probably just want to talk to anyone and I'm in no way special - they likely approach several people a day in this manner - but during these past ten days I've started to see a pattern that makes me question my reality. Here's a few examples, so you'd understand why I'm even bringing this up, and keep in mind that all of these incidents took place in a span of ten days. 

Scene 1

So one fine day I was... well, let's say I was at work. Anyhoo, I was by the stairs, preparing to head up, but there was an older lady coming down and I didn't want to push past her so I waited. She was almost down when suddenly she stopped, mid-step, looked up at me, sighed and said:

'Absolutely horrible...'

I... was confused. So confused, in fact, that I literally looked around to see if she was talking to me. She had to be, because I was the only other person in the stairwell. So... absolutely horrible? Was she talking about me? Sure, I'm not perfect, but I'm not that bad, right? And she didn't even know me! 

'Just horrible...' she sighed again, still standing on the stairs, blocking my way up. 

'Ummm... what's horrible, exactly?' I asked because... well, I'm just polite like that. I can't ignore a person when they want to talk to me (even when I probably should). 

'These stairs are so steep!' the old lady went on complaining, 'And I just injured my leg and the pain is unbearable and the railing is so cold. I have carpal tunnels you know. How can anyone handle moving up and down these stairs on a daily basis?'

Oh, just a cranky old lady in pain, I thought. This was fairly common. Lord knows I'd be cranky as well if I was constantly in pain and had to brave the stairs with a bust leg. So I smiled apologetically (because the obsessively Estonian part of me was convinced this was all somehow my fault) and tried to sympathise with her plight.

'Yeah, these stairs are kind of steep and narrow. There is an elevator right here if you need to use it to get back up,' I offered helpfully, pointing at the elevator, thinking (naively) that she'd simply missed it. 

'Oh, I can't use the elevator with all these gypsies around,' the old lady said in a completely serious tone. 

Oh no! A wild racist appeared! The wild racist used confusion spores on you! It's super effective! (I'm not usually this much of a nerd - I'm just going through a phase). 

Now, all jokes aside, I really was confused. First of all, I didn't see any gypsies around so I had no idea what she was talking about. I knew there were probably a couple of ladies in the building willing to read your palm for some cash, but those ladies were super white. I hadn't even seen one gypsy around for the whole time I was working there. So yeah, I had no clue who she was referring to. And secondly, why would the presence of gypsies stop her from using the elevator? Thankfully the wild racist decided to answer that question without me even having to ask. 

'You can't trust these gypsies, you know! You do know what they do, don't you? They'll hit you on the head with a club and take your money!' she explained, sounding more animated than before. 

'And... they'll do it in the elevator...?' I asked, pretty sure someone had just clubbed me over the head without me noticing.

'I've seen them do it! It happened to my grandfather once when I was a kid. They hit you until you bleed and take all of your money!'

So, this old, old lady who looked like the ghost of Christmas future, saw gypsies club her grandfather in an elevator when she was a kid? Was it the first elevator ever? Was it a dream? Was the old lady just talking about a dream she saw? Was she high? Well, she was in the basement so technically not... 

Well, I had to get to work and I was not equipped to deal with this kind of crazy this early in the morning so I took the coward's way out. I just mumbled something along the lines of 'yeah, that sure is... something' and slipped past her, leaving the old lady to ramble on about those darn gypsies. So that was incident number one. 

Scene 2 

One fine weekend I decided I needed a new phone (didn't get one, but more on that later). So I headed to the closest store and started browsing, trying to find something affordable and nice looking (yes, I'm shallow, sue me). So there I was, standing in the middle of the store, staring at a phone way too expensive for my broke ass, when a random older lady showed up right beside me. She wasn't quite the ghost of Christmas future, but she was definitely someone's grandmother. How do I know? Well, she told me. It wasn't the first thing she said. It all started off rather innocently.

'Isn't it hard wearing a mask with glasses? They get foggy so quickly,' she pointed out, looking at my glasses.

'Oh yeah, it's annoying for sure, but what can you do...' I replied with a shrug.

It is annoying, of course. Winter is a pain in the ass for anyone who wears glasses and masks just make the fog last longer. It doesn't help that I breathe like a serial killer. But hey, it's better than getting sick or becoming the Typhoid Mary of Tartu (although that does sound kind of cool). 

'Oh, I wouldn't be wearing a mask at all if it wasn't for my granddaughter. She says I have to get a new phone so we can make tiktoks together...' the old lady started, changing the subject rather abruptly.

'Uh... okay...?' I tried to figure out how to respond to that, but I didn't really need to. She just wanted to talk. 

'She was making a tiktok with her friend the other day and they were dancing so I started dancing in the background and then her friend said that I was a cool grandmother and...'

You know that feeling when you realise you're trapped in a completely one-sided conversation with someone not intent on stopping any time soon? Yeah, I realised I was trapped. Granted, the old lady was probably just lonely and needed someone to listen to her, so she just latched on to the first person she saw. Nothing wrong about that. 

'And my granddaughter said her teacher was cool as well so I told her: 'I need to meet her!' because back in our days there were no good teachers...'

Our days? Our days?! Okay, I was wearing a mask, but... I don't look that old, do I? She was in her sixties, at least! OUR DAYS?! That was the first moment I realised I really wanted to be far away from this lady, whoever she was. And that was even before she started with:

'And then her dog started whining because it had a tummy ache so I took the dog because I know that the only thing that helps in these situations is reiki. I just needed to focus my energy on...'

So how did we get from masks to tiktok to practicing reiki on a dog? Who knows! I sure as hell didn't! By that time I knew I had one of two choices: I could either excuse myself politely and continue with my shopping or I could run away like a coward. I did both, kinda. Well, I slowly backed away while saying something about being in a hurry and then promptly walked away. I did not get a new phone. I probably never will now, having lived through the trauma of having a stranger talk to me in a store. 

Scene 3

Picture me sitting in a room, talking to an old lady. It doesn't matter why I'm there or even who she is. I am there and she's in the process of telling me her life's story. It's all pretty generic so far. Loving family, Soviet times, kids, career, health issues - the usual. 

'I'm sure you've noticed the religious icons around my house,' she says pointing to the altar in the corner, 'I am very spiritual, you see. I know God exists because I have seen the face of God.'

Creepy. Not the religious part but the part about seeing the face of God. That's a line you usually hear in horror movies before some shit goes down. But fair enough, she has faith. One can only admire that. In these trying times its good to have something to believe in. 

'God spoke to me one night and told me not to believe in false gods.'

Sounds like something God would say. Or something a false god would say. I feel like I've seen way too many exorcism-movies to believe any deity if they told me they were God. 

'But I still practice tai chi.'

Oh, chill! That's good! It's good for people her age to regularly work out and keep active. I've always heard that tai chi was a great way to...

'Sometimes when I do that I create a ball of energy between my palms and when I release it I end up scaring the crows away. It doesn't hurt them but they sense it and get frightened.'

That's... what? 

'I've always had too much energy. It collects in my throat and if I don't release it, it starts choking me. That's why I can't sing but I have the power to curse people with my words.'

Aaaand it got creepy again. And I thought it was going so well. Now I was pretty much convinced the old lady was either possessed or a demon herself. Seeing the face of God, throwing energy balls at crows, cursing people... yeah, pretty dark stuff. Guess I need to stay on her good side. 

Scene 4

Okay, this isn't really an example of an encounter with a weird person but... it was still weird. It was still a stranger coming up to talk to me. What's up with that? Do I really look like someone who likes to talk to people? I always try to adopt that patented 'Dead Inside' look whenever I go out so that people would avoid me but it doesn't seem to work. 

Anyway, I was out shopping, trying to find a birthday gift for my dad. He's a whisky-lover so I was looking for something fancy and different - something he hadn't tried yet. As I was browsing the shelves, I heard someone approaching me and when I looked to my left, there was an old lady looking up at me. Oh dear... See, all those past incidents had taken place during the course of one week so I was a little apprehensive about talking to sweet old ladies. 

'Excuse me, could you help me for a moment?' she asked politely and since she seemed to be normal and nice, I immediately agreed.

'Sure, if I can,' I told her and followed where she led.

'My boss' retirement party is coming up so I was planning on giving him a bottle of something special, but I know nothing about alcohol,' she explained while leading me to the vodka section of the store, 'You look like a person who knows their alcohol. Which of these do you recommend?'

I look like what now? I stared at the old lady, then at the bottles of vodka, then back at the lady. Did I really look like some sort of raging alcoholic? Okay, she was asking my opinion on fancy vodkas, but still... Did I look like someone who knows anything about vodka? All I know is that vodka tastes like pain and tears and wasted opportunities. 

'I was thinking about getting him this one,' she held up a fancy white and silver bottle, 'But it looks almost like this other one so I was wondering which one is better. What do you think? Which one is better?'

She looked at me expectantly, as if hoping I would give her a thorough review on the different brands. I had no clue how to help her and I was still a bit confused as to what about me told her I would know anything about vodka. So I just pointed to the prettier bottle and said:

'That one looks nicer.'

That's basically the extent of my vodka-knowledge. I know what looks pretty and that's it. 

'Yes, but what does it taste like?' she pressed on, still somehow convinced I had any clue as to what I was talking about.

Like death, probably. I didn't say that, but I was tempted to. Instead I spotted an employee innocently passing by and waved her down, determined to find another soul to replace me. It worked and the employee immediately went on to explain vodka to the old lady who had finally found a competent person to help her, while I slipped away into the night. 

Now, sure, not all of these people were insane - and one might argue that none of them was - and to be honest, I wouldn't have given these incidents much thought at all, had they not happened so closely together. I get it, the pandemic has been tough and we're all trying to survive. These old ladies probably didn't have many people to talk to during quarantine and they were just looking for someone to listen to their issues. And hey, I should be glad to know that I apparently look approachable enough for these old ladies to share their thought with me. But... it's kind of weird, isn't it?

'You're kind of weird!' I hear you retort like an annoying toddler.

Well yeah, and maybe that's why these people are so willing to share their innermost thoughts with me. I'm not judging them, despite appearances. Sure, I might think most of these women were weird as hell, but that doesn't make them bad people. The racism and cursing people might though, but those are other issues. 

So, my point is... Oh wait, I barely had one in the first place. I guess what I'm trying to say is: live your best life people. Talk to your loved ones, find healthy ways of de-stressing, be kind to yourself and others. And, if you fail to find someone willing to listen to your troubles, you can always just start writing a sub-par blog like all the other dinosaurs in the world. 

...my unplanned hunger strike ended poorly

Back in October, 2019, I had the bright idea to go down to New Orleans. On Halloween. Because if you're going to New Orleans you might as well do it on one of the wildest times of the year. Allegedly, Halloween is bigger than New Years in New Orleans (but not quite as big as Mardi Gras) and I wanted to be part of it.

A lot of people asked me 'why New Orleans'. It seemed like an... uncommon choice. Not weird in any way but its just... not the first thing that comes to mind when you're planning a trip to the US. For me, though, it was a plan long in the making. When people asked me why I chose to go to New Orleans, I usually made up some story how I find the mixture of different cultures and religions fascinating (and I do!) but the truth is much nerdier than that. First of all, New Orleans is kind of like the Voodoo capital of the US and we all know how I'm into such dark and twisted stuff. I just can't help to be drawn to the macabre. And the second (and even nerdier) reason was 'Interview with the Vampire'.

See, I was a preteen when I first saw the movie and I fell in love with it. I taped it (back in the old days when VHS tapes were a thing) and watched it almost religiously for months. Like, I would come home from school, pop it into the VCR and not move until it was over. It had everything: a dark, romantic atmosphere, creepy swamps, sexy vampires (yeah, yeah, I know its starred Tom Cruise but back in those days he wasn't crazy and weird yet) and voodoo stuff. I ever read the book back to back several times. New Orleans just seemed so dark and mysterious and magical in the movie/book and even as I grew out of my obsession with vampires, there was still a part of my mind that thought it would be fun to go there one day. I forgot that part for a long time, got into other stuff (I got reeeeally into Asian shit) but when American Horror Story: Covenant came out, my interest was renewed. So, once I had enough money gathered and I had nothing else to do, I bought the tickets and got ready. 'Oh, so this is a story about your trip to New Orleans? That sounds like fun,' I hear you ask expectantly. 

Nope. This story has nothing to do with my trip. Well, not the actual trip itself, anyway. This story is about the process of getting to New Orleans. If this was an episode of Family Guy, it would be titled 'The Road to New Orleans' and it would be a hell of a lot more interesting than this hot mess of a monologue, but alass, you must make do with what I am able to provide you with. 

My journey began on... uh... a Tuesday? I guess? Who remembers anymore. What I do remember is having breakfast and then taking a two hour train to Tallinn to get to the airport. I arrived with just enough time to get through security and slowly wander to the correct gate before we started boarding. For once in my life I wasn't in the airport 12 hours early like usual but it didn't bother me much. I was still full from breakfast and didn't need any supplies anyway so I was okay (I thought). Spoilers: I did need supplies. 

I had my first layover in Oslo. The flight took about... four hours? Three? I don't really remember, but it wasn't super long. The layover itself was less than an hour - something that set me on edge but I figured I would make it, if everything went smoothly. So, as soon as we'd landed, I hurried off to find my gate. I have to take a moment to say that Gardermoen airport is one of the chillest airports I've ever had the pleasure of being in. Everything just went super smoothly. I had less than an hour to get from my arrival gate to a trans-Atlantic flight and everything just... worked. No long security check lines, no waiting forever to show my passport to some bored airport employee who couldn't care less, no endless corridors packed with slow-moving tourist groups. And this was like 6 pm on a Tuesday! 

Sadly, since I had so little time for my layover, I didn't have the opportunity to have a look around or even have a bite to eat, because my flight started boarding as soon as I got the the gate. 'Whatever,' I thought confidently, 'This is a trans-Atlantic flight. They'll serve us dinner soon enough.' 

BUT! It was... Norwegian Air!!!! *Cue the sound of thunder and the screaming voices of a thousand lost souls*

I knew I was going to have to fly Norwegian when I first booked the tickets and I knew them to be one of the cheaper airlines out there, but I thought it didn't matter that much. I hadn't heard too many horrible things about them and the tickets were cheap, so I just shrugged and thought 'How bad could it possibly be'. Oh, the folly of youth! I was too young and naive to understand what I was getting into. I would have to learn the hard way.

So, I got on and found my seat and the first thing I noticed was that there was no little pillow or blanket on my seat. Or any seat, for that matter. Weird. I had always gotten a blanket/pillow/vanity set combo on all my other long-haul flights but whatever. I guessed they were cheaping out on that front. Well, I had a warm jacket on and I've never used that pillow anyway so I thought it would be fine. The movie options were abysmal, but I was used to that. There were a few things I was willing to watch and it was only an eight hour flight anyway so I figured I didn't need that much entertainment. I got as comfortable as one possibly can get on a tightly packed airplane and chose my first movie. We took off, went though the usual security routine and all that jazz and then it was time for dinner.

'Passangers with pre-ordered meals will receive them shortly. All other passangers are welcome to purchase food and drink items from the food cart passing through the aisles in a few moments. You can pay by...'

Wait... waaaaait a moment... I have to pay? I have to pay for food and water on an eight-hour flight? I have to use my hard-earned money to buy a tiny cup of water... on a trans-Atlantic flight?! Now, I'm a frugal beast at the best of times and I can understand not offering earplugs for free or blankets or slippers or whatever but WATER? On an EIGHT HOUR flight?! What type of sadistic dystiopian logic was that?! I'd paid hundreds of euros for the ticket and literally the only thing I got for it was a seat and a seatbelt? Not even a sip of water?! It couldn't be true! No airline could be this cheap! But they were.

Now, most of you already know how cheap I am so I don't have to explain why I refused to buy anything. Was I hungry? Yes. Did I really need something to eat or drink? Also yes. But was I going to pay for airplane food? Hell no! I have not and will not pay for something so painfully mediocre! I would rather eat raisin bread (an abomination diguising itself as food) than pay for airplane food. I'm not an animal! And thus I went on a hunger strike... that nobody even noticed... until... 

So a few hours go by and I finish my movie and everything is still kind of okay. The seat is uncomfortable but they always are so I didn't make a big deal of it. I tried to sleep for a bit but sleeping on a plane is borderline impossible at the best of times (and this was not one of those times). I think I did manage to doze off for a few minutes but soon enough I woke up again. And then things got... weird.

Something was wrong. I couldn't exactly say what it was but something felt... off. I wasn't dizzy or anything but my body felt both hot and cold at the same time and I was just super uncomfortable. I tried taking deep breaths, shiftling in my seat and closing my eyes but nothing seemed to work. I just felt... off. 'Okay, I guess I'm just super tired,' I thought, trying to gather myself, 'I'm just gonna go to the bathroom, splash some cold water on my face and hope it'll make me feel better.' That sounded like a good plan. I wasn't feeling any better so something needed to be done. I undid my seatbelt and got up. And then somebody was softly shaking me.

'Miss? Can you get up? We need to get you out of the aisle. It's not safe.'

Bitch, what? Here I was, minding my own business, trying to get some sleep and some annoying flight attendant was shaking me awake. And what about the aisle? I was safely in my seat! Or... wait... Why was my face pressed against the carpet? And why did it feel like I was horisontal? Oh... oh damn... 

'Miss, we need to move you. Can you get up?' the flight attendant asked again, more pressingly this time.

Okay, so apparently I'd fainted. Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Well, I could still salvage the situation. All I needed to do was to get up and move to a 'safer spot' like they told me to. I could do that. I totally could. I placed my hands on the ground and slowly lifted myself up. 

Except that I didn't. I passed out again. Next thing I know I was laying on my back in the galley, next to the food trolleys, and I was surrounded by people. One of them was a flight attendant, then there was a guy, who later turned out to be a paramedic, then a norwegian woman, who later turned out to be a doctor, and two nurses who were sent away as soon as it was clear I wasn't dying. The paramedic took my pulse while the doctor checked my pupils and asked the usual questions about me (like my name and age) and then went through the checklist without actually considering our specific circumstances: 

'Do you know where we are?' 

'Uh... in an airplane... somewhere over the Atlantic?'

'What day is it?'

'Umm... you do realise we're flying over several timezones and this is a red eye? We started on Tuesday. I have no idea what day it currently is.'

'Do you know where you are heading?'

'Do you mean to ask where I am headed or where this plane is headed cause those are two different things. I know the plane is headed to New York but I only have a layover there.'

'When was the last time you ate?'

'I don't even know what time it is. Don't ask me to do math!'

'Where are you from?' the paramedic then asked me, probably to make me feel more at ease, because the doctor lady was kind of pissing me off. 

'Estonia,' I answered, fully expecting them to change the subject to avoid the awkward 'where's that' conversation.

'Oh, Estonia?' the flight attendant piped in happily, 'Ты говори́шь по-ру́сски?' 

Really, girl? Really? I passed out twice and am laying on the probably disease-ridden floor of your cheap-ass airplane and you're throwing Russian at me? I let out a sigh. I just couldn't help myself. Of all the things I'd had to deal with on this flight, this was just the one that broke my resolve.

'No, I don't. I don't speak a word of Russian,' I told her as politely as I could muster.

'That's weird. Estonians usually do. I'm originally from Belarus so it's almost like we're neighbours,' she continued enthusiastically, oblivious of the glare I was giving her.

First of all, she was clearly from Boston but whatever. Second of all, geography was not her strong suit, apparently. To be fair, if you live in the US and you look at a map of Europe then Estonia and Belarus might seem close to each other but... no. Just no. Don't quit your day job, flight attendant girl. 

Hypoglycemia. That was the official verdict the doctor went with. It made sense. I hadn't eaten in... a long while, I was under a lot of stress with all the traveling and the lack of any liquids in my system just kind of made things come crashing down. The annoying flight attendant then suddenly found a large bottle of water, some orange juice and a bag of cookies that she was willing to part with, completely free of charge. I know: a whole two cookies! They really did spoil me. It took me like twenty minutes to get back on my feet and return to my seat, having gotten free food, drinks and even a blanket out of the whole ordeal. Sure, I spent the rest of the flight super paranoid because every time I started falling asleep I was uncertain whether I was actually dozing off or if I was about to pass out again. It was very confusing. But, moral of the story is: if you want free stuff on a cheap flight then all you need to do is pass out. Is it worth it? Nope. But is it fun? Also no. Just don't fly Norwegian, kids. Do yourself a favour and choose a better airline.

Oh, and the trip itself went great, thanks for asking. Perhaps one day I'll continue this story and talk about New Orleans itself but that is for Future-Grete to decide. Present-Grete needs to rest her hands now for she is old and tired and has important things to do.