Golly...

... it has been quite some time.

I will not go on and on about it. I shall be sweetness and light.
For which there are plenty of reasons.

Actually, no. No!
I am not going to spend one whole entry fibbing about how bloody happy I am ALL the BLOODY TIME.
Because I am not. Alright? Satisfied?

Of course I am happier, A LOT happier. Actually I am REALLY happy.
But I am also simply shattered, knackered, exhausted, debilitated, frazzled even.

My Doc says it was ok to be tired in times of transition. I love that. I also love that Doc seems to appreciate the nature of my reality right now: happiness aside, I am still only human and have not suddenly mutated into Zeus' illegitimate daughter with super magic goddess powers.
Wait - weren't all his children misbegotten - out of wedlock an' all?
Alright so I'd be one in a long line of bastard children whose mothers were kidnapped, tricked, rained upon (I still find that one kind of disturbing and a little disgusting, too), played for a fool by this dirty old man. And he was married to his sister, for crying out loud... but I'd also be one kick-ass immortal who would not be tired out by a few double-shifts and pondering too hard on - dare I say it - the past. I'd just shrug and get on with it. Heck, I'd re-write the past and eradicate all villains in my story. THAT's what I would do.

HOWEVER, it has turned out I have no magic super powers. (Shocking, right?!)
My powers are sub-par at present.
I am not as irritable as a bear just out of hibernation but I am sure as energetic.

So Doc says to take it easy. Be patient with thyself. Get some rest.
Well if I could I would not need her to tell me that. But such ist life.

What else is new?
I have settled more or less in my new flat. Things are still all over the place. But I cannot be bothered due to aforementioned problem of too little sleep.

I have still not overcome delayed rage. Still harbour sinister thoughts against a person of the past.
Wonder whether these will ever turn into deeds...

Have ordered rifle catalogues online.

Only joking.

Apart from the superficial and, I suppose, rather average tiny things of the every-day variety, I have noticed something which does not strike me as unsettling or even mildly surprising, which says to me that I should not worry. If anyone (anyone?) else wishes to do so, feel free and be more than welcome.

It is something I have been feeling all my life, more or less - and I am not unique in feeling thus. I am not making myself out to be. I am just stating a fact here.
Namely that a person can feel - while the turmoils of a certain part in their lives have been resolved and put to rest, while new beginnings have been made and things have turned out for the better - a kind of happiness, or relief but also finds that it is temporary, fleeting.To many, I have found, it seems to be that way. To equally as many this is a sign that something's wrong. Because: if they are not happy all the time, something MUST be wrong with them.

Who in their right mind is happy all the time, I ask.
Who honestly aspires to that?!
Naturally, if quizzed, a lot of us state: happiness. Whatever that may entail for the individual.
But that is the question right there isn't it. What's it mean to be happy, to have happiness in life? Is it fame, is it health, is it the car/the house/the yacht/the trophy wife, is it having enough money to live comfortably, is it love?
This despite the fact that we are told by those apparently in the know that failure, hardship, even sickness is the "stuff" that growth is made of and that in times of crises we must turn to ourselves to find answers, for all the riches and fame in the world will not solve your issues. (Though it helps I have been told.)

My happiness is a fickle thing. It never stays long and often leaves a sense of melancholy behind and then a kind of stressed-out feeling. I do believe this stems from my habit of making the proverbial second step before the first. (Oh, time was when I would attempt to take the 5th or even the 10th before I had even started to take steps at all.) I sort of live in the future in the sense that I worry about what may or may not happen. My life is a chores-list and after one chore is crossed off I move on to the next. I do not feel satisfaction about the things (little as they may seem to others) I have achieved, accomplished. I do not feel pride. I rarely feel joy about them. It's just something I've done. Can we move on now?
I do not celebrate the bigger events in life, so do not even talk to me about the small ones.
Should this really be down to my inability to stay "in the moment" as it were? Yup, 'cause what I do instead is leave the present in order to speculate frantically about my future. And that I really (really!) cannot know or control.

My little friend called D.R. (the one that frequently leads me down the path of anger towards a certain person of my past) is also in on it. He likes to shackle me to said past. And I let him. I invite questions of WHY oh why things happened and I create ever different scenarios of what I should have done. Only problem is, of course, I cannot change what has gone before. I may know it but again I cannot control it.

It's an old hat, I know... all this being able to live right here in the present moment and how difficult it can be for one that is so easily distracted, that is so misguided and insecure.
However, the older I get, the more I get it - which is not to say that I am any good at practising it.

My mind wanders on very sturdy legs every day all day. It has not learned to be still. It offers opinions, it spouts them like a never-ending well, bubbling, teaming with incessant "talk" of likes and dislikes. I am thus only the passenger. I get carried away, in the truest sense. Not least from myself.

So, I figure, happiness would be detachment, being still within oneself, shutting the hell up.

Not sure how to break this to my overly chatty mind, though. "Right, Past and Future are off bounds, you hear me?" Yeah, that's really gonna work so well! And it doesn't stop there, does it now. Any kind of judgement would be on the list of no-go's. What is to become of my little rants?! I have to ask myself here,  Am I really ready to part with my tantrums and my bouts of self-righteous anger, my regular moments of complacency? I do cherish feeling superior. (Sue me! Like all of us ever only criticise others in order to help them. Bollocks!)

You see, it is a big decision. And I shall take my time making it.
And I shall take my chances with feeling a little happy now and then and dog-tired in-between.
Clearly, it is not bad enough yet for me to do anything about it all.
I simply have a high pain threshold and my "too much effort" radar is super-sensitive at present.
Does that make me a bad person? No.
It simply shows once more how strong one's resistance to new things truly can be.

Ah, times of transition, eh...

It's The Little Things

Cleaned toilet with old tooth brush of ex-lover.
Feel strangely happy.

Sometimes Bob Hoskins Is Wrong

I've just had a phone call. From a person I did not want to speak to. Not tonight. Not ever. I would have been fine to simply let them slip out of my life. I never wanted to hear from them again.
I was fine until now.

It was a bit cringe-worthy, that phone call. You are being badgered with questions. And you REALLY do not want to share anything about your life but it would be considered rude to simply ignore their questions. So I lied a little - alright, not just a little - while all the time wondering why in the hell would they want to talk or even - as they suggested - see me?! What kind of random wish is that?! I have not seen them in ages. And frankly there is no point in starting now. What could I possibly have to say to them and vice versa that the other would want to hear? Nothing at all.

That's precisely the phone call you DO NOT want to get on a Sunday evening. Trust me!
It somehow reminds you of all the things that feel a bit awkward in your life, the people you left hanging, the things/stories/business you left unfinished.
And THAT should not be pondered when Sunday is on its way out. When Sunday is kind of picking up its coat getting ready to go and catch a ride. Phone calls like the one I just had are like those people at a party who keep quiet all evening and then drop an "innocent" comment that has you wrecking your brain where in God's name THAT came from. (Plus it does not help when you feel a little short-tempered, a little snappy.) Odious creatures! Nothing to say all night and then POW! Vicious! Deadly! Like a flippin' stun gun. DO NOT EVER bring such things to a party. In the end someone always gets hurt.

But I digress.
No, Sunday evenings should be spent either on t'couch with a good book, a nice DvD, a handsome lover, not necessarily in that order but you get the idea.
Sunday evenings should not, however, be spent jogging (or any other kind of work-out), fighting with friends and/or loved ones, having weird phone conversations with, well strangers, basically. The sort who thinks they know you. Sunday evenings should be synonymous with Peace & Quiet.

Have now turned ringer off on phone. Big improvement.



P.S.
I was fine until now.
Dramatic much?

Ich war auf dem Nachhauseweg nach einem Termin und ging die mir wohl bekannten Straßen im Westend Richtung Opernplatz. Man kommt natürlich unweigerlich an den Hochhäusern vorbei. Und natürlich haben sie irgendetwas an sich, das einen verweilen läßt. Es ist ihre Größe. Es sind die Lichter, die einem suggerieren, da drin wird nie geschlafen; einer ist immer wach, um irgend etwas zu tun. Und das muss ja dann bedeuten, dass es was Mordwichtiges ist, das "da drinnen" gemacht wird. Gut, das ist sicherlich Ansichtssache.
Aber ich spreche aus Erfahrung, wenn ich sage, dass man in manchen Situationen vom angeblich so Wichtigen, das (ebenso angeblich) noch unbedingt erledigt werden muss, fast verschlungen wird, weil man sich nicht wehrt, weil man manchmal sogar freiwillig mitmacht bei der eigenen Versklavung und entscheidend daran Anteil hat, dass die Lichter nie ausgehen.

Ich stand also vor diesen Hochhäusern und legte meinen Kopf in den Nacken, um mir ihre Größe bewusst zu machen. Mir wurde nicht schwindlig, ich war auch nicht berührt von Ehrfurcht oder Staunen, ob dieser menschlichen Leistung. Nichts von dem spürte ich.
Ich fühlte nämlich gar nichts. Keine Wehmut. Keine Bitterkeit. Keinen Ärger über die verschenkten Jahre.

Ich war nur erstaunt, dass ich jemals in diese "Welt" eingetaucht war. Dass ich wider besseren Wissens gehandelt hatte.
Zugegeben, hinterher ist einem ja immer alles glasklar und man fragt sich gerne mal, warum man das mitgemacht hat, oder mit sich hat machen lassen.
Im tiefsten Innern seines eigenen Herzens weiß man aber, dass niemand sonst seine Finger im Spiel hatte als man selbst.
Ich habe also zu dieser Situation beigetragen, an ihr gestrickt wie an einem Weihnachtsschal.
Ich habe sie herbeigeführt, ermöglicht und ausgehalten.

Und ich fragte mich, ob ich in Zukunft anders handeln und früher die Notbremse ziehen, den Absprung wagen würde/werde.

Das kann ich nicht sagen, das wären nur Spekulationen.
Ich kenne mich, glaube ich, ganz gut. Und daher ist da ein wenig Sorge - aber auch Hoffnung.

Man geht schließlich nicht umsonst durch die Täler, oder?

ODER?!?!