... and that was a miracle

Christmas is over - and guess what! That elf of mine has not yet disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Am not putting it down to my superior hosting abilities, though. He doesn't need much and half of the time I forget he's even there.
Perhaps he likes being left alone.
Like me.
Kindred spirits who enjoy peace and quiet. They're hard to come by. And I should know.

Thus, he remains a fixture in my household. For now. Chances are he vanishes and pops up next Christmas. Let's see.

Back Home

Just walked in to this.
Am exhausted but happy, not sure why Nisse is so zonked. Have not checked flat yet...

My Father Is A Consultant and My Mother Is An Alcoholic

... that is what my god daughter says when asked what her parents do. I LOVE IT!

Leakage Is For Losers And Gifts Are A Minefield

The birthday surprise for K. was one very successful operation thanks to her husband and my god daughter keeping shtumm.
Arrived in Bruxelle Midi around lunch.
Made my way to restaurant Mr. K and I had arranged to meet.
And there she was, chatting animatedly and nibbling her salmon - she couldn't see me which gave me time to gather myself for I had wanted to storm in and just scream at the top of my lungs I was so excited. But being the professional and highly serious person that I am I calmly walked over and stood quietly behind her, solicitously inquiring if she whished to order anything else.
Need I say more?

Of course, her face went from enquiry to shock to realisation to beaming and then came a few tears. But such is the way with us gals.We ARE turning into our mothers.

Whilst I don't necessary like surprises - who in their right mind does - I must say I enjoy preparing them for others, loved ones preferrably.
I really like giving gifts!
I'm basically the fourth magi.

Speaking of the offering of gifts - what is that really all about I often ask myself and equally often I come to the grim conclusion that gifts sometimes have to do with guilt and a feeling of inadequacy - at least for me. Don't get me wrong, I am not talking about a bouquet of flowers or a book or what we like to call the little things that show esteem and appreciation. 
But on accasion I have given presents that were meant to say, sorry I am not here more often, sorry I don't spend enough time with you. I rather spend money and shower you with things instead.
I remember also that I have given things to family and friends which I later realised were some kind of ransom. Ransom I tried to pay in order to get free of those ties that bind too tightly and which can thus be rather suffocating.
Other occasions have seen me bear gifts that were slightly over the top and too much both in view of the rather casual relationship to the receiver and of the reason for visiting them/spending time with them.

Does "giving" simply constitute the attempted gain of approval? And if so, is it really "giving" anymore? Looks more like a bribe, doesn't it. So, essentially that would be "buying friends", wouldn't it. And that is just sad and scary and way too "school".
Really?!
Take a look around! - "School" never really stopped!

Super Secret Nisse Action

I cannot really write too much about the whole thing apart from that it's going down on Thursday.
Am so excited that peeing pants has begun to look reasonable.
Also convinced I have caught Nisse Bug. Not yet dressing up in pointy hats or stripey stockings, though.

It's All In Your Head... And You Know It

It’s  11:02 of the clock. We are finding ourselves in Frankfurt, surprisingly enough. The northwestern sky I spot from this here location is undecided whether to rain or shine.

I know the feeling.

Croissant or cheese straw for breakfast?

Coffee or plain old water?

Such were the early morning hurdles that needed overcoming. They were not necessarily super high but it is early days. I am sure there’s more to come. I can feel it.

And I ask myself: hurdles and their height (or obstacles if you will) – are they of the It’s all in your head-category? Take sports for example, the hesitant approach more often than not lets you falter altogether in front of whatever is to be jumped over and across. Courage! (or simply: get a move on!) – that was the heart-warming advice my gym teacher used to give.

Why anyone on earth would want to hurtle towards an obstacle ye high and what is more to try and leap to their possible death in order to get across it is beyond me. Well, perhaps death is a little too much but sprained ankles and twisted knees ain’t no laughing matter either.

Anyway, suffice it to say that for the last two years of school I was exempt from any jumping activities. Hurdles in particular. Plus my lack of enthusiasm for sports simply did not allow for gravity defiance and other such nonsense. Just because Jesus walked on water does not mean that one has to attempt the impossible – could be construed as being presumptuous, even blasphemous.

However, the main goal was achieved – no bloody hurdles for me.

But back to the point – hesitation, the dilly-dallying, the wavering when faced with the sheer unconquerable, the unscalable, the seemingly un-doable will make any obstacle into Mount Etna or something. Enter the doubts and boom! you are in for visualisations of doom, of failure and all around loser-dom. And - need I say - you fail, fear becomes truth, nay reality, you baulk (and stand IN FRONT OF the bloody hurdle). 

What if – crazy thought alert – we switched off that overly busy mind of ours, remain in the moment, no past, no future. Very Zen. VERY difficult!

Yet also truly the only way, after all the past cannot be changed, the future is unforeseeable.

All we have is that fleeting moment which we have got to make the best of, live it to the fullest to the best of our abilities.  

Ah, the sheer simplicity of it all! Were it not for our fear, our ego, our pride.

We cling to times gone by, moments lost, minutes past, long to get back to a time when all was golden. Oh how we wish we could… if only.

Similarly, we paint our future, sometimes rosy, sometimes black, we predict and guess and basically worry too much.

Yet our remaining in the Here and Now is complicated, even spoiled by said fears, ego, and pride – that being our true weakness.

And another truth universally acknowledged: it is only the moment which counts, and which can be truly ours.

Surprisingly, even I do understand the concept of that.

Truly living this way, however, is an entirely different matter. It’s hard work, so if one is not  prepared to let go of at least some of those comforts we seems to amass in the course of our lives, then please do not bother at all. We would need to take off our life jackets made of complacency, laziness, apathy, and indifference, however reluctantly. Ironically, we know full well that they don’t keep us afloat at all but rather tend to drag us down into abysses of inactivity, and eventually unhappiness. Yet still we keep them on for fear of the unknown.

We exchange our sobriety for a bag full of worries and fears. Think about that!

And that right there seems to be the root of all evil, the Ur-obstacle as it were.

We are wired to be cautious, to be apprehensive.

We are wired to be frightened of things, to fear the unknown especially – that ensured survival in times when we inhabited caves and our surroundings were less than hospitable. To this day we carry this fear. The caves may have gone, so have predators that may have been dangerous to us in the olden cave dwelling days, yet the unknown has us scared out of our wits as it were.

Now, we are not really aware of our fears – whatever they may be – when we’re fine and all is roses. But woe to those experiencing problems, difficulties, facing – dare I say it – challenges. Oh, then boom! They are there. En masse. Everywhere. All the time. And they don’t let go. They hold you good and tight. Being paralysed by fear - that’s where that comes from.

What is worse though, is that our fears seem to directly have our ear. They lead us to believe that in the past everything was just so much better and that we all should go back to that but since we can’t the status quo is the only and best way for us to be. Change really only ever gets us further away from that and even further from that golden past were all was cosy and we were safe. And if that past was not that then all the more reason to remain where you are, right, ‘cause you don’t want to go back, it was awful back then.

So: Status Quo!

Our past, our life/live experience is our yardstick, - for better or worse.

People don’t say “you learn from experience” for nothing.

You learn from your mistakes.

A burnt child dreads the fire.

Need I go on?

Could it not also be true that experience can make you blind? And deaf?

I believe so. Namely, when you are so caught up in that one life lesson that you believe it to be the only valid one, the only true experience – again for better or for worse.  

So it may be good to do things differently from time to time, to NOT panic, to NOT accept the same old same old because it’s always been done like this and don’t fix it if it ain’t broke.  

Oh, make no mistake, it can be quite a heady thing going all out and giving it your all and then - oh wonder - making it across that hurdle, accepting the challenge and winning It makes you feel ecstatic and immensely proud.

On the other hand, it can bloody hurt when you fail.

The only thing that indicates however is that fear had the upper hand once more, that you gave in to that. It means that you need to spend a little more time getting to that „empty space“ in your head, the zone or whatever. It means that you should practice to visit the furtur less often. Instead, stay here, do not be scared. Be inspired.

My own personal hurdle I took bravely and with grace: two cheese straws and a coffee, please.

The Winter Of Our Discontent

I have had a letter today. From my best friend.
The past months have been eventful for her to say the least. I know because I have been there for parts of it. So while reading her letter I could not help but notice that she sounded wistful. Like she longed for something else than what she had. Like she was desperate to break free.

And here I was all the time thinking that she had it all. Now, I am not so sure.

I am not so sure anymore about anybody whom I labelled successful, settled; anybody that I shoved in to a neat little box of "content" or "happy" or "with kids" or "married".
Because everything is not as it seems. I have noticed this in the past couple of weeks with quite a number of things. However, being me, I am never QUITE aware of this knowledge. At least not in the moments when I should be. It's that hindsight-thing again, you see.

Could it be that whatever happiness is, is defined by other people?
Is that the reason that we are all so miserable? So unhappy with our lot. So very deep in the Winter of our Discontent? I am not speaking of luxury goods and yachts and being spoilt rotten and still complaining whilst there are women, children, and men who do not have enough food to eat, no clothes to wear, no bed, no house to sleep in. That is undeniably happening in our world today but this is not what I am writing about at this precise moment in time, in this post, in this blog, insignificant though it is.

I am speaking of being strangely unhappy and almost cold in the face of the achievements in your own life so far of which you should be proud, which should fill you with joy and happiness, with a sense of self and a knowledge of who you are and what you can do.

My friend's lines saddened me. Because she described what I usually feel... an unwavering longing for something that will finally, finally make the voice in my head stop saying "Right, that's done. What's next!?"
Like a drill sergeant this voice has, I believe, many of us rushing towards the next task, the next hurdle and all the time we are wondering, will I be good enough this time? And then there is always the darker version sounding a little like this: one of these days they are going to call my bluff.

And when I say rushing towards the next task, I do not mean it literally but more often than not life does not have us juggling just one plate. There is never just one other thing that we must do. There are many. We are thrown in at the deep end and have to either sink or swim. And nobody wants to sink. So we struggle and hope it works out. And when it does then there is the next thing to consider and do. And the next and so on and so forth.

I am far away from knowing how to solve this. I am just observing and recording.
But perhaps for the time being that is enough. 

Complete And Utter Fool

...yup, that is me.
Admitting to this glorious state of being is not really the problem. I have suspected, in fact known, this for a long time.
What really gets to me is that I feel foolish because I have been made a fool of.
And YES, I am most familiar with Eleanor Roosevelt and her famous words about not permitting to be made feeling inferior (or incidentally a fool as in my case).
Who cares what some idiot does to you... well, I cannot quite see it that way and I blame my very much alive and kicking ego. 
I feel hurt, betrayed and simply I want to punch this person to spread some of that pain.
Some part of me tries hard to stay aloof and act as if nothing has happened. But the little person, desperately wanting to be liked or loved, is crushed and wants to curl up in bed and cry a little and whinge and moan that nobody but NOBODY loves her, for she is really unlovable and too complicated... should she go on?
    Nisse is no good in this instance as he made me swear I would not bother him with boy trouble.
Elves don't do agony aunt.
Also love messenger, Cupid or similar sidelines are not their forte, at least that was what he said to me in so many words. So I am left to my own devices and what is much more important, to my own frustrations.
That houseguest of mine would not hear of the therapeutic value of ranting and venting.
I should buck up, he said. No, the words he actually used were: Pull yourself together!
Who is he? Elizabeth Taylor?!

I do believe it has been established sufficiently via the media in its many forms and by personal experience of many a woman and man that being inebriated is not always the best way forward where human relations are concerned. No prizes for guessing, I got drunk. And consequently ended up with someone I should not have ended up with. Hindsight and all that...
I will not venture into the murky depths of exploiting a person's vulnerability. The more I think back on what happened the more I get confused about the question of consent, of it being my fault for not being more careful, of me being the slut in this scenario. Still, why would someone conclude from the fact that a woman is drunk they get a free pass at that woman's body?

Coming back to disastrous and emotionally disturbing decisions, being told not to talk about it and  finding out that this is this individual's MO adds insult to injury. Because apparently he has this penchant for women who are at one time or another defenseless - maybe that's because he is such a sad creature himself unable to connect - and clearly not wishing to be discovered to be the cad he is he tries to come across as this soft-spoken, discreet individual who is concerned about one's reputation.

With the added bonus of feeling a pang of shame I immediately jumped at his suggestion to keep this under wraps (how very "This is our little secret").
What low self-esteem and utter lack of pride! I cringe thinking about it and realising how desperate I appear to be. Can one be blamed for wanting to feel held, cherished, liked - however briefly? No, blame and shame should go to the party abusing such weakness.

Here is a revolutionary fact - little known and completely undervalued - Girls DO talk.
And this is how I found out one cold and rainy day that bottom-dweller-guy had moved on and had given his incredibly cunning instructions to the next lady.
I found myself more than a little rattled in the pride department. So much so that I am now venting and ranting here. 
I felt and feel bitter about how I thought that he was being genuine. But such is the way of sweet nothings and pillow talk - anything to further one's end, right.

Alan J. Lerner had Eliza Doolittle utter such apt words once upon a time:
What a fool I was, what an addlepated fool
What a mutton-headed dote was I

From now on, when I feel I need to have one too many, or to have any type of relation at all with scum like the above I shall burst into song instead. THAT song. Any song for that matter. I shall be a living karaoke machine. 


Better brush up on my power ballads and rock anthems then.

Heart To Heart

I must say, Nisse has been rather a joy to have around. His quiet company is very pleasant. Of course, the occasional ribbing I could do without but one can't have everything.
As I mentioned before house elves are peculiar types. Loners. He exlained to me in no uncertain terms that I will NEVER get him to dance, shall NEVER EVER discuss boys with him and furthermore, that under no, NO! circumstances is he ever to be cuddled. And here I was thinking that we could snuggle up on the sofa and watch movies and have girl talk. So much for that. And no dance parties either.
He sounds a bit of a party pooper, doesn't he. I assure you, he is not. And I am glad he is the way he is. I can live with his quirks and it seems he doesn't mind mine. (Wow, this must be the first time I can say that about a male companion.)

#coulditbemagic
#Nisseisbackintown

Laziness And The Passage of Time... Oh, Bugger Off!

Checked the date on Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?
Then checked the date of the next entry, which is incidentally a good 4 months later.
Clearly, all my thoughts on the subject were just a passing folly I mistook for ideas worth putting on paper. Terribly sorry.
"Anyway, be back soon"... Indeed!

That's What You Get

Had a bit of a row with Nisse about yesterday evening's entertainment. I won.
Soon after my hoover broke down. Somehow I was not surprised.
 

New Lodger

Every year around this time I am allowed the privilege (and weirdness) of having a Christmas elf as a temporary house guest.
He is Nisse, I should say A nisse, as he is Norwegian and that is what such folk are called up there. Well, he is Norwegian via Rostock and came into my life some time in the early 2000.
We both decided that callling him Nisse would do just fine.

Apart from sleeping and hanging around the house he doesn't do much. I get the occasional comment on my Christmas decorations or my skills in the kitchen but he keeps his appearances to a minimum which I think is a shame. We could do all sorts of things together, discuss current events, my becoming a, nay THE Greek Goddess, the Beeb's production of The Musketeers in general and the male leads in particular.
Of course, he'd probably simply roll his eyes and I'd drive him mad  - incidently it would be my pleasure - with my fancying basically all four of them.
Oh, it could be just lovely! But, alas, he is a funny one, that Nisse. Very much his own elf, I learned.
Don't think this year will be different.
But you never know.
Watch this space... and incidentally (indeed!) Instagram.


P.S. I KNOW Void, you could not care less. 

Is It Me Or...

... is everything shit? I am not referring to the book but to my life.
Well, what can I say... it all started yesterday - at the gym of all places.
Perhaps it was simply not a good day, perhaps I was tired from a little too much too soon - I cannot quite say. Anyway, I found myself on the treadmill letting my eyes wander as you do and oh the envy, the desperation, the hopelessness. Whomever I looked at seemed super slim, super fit, in top form. Whilst I was never further from Greek Goddess and closer to red-faced chubbster.
So inevitably, I got myself really down, sort of went through the motions and went home, depleted, not elated.
On my way there I had visions of myself being alone forever, felt desperately in need of a hug and convinced myself that there was NEVER ANYONE there when I NEEDED THEM.
Also my life is crap, I am ugly, an underachiever, unfit and totally not on point where ambitions/plans for future are concerned.
I really worked myself into a state. And found that also I am fat and unlovable, a control freak, a weirdo, a bitter bitch, and basically all things nice.

In a brief moment of rationality I told myself this mood will not last. It will pass. Ride it out, tomorrow is another, a better day. That helped a little. However, I was also frustrated by that fact that I had these thoughts in the first place, that I was convinced of it all, however irrational.
And that is the funny thing, one part of you goes, calm down dear, it's not that bad, you are in fact quite alright, while the other goes into uber-sensitive loser of the year mode convinced that nothing, but NOTHING, is good (enough) in one's life, least of all oneself.

I'm a strong believer in the well known "This too shall pass" - because it always does. No day is the same, same goes for moods and ups and downs. I need to believe that otherwise I'd just hide from the world forever wishing for the end.

I cannot control the chemistry of my brain, but I try to cope with what it does to me.
Physical activity helps they say... I believe yesterday was a slip. Well it'd better be. Greek Goddess' patience is wearing thin anyway.

Still no six pack. We aren't impressed and think of stuffing our face every five minutes.

Nike's A Greek Goddess, right?

Had a few days off, went to gym religiously. Not quite Greek Goddess yet. But feeling better already.
Trainer's name is indeed Isaac. Chappy likes to preach. Also is big fan of women's derrieres.
But who am I to talk... my eyes do wonder, too.
Not so much onto women's backsides though.

It Is Time...

...HIGH time, indeed, to start that fitness thing everyone's talking about. You know going to the gym regularly and sweating and all that.
A colleague of mine asked (outright asked me) me whether I was pregnant. Or perhaps it just looked that way - he felt obliged to add quickly - that did not make it better, I have you know. 
This coming from a man whose paunch is simply phenomenal, I doubt he can see his... oh whatever.

Go bite yourself, fatso! As of next week will turn into Greek Goddess. Some bloke named Ian or Isaac or Zac or something is going to be my helper, or trainer as lingo goes in sporting world.

Pregnant, my ass!
Let's hope this training business works... like overnight...

This too shall pass...

Looking back on this year and last - I know I am early for the year end review - I must confess I am not proud of my track record in the department of human relations. I am in fact a little saddened by it. 

Is there a prize for being unlucky where love is concerned? 

I am not quite sure why I feel the urge to record and dwell on those epic failures over and over.  

But then again, I do know exactly. The self-pitying kind always know. 

Also they know that they are punishing themselves á la "Told you so... nya, nya, nyanyanyaaaaa..."

Right, so I am a self-pitying masochist. That's something. Some people don't have anything to say for themselves... NOT ME! 

Ooh, I am glad I got that out of the way. 

BRING ON THE CHRISTMAS GLITTER!

Thankyouverymuch.

Shrinkage Ain't No Joke

Routine check-up at the doctor's.
Of course I am super healthy - but that is ENTIRELY beside the point.
My doctor measured me - let us not talk about kilos and gramms here... details... BUT it turned out I am NOT 175cm/5.88 in height my passport states but only 172cm/5.77!

Life as I know it has officially ended.

Whoooooo-hooooo

Happy Halloween to all and sundry.

This quintessentially German holiday warms my heart every time it comes around with its rotting pumpkins in all places imaginable and children banging on strangers' doors wanting sweets or else...

Go away and take your fake skeletons and cobwebs with you.
You are NOT a vampire and you are NOT scary, ok?!