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?!

Mysteriously Underachieving

There is only one word for this here blog - disgrace. One gets the impression that nothing noteworthy happens EVER.

The year's almost over. Have you achieved anything? At ALL?

Well... no, not really. So?
Looking fab all day is hard work, too.

Perhaps a bit of a soul search is in order: are you leading the life that you want, REALLY want? If not, perhaps you should dare to ask further. Possibly along the lines of: WHY THE HELL NOT?!

I Wonder

why it is that whatever dustmotes and grains of sand are being blown about by gusts of wind tend to end up in MY eye.

No answer yet...

Choices Shmoices

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. 

Remaining in the here and now is complicated, even spoiled, by our fears, our ego, our pride – that being our true weakness.

 

Something New

I have started my rowing career.
Olympic Games here I come.

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?

I was pondering this yesterday.
I mentioned my clear-out, did I not.

Well, I have this box, as in 'actual physical box' where I keep a stack of e-mail print-outs. In the olden days these would have been LETTERS, handwritten and all, I know, I KNOW.... (sigh). I also have a seperate file in my e-mail account named Correspondence... you get the point, right?
Wow, so she gets e-mails....
Those are the reminders of the past. Part of my past. Pleasant and not so pleasant. But that is just how it goes. Nothing extraordinary about it. There is nothing at all about it that could be called special or even extraordinary.
In fact they are so unremarkable and non-specific to my life right now that I have not bothered to look at them in almost 2 years.
I knew they were there.
I ignored both boxes as well as one can.
I could not bring myself to a) burn the contents of cardboard box and b) delete Correspondence folder.

After a friend told me she got wheepy when finding old postcards from "that bastard" (her soon-to-be ex-husband), after I told her I still have most of the e-mail conversations saved or printed out, (yeah, perhaps a touch obsessive.) she simply looked at me questioningly. Why?!
I don't know.
Because I thought some day I would get them out and re-read them and I don't know LEARN something...?

Well, you HAVE learned something already: he was a shit. he was not good for you. Not even close to good enough. You were not even in the same category. So there's your lesson for you.
MOVE!
ON!

Part of my inability to let go is vanity I think.
It's pathetic but I do believe I wrote some pretty witty and insightful stuff then. And so naturally I want to hold on to those musings, keep them.
Again with the posterity!
I am sure yesterday it was established that no one gives a shit. The world keeps on turning. With or without some idiotic e-mails written over 2 years ago.
NO ONE CARES!
Believe it, girl. What you are up to in your little head is so inconsequential, it is elaborate to even say/write that it is in fact inconsequential.
So why does the human mind obsess on occasion about the ickle things in one's life?
Perhaps they were not so ickle.
Perhaps - and I realise that not so much with shock (because I have guessed this) but rather with a certain tiredness - this chapter has not been closed, for the sole reason that it has not been dealt with in an appropriate manner.

Maybe this is the time and the place. When it comes to digesting, dealing, sorting, this is a good place as any. It does not matter really (see above).
But what does matter is moving on. Moving away from the past with all one's faculties still intact and, what is more, with one's head screwed back on.

Let me start then, at random.
This is after all just me rambling. About . . . stuff. That's happened. That's never been aired properly and thus has been left to fester and boil. It is about time it was set straight:


I thought revenge, I thought doom, I thought bunny-boiling. Which is a normal course I do believe.
Well, not the bunny-boiling - but I am making a point here.
The point of anger. Something I have only ever allowed myself for moments, for tiny alotments of time.
In order to be able to say that I am mature and I get it, it didn't work out.
In order to be able to be the strong one that moves on, I held on to this anger, in effect holding it back. For fear of totally falling apart.


WHAT A CROCK O' SHITE!

Things Fall Apart - as The Roots so wisely said - and people fall apart, too - as I am sure anyone has noted once or twice in their lives but just did not bother to make an album about it.

Void, I am sorry - I will have to stop here.
Whatever excuse you accept.... oh right, you don't give a shit... ha, I forgot for just a sec.

Anyway, be back soon.

A Truth Universally Acknowledged

A single woman 

Alone on

New Year's Eve

Must be in need of a drink
Or five.

The John . . . Going On A Bit...

The Place: a bar
Name: The Void
Actual Fact: No one cares since it's the Void


I am now officially pledging the Fifth. In my case it should be the Sixth. I.e. THAT part in the universal law of Wine Drinkers Solitary And Anonymous that refers to the state of inebriation (i.e. units of alcohol) of the individual in question and in connection to that the inability to be held accountable for what was said and/or written in said state of inebriation.
SUCH a good thing that we are talking VOID here.

Alcohol makes you both naive and wise. (Really what it does is simply lower your inhibitions.) (Oh good, pointing out the obvious here.)
I believe this is why people tend to say that children and drunks speak the truth. (As above.)
As to speaking the truth - I honestly cannot say that I am or, IF I was, which?
Literary studies taught me, there is never only ONE truth. A complete and utter philistine would now utter something like: Makes you wonder just how much Shakespeare and the likes were drinking. Well, our beloved Mr. Pope, I am sure, was always anything but. A drunkard that is.

I am partial to the occasional drink. Especially on a New Year's Eve when there is nothing better to do and no one around. (May be turning into Bridget Jones. Must check for further signs.)
There is some kind of list of classic and highly appropriate things to do on this night in particular. Fancy dinners, friends galore, lavish parties, countdowns and toasts, and not forgetting auld acquaintance(s) and days of auld lang syne.
And you know what, this lady is in no mood to tick any of the boxes.
I love me some red wine, some sherry, too.
I shall dance and skip and gyrate and whirl like a dervish.
I may remember this and forget the other.
I may cry and laugh, joke and swear.
I shall be talking to myself a little. Aloud. Like me, myself and I were three different people.
In my mind I will be dancing with John Mayer in my kitchen. Slow dancing to some old Gershwin number.
I'd even pretend to have on a fabulous gown and my hair'd be sleek and simply wonderful.

In the end, all it ever really is is make believe.
The new year is the old year is the old is the old is the same old same old.
It's crushing. It is devastating. Nothing ever really changes. No one ever really changes. That is what is called the universal experience of being human. That is why, Mr. Mayer can wax poetic about the mundane and the easily forgotten and overlooked.
We carry on.
Regardless.
Whether we have learned anything or not.
It simply does not matter. Because the world does not stop turning just because we break a leg, a heart, a crown.
The world does not give a shit.
I wonder whether that is something to take into 2014.
To take into consideration at least.
At last!
Because, for sure, this lady has not in the past.

It is that kind of knowledge that eludes you for a long time and screws with you continually.

So make sure you got that down!

For posterity and all...

The John (An Entry Far Too F***ing Long-Winded For It's Own Good)

I am not talking about toilets
I am talking about Mayer's John.
Say about him what you will I love his music. Straight from Room For Squares it's been a lot of jumping around in dark rooms on Friday nights, a lot of inebriated nodding and swaying, a lot of crying and the occasional shout of SING IT, MR MAYER! Because I know he knows.
Yup - that is what OUR relationship is all about. Honesty. Understanding.

Sometimes my cynical self goes something like this:
Good thing, JM is around - he goes on Soul Searchers and comes back with bags of knowledge so you don't have to. Of course, I chide this part of myself and retort, that really what JM is doing - and kindly so - is to provide a soundtrack to life, not so much his, exclusively, but  - since we are all experiencing basically the same thing - a large portion of "us".

Coming to think of it - I am not a musician, I am a language person, so the notes and riffs and the whole composition which I am sure are fascinating, are way beyond me.
But still I believe JM is a poet, too. In the literal sense of the word.
Is that too much?
Not sure.
Am I singing praises where they are not deserved?
No clue.
What I know is that his words - and I know, too I am mixing metaphors here - think of it as COLLAGE - are like snapshots.
And WHAT do you mean by that, Ms.? Pray, tell!
Well. He highlights a mood, a feeling/emotion - a quick observation, a hint of something, nothing lasting, just a thought. And that is what photographers do, right?
Both capture something. Something intimate. It's like looking at the world through their eyes. Cliché, I know. Can't think of a decent metaphor. Am not Alexander Pope after all. So there.

 - FIFTH BEAKER - I would like to mention this, Void, and though I know you are as unforgiving and uncaring as ever and in ANY way possible, I am STILL recording it!
... for posterity... or whatever. That is a contradiction in terms I know... but hey it is New Year's Eve and I am on my fifth beaker.

I have lost my train of thought completely - not that it was ever there... mark that down to beakers and heavy drinking. So sorry.

I was - in fact - advised to take up drinking to get myself in the proper creative mood. If writing would not come - and I think it was meant as if Creativity is reluctant  - then "seduce her by all means possible".
I believe that was to say: Take charge. Get drunk if need be and coax her out.
Her?
Her?!
Anyway - a healthy drinking habit is said to have been beneficial to many a literary endeavour. Not so much the liver, mind you.
But! This is a story for some other time.
It's a good one.
It's Christmassy and all in the "Spirit of the Holiday" and "Good-will-toward -men (and women, clearly)-malarkey.

Back to Mr. John Mayer. Who is as flawed as the next person. So?
I think what really matters and is the only thing that should matter - since he is a songwriter and musician first and foremost - that he has an ear as well as an eye - and perhaps, most of all, he has a heart.
'coz it takes a heart to be bothered in the first place.
By the every-day. By the minutiae of a so-called ordinary life. By the insecurities of growing-up. By Love. By breaking-up. By Not-knowing-what-the-hell-to-do-with-the-rest-of-your-life. The list goes on.
JM is a archivist. A diarist. A snap-shot-taker, for lack of a better word.

For some reason I am a little worried that he might be offended, arguing that it takes so much more than just clicking the button in the right moment. His recording is both a challenge of words and of notes and keys. And while writing that I am not even sure what that means.
I think it tries to touch upon the fact that both lyrics as well as music are involved in this particular artistic process.
Be that as it may, in cometh the laywoman:  - Both are a kind of a language, right?

Are You Surprised? I Know I'm Not

Ah, more cynical ramblings? More insights that come way too late?
Void - I am on my, I believe, fourth BEAKER of red wine today.
So I WILL ramble some more.
I WILL ...

...perhaps I will not necessarily be insightful. Other people, cleverer people have got there first, have done it so much better - and apparently that is what New Year's Eve is all about, right?
So, bring on the lists and the reminiscing and the whishes for 2014.
But not here. No siree!
Do feel free to consult your favourite browser for the awesomeness, the shitty-ness, the I-cannot-believe-this-is-happening (-to-me----again)-ness of the dying year. Take the time to be reminded of all that has happened. I am sure there were some big things.
Still, I am equally sure that everyone's very own, very special moments should be given full attention and consideration. So, take a minute and think back on what has happened to YOU and only YOU. I am not sure but if everyone took this minute to simply concentrate on themselves WITHOUT the impulse of taking a selfie or changing their status on fb. DO NOT SHARE. Just take stock and keep it secret and smile a little, or be a little sad, consider the changes and what they have done to you as a being.
Now, would that not be something...

I myself have done some impromtu, spirit of the moment clear-out-thing. I have packed away the first Christmas ornaments, would you believe it. Me - for whom the Season To Be Jolly could not start soon enough...
Well, I am now in the Season of Clearance and Being-Organised.
It is usually a short one, do not worry.

Clearing out. It's a lovely little thing to do. It's especially great on New Year's Eve. You can pretend you are going to be so much more ...whatever "next year" BECAUSE you have made a start in the old year already. It is also a good way of distracting yourself that you are on your own on this night of .... what.... Change?
Come one, who believes that? Naturally we are all hopeful - after all, one bloody year over and done with AND added bonus: we have survived.
We have survived the good, the bad, the ugly. Feel free to fill in the blanks... I know I will - and I will not even have to use my imagination.

Alas, I was wrong.
A-gain.
Boys ARE stupid. Throw rocks at them.

#dng_tees

Fidgety. Nervous. AND DON'T TELL ME PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE!