There's Always More

You know how people say that one should travel light. 

I believe this to be true for both actual travelling and living. 

Note: before moving, do clear out your belongings. Because it is a known fact that if the burden is too great you will find yourself not actually moving at a noticable speed or worse, not at all. In live and on a journey. I am sure you have experienced one or the other at one stage in your life. 

Ah, but now for the moment of truth. 

For the past few years I have thought myself as someone with few possessions. I have considered myself as living light - at least in comparison to other people I know who own flats, whole houses, cars, holiday homes, stock bonds, pets... you name it. But in the cold light of day and with boxes waiting to be packed I have reached a grim conclusion. That which seemed straightforward and manageable now blatantly spells chaos. It is cumbersome and messy. 

In short I am not a fan.

I remember the days when all my belongings would fit into the back of a Vauxhall. Come to think of it that was when I lived in furnished rooms in flatshares, so I am not sure whether that counts. 

But as the years roll on and by you find yourself buying sofas, a bigger closet, more book shelves etc. 

And that is when you usually realise a) you are getting old (because let's face it who in their right mind buys a sofa when they are twenty-something. I was able to prolong that particular moment until I was thirty-odd years of age and I must say I am proud of that!) and b) that the older you get the more things you accumulate for the sake of comfort apparently. 

So far I have managed to stear clear of the possibly inevitable kitchen purchase, Lady Luck was on my side where washing machines and hoovers were concerned, I have always lived with someone who owned these things and was willing to share. 

But oh, how the mighty have fallen... at some point in the not so distant future I will have to consider these household appliances in earnest and make a decision - however, I will cross that bridge once I get there. Until then I shall carry on with my borrowed and inherited bits and bops. 

If need be I can get by on very little. And the way it looks right now, this theory will soon be tested. 

Haven't you heard, I am facing two months of having to pay rent x two. Plus the actual move, plus plus plus - do I really have to spell it out - it is going to cost me an arm AND a leg. 

On the other hand: less money, less stuff to cram flat with. 

P.S.

I know... This could be my Post-Move Fast.

 

Only set-back: it's going to take longer than 40 days.  

Life In A Box

First boxes are packed.
One set of curtains is being washed.
Had a good old clear-out..
All in all it's going well.

Bit of a sore back, though.

I must say I feel proud of myself and generally pleased with my life right now.
Because it needs to be considered that this is the first proper flat I am moving into all by myself. So far I have had what feels like 50 flat shares. I lived with girls and boys, just boys, just girls.
And now it's going to be just me. YAY ME!

I have weaned myself from "we" and have now reached a mostly healthy "me".

Ever noticed how one area of your life can be a metaphor for another?
My housing situation, my looming move, seem to mirror my personal life, i.e. I am clearing out and starting afresh. I am moving away from the past, from what has been. Sure enough I will be taking parts with me but mostly I will move on. That is the plan.

I have just been for a little walk and I have noticed - not for the first time, mind you - that ever since I've found that cosy little new place I have been saying goodbye to my neighbourhood. I cherish my morning walks to work, trying to memorise the houses, the trees, the shops, the quirks of this part of town. I trace and re-trace the routes, places and spaces that are soaked with memories of days gone by. That have silently witnessed brief moments of happiness, wonder and surprise, that have seen me in despair, without hope, that have felt my heart ache and that caught the tears. There are tiny pieces of me left here and there. Nothing big, nothing world-stopping, nothing extraordinary. Just a few years of my life, a handful of memories, the good, the bad, the ugly... that is how it is. And always.

It is good that I am moving on. It is time.

And it is Spring. I have been told that is when life starts over, full of hope, full of faith.

Moving On

Will be signing lease contract for new flat soon.
"Being over the moon" does not even begin to cover it.

In With The Good

... And The New And The Exciting.
Oh, I have had delightful news this week.
More soon.

Could It Be Magic

Looked at flats.
One of them could be my new haven.
If all goes well...

A kindly friend picked me up to look at them together. All afternoon I had been super nervous.
It was like final exams all over again. Sweaty palms, palpitations, queasy feeling in stomach area, you name it.
But I made it. And as a result may have found a little flat for little moi.
Of course the nerves had totally obliterated my ability to think rationally and clearly. Common sense was conspicuously absent, too. Thus, all I managed was to squeak out questions in between gasps of delight and wonder. Not necessarily the right kind of questions, the ones any sane person would come up with. Like what about the deposit, what about the estate agent's fee? The list goes on, believe me.
Hey, cut me some slack!
I viewed a newly refurbished decent-sized flat with a big kitchen, a PROPER bathroom and CENTRAL heating! I have been living on a building site the past couple of months http://somethingstartsnow.blogspot.com/2011/12/war-zone-and-fa-la-la-la-la-la-freakin.html ? Not to mention: http://somethingstartsnow.blogspot.com/2012/02/winter-of-my-discontent.html !
I COULD NOT HELP MYSELF!
It was a bit like leaving the Cookie Monster unsupervised. In a shop. With cookie jars. Full of delicious, still warm chocolate chip cookies. And the chocolaty bits are sticky and soft and ... alright, you get the idea.

Anyway, all I am saying is:
Fingers crossed!
And even though the Void does not have fingers, forget about opposible thumbs, I would like to think that IT does IT's special magic-y thing to help me out.
All in the name of the greater benefit of the universe, of course.
Haven't you heard - happy me, happy u-niverse.
It's that simple.

No, really - I would love for this to go right. REALLY VERY MUCH (and, yes I know I am using a LOT of capitals today. It's just to show just how important this is to me, in case it had slipped anyone's notice).

And if you can be grateful in advance, then I am herewith.
VERY!
Cooper, watch out!

Out With The Old

Cleaning, yet again. After two weeks of builders trudging in and out of my flat and me spending my weekends cleaning up a little as best as I could, the building work seems done and all is left for me is . . . yup, cleaning.
Am on hands and knees to get paint and mortar off floor. Super fun!

I do not consider this spring cleaning.
A) Spring has not yet come and no, a day of mild weather DOES NOT count!
B) Really, what would be the point? I shall not turn this place upside down just so that I can move out in a few weeks (fingers crossed).

No! I have decided I shall live in a tip. I shall let things fall where they fall and not give a damn.
Personally I would really like to mess this place up. But time is short and I would need a bit of time to plan and then for that plan to be put into action.

I cannot just go and get a blow torch. That would certainly look too suspicious.
Plus, where would be the fun in that?! It would be over too quickly.

I was more thinking along the lines of leaving things to rot underneath the floorboards, getting vermin to shack up in this place, eventually taking over the whole house. HA!

Sorry, my mind just does that sometimes. It goes creepy places.

Of course, I am not going to do any of the above.
And I will NOT turn into a horder in the next couple of weeks.
Though, sometimes I do feel like that.
I mean, the things we keep. Jeeez.
The clothes we have not worn for years.
The books we will never read.
The music that we do not listen to and never will.
The papers/magazines/newspaper articles we do not throw out.
The bits and bops we have cluttering up surfaces.
And by we I really mean I.

Funnily enough though, I am not generally obsessed when it comes to keeping things. I like to clean out once in a while.
I can let go (apparently much better where objects are concerned) and throw away. I do not feel remorse and end up digging through the garbage trying to retrieve that one special piece I cannot ever part with. It just so happens that between the cleaning sessions I manage to get so much STUFF.

So I will use this opportunity - certainly a good idea with a move looming on the horizon - to sort and sift through the things that have accumulated.

Ah, but there is always a BUT: occasionally it happens that I do find myself entering into a bit of a frenzy. I almost cannot seem to stop. It has never got too bad, but I am worried. And I also ask myself - if the urge to do something - like cleaning out one's life and all that is connected - is so strong should one not do it as thoroughly as possible?

I know, suddenly the phrase throwing one's life away gets a whole new meaning, huh?

I suppose it would be interesting to find out what I can and cannot do without.
I am sure there are a great many things in my life that are a waste of space, a waste of energy.

Would you believe it, while the thought is so very much intrigueing, I am too scared to act accordingly.
Like the rest of us, I cling to certain "security blankets".
And though I am a grown woman, I am not woman enough to loosen my grip. To actually disengage from superficial comforts, from naff habits, from a life-style that is costing too much and is still not enriched.

Which brings us back to cleaning out. Come to think of it, really fasting is another way of cleaning out.
But does it work in the long run?
Not sure, apparently that depends on how thorough and not least disciplined you are.
And if it doesn't... well, there's always next year, right?


So for me it's one OR the other. Two things at a time - never a good idea.
And, surprise, I choose cleaning.
Seriously, you DO NOT want to get or see me fasting (tell you what though, be grateful you are spared and while you're at it put that on your Cooper-List).

My life will be clutter-less.
And I stubbornly believe that it will eventually rub off on me and make me want to live and eat healthier.


... yeah, and pigs fly.

No Such Thing As Too Much

No, I have not yet had my first ice cream this year. But I have seen a few people with cones in their hands, indulging in the cool sweetness, despite the weather.

In my humble opinion, ice cream is an all-year-round thing. To be enjoyed at all times, in all season. 

Of course, there are those who believe, ice cream is a summer affair, something to look forward to, something that comes round once a year like Christmas or Easter. Fools, I say. Ice cream never goes out of fashion or taste and why in hell would I want to wait until Summer?! The pleasure of ice cream cannot be spoiled. It is always at least as great as the last time, even if the last time was just an hour ago.

And yes, we can add that to my list of sins. I am a glutton for ice cream. There were times when I would have ice cream for breakfast on Sundays. I forget the name but it was vanilla with a layer of home-made raspberry jam on top. Courtesy of Eis Christina, of course.

Why am I remembering this? Because it stems from a time when I was very foolish. Not so much where my eating-habits were concerned, but my taste in men. 

And the memory of that particular brand of bad taste does not seem to go away. No matter how many times I try to cleanse my palate, there is always this slight bitterness at the back of my mouth. Did I say slight? Nonchalant, but inaccurate. That whole sorry chapter of my life just lets me wonder again and again where the hell rational thought and sanity were hiding out during that time. 

I said last month I would like to cut out that part of my memory and basically make the whole thing undone. 

And I still feel that way. I regret not being stronger and walking away sooner from a coward of a man, a silly and selfish human being unable to share, unable to be honest, unable to speak their mind or even speak UP, a weak and sorry figure that I should never ever have allowed into my life in the first place. 

But I also wonder what I may have learned from that experience. Apart from hating that person's guts and being a little worse for wear, apart from the usual anger.

I have no idea. I am lost for words. And that is saying much coming from a verbose person. 

I refuse to believe that Eis Christina is spoiled for me now. That eating ice cream is spoiled for me now, too. 

Well, if it comes down to that then so would be A LOT of things. And then I might just as well just give up and die. 

Ah, but I can't. 

There is still so much more venom to be spread.


P.S. If I was ever made into a comic book heroine I want to go by the name of Bitter Almond and if I had a choice, my gal pals'd be Miho and Maya.

Like Totally

Young folks of today are too much for me. Really.
I cannot decipher their cryptic messages when they try to interact socially. Actual face-to-face talk.
Conversations with phrases and words, mumblings, utterings. Vocal-chord action, dude. Not so sure they have ever heard of that. And yeah, it's redundant to blame it on the whole social media fad. Though, one must wonder - is it really still a fad, was it ever? Is it here to stay, was it always? I don't know, maybe in a few years, some crazy kid will come up with something that requires keeping shtum, saying nothing about oneself or others and just being, getting on with one's life without making a big fuckin' to-do about it.
So both on- and off-line I am not sure I get them.
Perhaps that just means I am getting old and too lazy to learn anything more. But I sometimes catch myself being so bloody grateful for not having to be 17 again, and in this day and age at that. God, all that awkwardness, the insecurities.
Living at home!

Then again, apart from not living at home and having a few things sorted out - awkward moments and insecurities are like friends you never wanted, they stick around.
But despite the occasional moan and whine about the good old days and youth and looks, despite the occasional awkward moment and the doubts, I am more often than not relieved that I seem to have gained some experience, some calm and some strength which allow me to get on with it and let me be resigned, and contentedly so, that I am not 17 anymore. Or 21 or whatever, dude. (Clearly, some being the operative word here.)

More astounding than the young folks in general, mind-boggling even, are the younger members of the opposite sex. Not that I was ever any good at reading a man's mind, his thoughts, should he have any. Chances are that I get even worse the younger they are. But what is it with their inability to shut the heck up?! I don't mind friendly banter, even witty flirting. But "too much information", too much talking - not so much. Seriously, if I want to chat, I go online - they of all people should understand that.
Perhaps it's just age and having been there already and having heard it all before and having been impressed once but not anymore by their little sad stories and their antics and their adventures and how they are so misunderstood.

Sometimes though - rarely, admittedly - they surprise you. No matter what age.
They seem thoughtful. And pensive. Focused. In a good way. Surprisingly so. Ah, but there it is, that word seem. Alright, I am rambling. Could well be that I have gained less experience than I thought. Could be that I am still as inept at getting male signals right as I ever was. Maybe I am simply not seasoned and wise.

Only problem is, experience or no, when you get it all wrong at 36 you feel just like the fool you were at 17. Personally, I very much try to avoid that. Without much success evidently.

But I am not going to order my tombstone any time soon or take up knitting or some other such nonsense.
So, more silly antics of a silly lady.
I had to stop for a second and think whether I could get away with writing "young" lady. I am not sure. But "middle-aged" seems utterly wrong, too and out-dated and frankly like a spinster from a Jane Austen novel. Well, in her day and age I would have been.

Oh dear lord...

The Winter Of My Discontent

Just got home...
to find my toilet completely unconnected from the main water pipe...

Dear Void, please DO give me the strength to stay calm.
Furthermore, PLEASE let my landlord find a qualified water/drain/pipe guy who can fix this. And fix it yesterday.
Also, I would like you, darling Void, to point me in the direction to understanding WHY THE FUCK ME AGAIN????

It's Friday.
I have a flat that is still missing wallpaper, paint, tiles (don't get me started!) and...oh yes, a flippin' loo that works.
I have had a week of builders walking in and out, the rooms I can live in look like a horder's den, boxes and stuff everywhere. I am basically living out of a suitcase. Every morning I carry my toiletries around like I'm on a bloody camping site.

I must say I have been pretty darn patient and graceful about all of what's been going on lately.
But this is really taking the biscuit... I have no rising-above left in me.
I HAVE NO TOILET!

Not sure whether to laugh or cry.

Did I mention that the flat-hunt is not going too well.

So, happy freakin' weekend to all!

P.S. Dear Mr. Cooper, what do you suggest I put on that gratitude list for today?

F(requently) A(ttempted) Q(uest)

I fail regularly at being the bigger, the better person, at indeed rising above.
I much rather go for mean-spirited and petty, resentful and unforgiving.

Thus reads today's thought bubble: When is a good time to let go of one's negativity?
(Oh, I know Deepak's answer to that. And I can already hear the Void's utter silence.)

I am asking nevertheless, how can I possibly let go and forgive/forget when so much is left unsaid?
This is indeed about unfinished business and I feel like I am stewing. I need to get this off my chest at some point.
Having said that, there is the argument to be made that there is no point, the conversation (as all the conversations in that particular chapter of my life) would be a one-way street, pointless to go into it, you cannot (re-)turn.

But perhaps I need to let go of those thoughts despite the silence at the other end and the incomprehension and the failure to be sorry and mean it in order to let go of all the bad I have accumulated inside of me. The rage. The grudge. The hate.

Talk about saving yourself, huh? Frankly, I don't have time to wait for divine retribution. Could be I missed it, could also be it never comes.
And clearly, I am refering to the other party here who should be paying a little for a change, not me, because, believe you me, I have had MY share, thank you very much!

But that is also the dilemma right there - while I want to be free of my pain, I want to inflict it on others. I want to spread it around, because I find it unbearable.
Alright, honestly - it's not so much others, it is one person in particular.
We all know how it goes.
You hurt me, I hurt you back. It's like the Mafia.

Note to myself: must watch "Godfather".

And NO!, I am not going to send him a horse's head.
Where in hell would I get a horse's head, for crying out loud?! Yellow Pages?
It is tempting, though. REALLY tempting.

Also I am not turning into Ms Close 'round Fatal Attraction.

I just have a lot of delayed rage, that is all.
And that does not make me of unsound mind.


I was just asking a simple question...

It's The Little Things

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

Home Is...

Some progress on the home-front. Praise the Void.
Once more I have had strange men in my flat. Fear not. All professionals of the building craft.
Waterpipes have been changed, would you believe it.
The corridor is now "plus ceiling".
Walls still pretty much the same, i.e. they do not bear looking at or writing about.

Flat-hunt: not going too well.


Am determined to stay optimistic.

Need I Say More

All is well. Eis Christina is open again.

Thinking, And Thinking Hard...

So I have not written for a couple of days...
So what?
It's not like The Void cares.

Besides it seems as though Winter has finally understood his job description and is now officially getting on with it. Hurrah!
Though THAT means, it's almost too cold to think. And therefore, today's thought-bubble is rather empty I'm afraid.

My suggestion: do your own thinking!
Or if you're The Void: don't give a crap about somebody else's musings for a change.

By All Means Necessary

I just liked the caption and wanted to see what it looked like.

Tuesday's usually the day in the week when you experience hope and despair at kind of the same time.
Hope that it is almost Wednesday which means mid-week, which means one day away from Thursday and THAT usually means the week is basically over.
Despair at the fact that it's only been Monday and the whole week is still kind of in front of you.
In such moments I do what is rarely done by people like me: I concentrate on the positive. I stay hopeful.
And what can I say: sometimes it actually works.

Point being? There is no point. I have decided that today's thought-bubble will not be empty for a change, but it will be pointless, meaningless, a bit of a waste of space. I am writing just to be writing something.
I am doing finger-exercises. (I realise it sounds vaguely dirty but believe me it's not.) In public.
Well, as public as the Void ever gets.

Wisdom

Wisdom does come in all sorts of shapes and sizes but I happen to know that it never comes tailor-made for just you. You have to make your own adjustments, take a bit off here, stitch in a little there. Make mistakes and bad choices, be a little happy, be a little sad, win some, lose some . . . All that will change your perception, it will enlighten you. The stitches and cuts you make are the path you take at the crossroads in life, they may be straight, they may meander and de-tour this way and that. They’re different with each and every one of us. Because we all are unique in our perception of life, in our wisdoms, in our experiences that shapes us.

In the end you will have your unique sageness, your very own savvy. It will be your wisdom in your shape and in your size. That is not something that comes ready-to-wear. It’s something that needs work, a lot of it and years of practice.

Blessed Are The Merciful

... for they will be shown mercy, according to Matthew. 
While I am not at all knowledgeable on all things Bible and have my quarrels with the Church, I have been known to ponder on occasion the idea of what makes a good person, not a good Christian, mind. 
Ms Kaine has some interesting points http://bibleunlocked.blogspot.com/2010/03/blessed-are-merciful-for-they-will-be.html - which almost had me convinced that I should look into Christianity more. But somehow I was saved from myself. It must have been a miracle, I guess. 
Then again, I really should keep my mouth shut about something I know so little about. 
What I do know, though, is that when I was a little younger and even more naive than now, I used to look down on people who only go to church on Christmas. I really thought I had a right to judge because I was such a wonderously steadfast church member and so dedicated at that. 
Seriously, I should have been given a proper slap for thinking that and holding myself in such high esteem, that's what should have happened. 
But it didn't. 

So nowadays I am just glad that I overcame that supercilious foolishness and furthermore I am grateful (listen to this, Brad!) that I have not turned into some bible bashing anti-abortionist, gay-hating creationist or whoever is out there these days that calls for various good slaps on their behinds.
The irony of it all is, I HAVE turned into one of those people that only go to church on Christmas. Because I simply do not care. Because I am a godless person leading a profane and empty life revolving around money and pettiness and ungratefulness and bickerings, grudges, greed, anger etc. etc. Yup, that is me. Thankfully not the Whore of Babylon, but not a Virgin Mary either. Just your friendly neighbourhood sinner.

How can I not care when my soul is on the line? Easy - I just don't. At least not because the Bible, or the Church, is telling me to. 
I believe there is a God without churches, temples, mosques. I believe there are good and kind people without ten outdated commandments, I believe that open-mindedness goes a long way. I also believe that patience is needed. With others and with ourselves. 
A friend of mine used to remind me that I needed to be kind to myself in order to be kind to others and that if I could not be kind to myself how could anyone else be. 
Ms. Kaine gets that. 

I am just hoping that the reverse of Matthew's musings is not necessarily true. (Something nice and pithy along the lines of Cursed be the Cruel etc.)
God could not possibly be okay with that. From what I have heard, He and His Son are big on forgiveness and patience, especially with the ones that deserve it least. 
Well, I am no God, oh boy, and don't I know it. In fact I am/we are all too human. 
And therefore, I do not feel bad for saying the following (again): 
I am all done with rising-above. 
I have phantasies of putting someone through hell and back. 
I wish agony and fear on someone. 
In fact, I rue the day I have ever met this someone. 
So much so, that I would like to cut that part of my memory out and burn it and scatter the ashes. 
And the reason I am writing this is to show how very un-Christian I am, but also how very, very human. 

When you're in love you'd do a lot for the one you're with, all's pure bliss (until it isn't, of course), and indeed the world seems made for two.
Lana was right.  
But even more so was William Congreve: 

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned, . . ."

Damn straight!

Monday Night Rant

So, Video Games pretty much sums it up, does it not.

The Things We Do For Love, as 10CC had it.

Every little thing we do is intended for that one we cannot seem to do without, whose presence makes us happier, shinier, brighter, makes us just about everything but a million times better than normal.

Us with the boobs, yeah – we are real suckers for this – and Lana’s spot on: we do put on his favourite perfume, his favourite dress, we makes ourselves pretty, we doll ourselves up, we wax and pluck and buff ourselves. So we can get screwed into submission…

Ah, I’m sorry. Feeling a bit dark today. 

In Love With Lana

Every single time Lana Del Ray's Song Video Games comes on I catch myself feeling wistful.

This is not a complaint.
It is a simple statement of fact. Video Games makes me remember and wish for times gone by.

So, in good old Bradley Cooper Fashion, I shall be grateful to Lana. For conjuring up such vivid pictures of the past. For calling the ghosts. For making my heart ache a little, for making me laugh at silly antics that seemed long forgotten.
She also put her finger on something that to everyone else must have been and probably IS so damn obvious but I have - once again - been in the dark for what seems my whole life.

I am not done yet but too tired.
So, more soon

I've Been Wrong Before

The period of nine months seems like a good amount of time for development.

Think human babies. 

Well, today I personally am thinking less babies and more personal growth. 

Whatever.
I, too, have had nine months. 

I have not done very well, though.

I have lost that competition if there ever was one.

I have lost to any fetus that has made it out of the womb alive. 

Wow, that really makes me feel special. 

In these nine months, I have not been able to overcome personal challenges. I have not been able to be kind, forgiving.

I am still holding a grudge (it actually should be GRUDGE, sorry to be picky) against a person in my life. I still want to hurt them and hurt them bad. I still have not moved on. I have actually RETURNED from the Land of the Sane and Balanced and I feel like I am now Carrie at the prom.

I also have the suspicion that grudges grow over time despite popular religious belief. Time does not heal all wounds. What utter crap! 

I have tried to forgive and forget. I can't. It does not work. Simple as that. 

I am not the bigger person.
I am not the calm one.
I am not forgiving as it turns out. 

Well, at least I know that much about myself now. That is what I have learned in my nine months of gestation. More like Jest-ation. Whatever... 

So I was thinking perhaps the Void can take care of this. 

If the Void is as big as I believe it is, then it can handle this, no problem. Swallow the grudge and all the bad energy, all the destructive emotions - because frankly I cannot. 

Let's see how that goes...

What Trumps A Grudge

Tiredness
Tight Schedule, Thus NO Time

That's what.

A Word About High Heels

I have been on my feet for over 12 hours, 10 of them I have spent standing up, running around at work, walking from one job to the other, walking home (remember, I have two jobs now). IN HEELS!
On top of it all I was stupid enough not to bring flats to change into after work. Which made my walk home all the more pleasant.

Heels - so innocent looking in the morning. You feel like you can do anything in them. On top of that, they make you look feminine and sexy. It's something to do with the way we walk in heels.
's what I heard...
But come evening, not only do you want to rip off those damn spikes, NO, you want to cut off your feet altogether because they BURN like a mother... And there is no relief once you have taken them off - the shoes not the feet - it feels like you're still wearing them. The pain lingers. It feels like a slow smoldering fire.

It is torture. I mean it all starts out innocent enough. But is that not the way with most things dangerous to your health? There are VARIOUS reasons never to touch or rather wear heels again, from foot deformities to being incapacitated and basically being rendered a Damsel in Distress, precariously balancing across cobble stones, always on the verge of getting those heels stuck somewhere or snapped in two or breaking your ankle.

Yes, yes - I know I am a shallow, silly, foolish woman. I let my vanity get in the way.
All that pain for the ILLUSION of having longer legs, being taller. All that so I can seem a little seductive, a little in need of help and protection, a little more fragile.
I promise you this has ME cringing MORE than you right now. Because, believe me, I am perfectly able to look after myself. I sort out my problems, I know how to use a hammer and a power-drill, I do my own heavy-lifting, I don't have a fit if I break a nail. I get on with it.
That can be intimidating.
Apparently.
So every once in a while I bend over backwards trying to be less intimidating. Every once in a while I put on heels and I lie.
I lie about my height, the lenght of my legs, my posture, my need for protection, my self-dependence.

Usually all it does is get my feet super sore because I am not that good a liar about the rest. And there is only so much you can do about the way you are made in terms of physique and character. Sure, you can keep working at it to bring about change(s). Which would tie in nicely to the discussion of self-awareness and growth. But, that is not what we are here for today.
(Also I feel like I cannot constantly write about personal development and kindness and conscious living because a) I am so flippin' good at it that I would just make you jealous which would be mean and b) I do like to get my meaning across in a covert way, in metaphors, in allegories and therefore, there will be MORE little stories of my little life. The void will then chose just how much I have learned over time. It will never tell me of course. But now and then even the dumbest among us get an inkling, right. So there is indeed hope for the hopeless. And I am strictly speaking of myself here.)

But getting back on track and doing something about the way you look. There is only one thing I can say I believe to be true: If it starts to hurt at some point, either change the look or change yourself. And that all depends on how desperate you are. Sadly, I do get desperate. I AM desperate. I put on heels, I go on diets. I suck in my belly to fit into jeans and dresses and I dye my hair.

In the mornings, like the heels, this idea of changing who you are - even just for a little bit - seems great and promising.
Come night-time, not so much. You just feel sore and depleted. Because basically it's a lie. The heels and the  "new me".

Until the next time, right?

Less Is More

Looks like I will be working a bit more. Therefore, the writing will ... well, kind of grind to a halt.
Just saying.

The Fit Of The Land

I have all but forgotten about the Bradley-style list, my own attempts at gratitude and inner quiet, patience, kindness.
I mean, I have been banging on and on about it.
Sadly, I have to admit that I have not been very good with keeping the focus on myself and my thoughts in order to be a better version of myself, to be less rash and more balanced, more patient and indeed kind to my fellow men and fellowmaidens. (And yes, I know Fellowmaiden is a font and not really a term in the English Language used to designate female members of the populace, thank you.)

I seem to have got lazy. Side-tracked, complacent, generally not bovvered.


Shocking! I know! And we're only three weeks into the new year.
What is to become of my intentions which are neither good nor bad?
Clearly they're also neither here nor there.
A disappointing performance so far! But I shall not call this undertaking a failure. Yet. I treat this as a minor glitch. A hiccup. Plus, I blame it on the dark. The lack of Vitamin D makes us all feel worse for wear.
But to be perfectly honest, I do not really see myself pulling me out of this slump.
I need a trailblazer, someone who is willing to go that extra mile and take me along.
Some kind of improvement-buddy, I guess.
Preferably someone that fits into my jacket pocket and just nudges me gently when I threaten to fall back into nasty old patterns and habits. Right, not gonna happen.

Well, up to very recently I was very much opposed to the idea of sports in general and of jogging in particular and jogging in pairs made up a whole new category of hate.
However, I have now changed my tune slightly - maybe it's because every morning when I wake my body feels like it's turned 80 while I was sleeping - I can imagine now that a running partner may be a good idea in order to actually keep to the schedule of alotted training time as opposed to not going at all because of "generally not being bovvered"-ness.
You see, that is my problem right there. I am not bovvered. I get these pangs of guilt and frustration at how I look and I inadvertently reach the conclusion that I HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT. However: such insight never stays long. I suffer from Fitness Amnesia.
My enthusiasm and excitement usually fizzle out and I end up not sticking to schedules, diets, plans etc. (I did mention this before: I am consistent at one thing - giving up.)

So I keep thinking perhaps having a person that joins me in the effort might be a good thing.
The ideal jogging buddy would probably be my improvement buddy, too. (Jogging as one rung on the self-improvement ladder, see what I did there.)

Inner Monologue:
Me: I do believe, I need to be my own improvement buddy! I need to be my trailblazer.
Myself: Are you out of your mind?! Do I have to do everything around here?
Me: Think about it. I'd be perfect. I cannot stand the idea of having someone watch me cough up my lungs while trying to move at a pace that is not considered moseying. Much less do I cherish the thought of bouncy, fit Sporty Spice chatting incessantly without ever needing to catch her breath or considering to shut the hell up while I quietly sink to the ground and die from outdoors activity.
Myself: I shall not endorse this kind of thinking. I refuse to be my improvement buddy.
Me: Well, if it is not myself then I do believe we WILL have to get in the chatty road runner. It's one or the other.
Myself: (shaking her Magic Eight Ball): Concentrate and try again!
Me: I. Do. Believe. I. Need. To. Be. My. Own. Improvement. Buddy.
Myself: How's that gonna work?!
Me: Easy! It's gonna be me. But new and improved. And I shall get myself together and start over with this home-improvement.
Myself: It's called SELF-improvement, you div.

I know I have been talking about it a bit, the growing and the paying-attention and the being-grateful and what have you.
But for some reason I seem to suffer from all sorts of amnesia, i.e. I keep forgetting my plans, my resolutions, intentions, my little promises to myself and the universe - call them whatever you want - fact remains, I get so bloody caught up in ... well, stuff (which does not even bear writing about because it's so silly) that it all seems a giant waste of time.
So while I have a clear moment I shall propose this to the void (btw. the void has heard all of this before but kindly and patiently plays along - every single time - the void is officially kewl):
I need to make the conscious decision to change. It cannot be half-hearted or half-arsed, as it were.
And yes, my favourite: no one's gonna do it FOR me.
Oh, and the perfect time would be right now. (Always is for some reason.)
See! Easy! (Did I hear a chuckle just now?!)

But seriously, if I am not the one who looks out for ME, who gently reminds me of what I want to be in this here universe, who patiently puts me back on track then who in hell is going to do the job?!
I guess, I do have to do everything myself 'round here.

Is it not strange how often we say "Well, if I do it myself at least I know it is done properly" and how rarely we apply that to ourselves and our own personal growth?


On this note: be patient and gentle and kind - not least to yourselves!


P.S.
I could NEVER pay anyone enough to become my jogging buddy.

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?

So, Friday 13th, huh?!

Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining. It was yet another not quite so eventful day in my glitzy life.

Also I did not get run over, did not break a leg, did not even fall down the stairs for a change. Oh, didn't I tell you? Yeah, December was my Month of the Staircase. I managed to trip and fall down two of them. In two different locations with roughly two weeks between each occurance. Yeah, I'm thorough.


But today - not so much as a bump on the head... Ok, so I did spill my coffee...

But I was sort of expecting WAY WORSE and once you do that, everything that does go a little wrong usually seems silly and small.
I am not suggesting, however, that one should go about one's life expecting the WORST every single day, even though sometimes it may seem like a good idea.

I would love to write: NO! Go through life hopeful and with eyes open.
In fact, I write and say that often.
To other people.
To everyone but myself.

I blame it on the "standing too close" thing and the fact that one can give brilliant advise to others and analyse their problems and tell them everything is going to be just fine etc. but fail miserably in their own little scenarios called life.

Anyway, this was supposed to be just a quick note to say that I am very grateful.
For not much happening.




There, you see - Bradley's finally rubbing off on me. Ha!
Looks like Friday, 13th was actually good for something.

Too comatose t...zzzzzz

So, yesterday's entry was pretty pathetic.
I'm aware of that.
However, I just couldn't.

And I do not feel that much better today.
I feel lazy, tired, a bit drained. And therefore this will have to suffice for today.
Suffice?
Yeah, you know... to illustrate HOW pathetic I REALLY am.

I just want to go and lie down somewhere. Anywhere.
Honestly, I feel like I have some weird form of either hybernation syndrome or chronic sleepy condition - neither of which exists but it feels like I SHOULD have them.
Why? Because I need to have some kind of excuse for this state of mine.

Maybe I'm just getting old...

Or maybe after the Season-To-Be-Jolly there is the Season-To-Be-Dozy. And boring.

Not sure what this means.
Must keep track.
And go to bed early for a change, stupid!

Too. Bloody. Tired.

Really?

When I came out of work this evening, I heard blackbirds singing. No shit. It was wonderful.

Is this Spring sending a little Singing Postcard?
It's January, for crying out loud. Shouldn't Spring be resting or something instead of showing off like that? Why waste energy before the actual fun starts? Or is Spring rather a spritely fellow who likes to tease us?

But oh, that little glimpse of what it will be like in a few months was . . . hopeful, inspiring, beautiful.

Really!

And Just When You Thought

Did I really say "Why bloody bother?" yesterday?

I did, didn't I. But not before I had a little rant about trying to bring on change WITHIN me and failing.

And POOF - there magically appeareth wisdom in the shape of Mr Pinto on http://intentblog.com/transformations/ and sets me straight once more. But probably not once and for all.

Can I just point out that we are again treading the floors of the house of Impatience. It's where I live in case you had not noticed. It's where I stomp my feet and yell at the top of my lungs BUT I WANT IT NOW! So it was this time with trying to achieve the brilliant feat of (drumroll!): becoming a better person in just 10 hours.

And yes, I KNOW - change does not come easy and despite popular belief kindled by all things advertising it DOES NOT come over night!
Yet do I take a deep breath and stay centred and aware of my actions, words, and thoughts and thus go about my day? Doing so in the knowledge that I will not master this kind of behaviour any time soon but shall persevere nonetheless?

Hello?! Of course not.
I rush right in like a proper fool, as it were. And like a fool I get ahead of myself and at the end of the day I - yup, that's right, like a fool - wonder at myself when I look at the day gone by and find so many moments I could have reacted, behaved differently. Sometimes I cringe.
Ok, I cringe a lot actually.

Perhaps I should wear a sign that asks the innocent passer-by: Please tell me to bite my tongue.
Oh, I hear vows of silence are back in vogue. Boy, I REALLY should get one!

But back to Mr. Pinto and Transformation. One cannot help but feel that it all sounds familiar, that one actually knows these things somehow, almost instinctively. Not because it's trite but because (and here I go again) in our darkest heart of hearts we know this. Still, the simplicity in which he explains what happens with us in times of personal change I find quite touching. It's also a little frightening. But again, I do believe that's to do with the fact that deep knowledge, perhaps long denied, is surfacing. If it is not pushed down again, for convenience's sake and because we do not truly wish change to come.

The fact that I know about my impatience while lacking awareness in the moment when I am getting frantic/edgy/antsy/brusque even, paired with the feeling of remorse for certain things said/done/thought,does tell a simple tale. The tale of the quick fire gun. As long as I behave like one such thing I will inevitably limit myself, my possible outcomes, I may jeopardise my ability and that of others to grow and learn and fulfill my/their potential.
Because clearly you cannot un-shoot a gun, you cannot put the bullet back into the barrel, can you now.

(Does visualisation work? Anyone?)

So, Pinto writes that transformation can only happen when one is ready to leave the past behind and "begin anew". Bringing about change within yourself, in your way of thinking and behaving, putting yourself in situations/positions you have never been in, would perhaps never have chosen before. Looking at the world through different eyes.

And so I seem to be stuck in a bit of a rut with my impatience-thing - it's perhaps a bit of a crutch you could say - as long as I can blame my impatience, I don't have to face change. I can simply rely on that to provide an excuse so I don't have to change myself, to strive for a different way of life.
Or in other words - the House of Impatience has become rather comfortable over the years. Too much so.

Question is, will I make my way out in time, or will I not even find the bloody door?

Well, here's what I think is happening. I leave the House of Impatience regularly. Every day in fact. Some days I wander off for miles, like I never intend to come back. Some days I find it hard to actually walk through the garden gate and never stray too far.

Perhaps what is needed - and THAT is indeed becoming a pattern in my life, too - is balance.
Holding not just "my" ground but a healthy middle ground between my weaknesses and strengths. And with a bit of practice and luck and patience and goodwill maybe I even find that what I thought was "bad" is not really but just something that helps me change. And if I really go all out then perhaps I can even try to be thankful for the blessings that have not yet come to pass.

Oh go on then, the ones in bloomin' disguise, too.

Before I Forget

I DID break one of the glasses I was drinking from on New Year's Eve.

Yup, I could blame a whole lotta things on that one glass, couldn't I.

Now there's a thought...

The Old Me

Let me say this:

It did not go as well as I had planned.

It is flippin' hard work and I slipped several times. In fact, I don't think I did any good today. Nor did I make a person happy. At least not to my knowledge.

That makes ME very UNhappy.

Am contemplating whether I am therefore a BAD person. Or just not very good at changing my wicked ways.


How come that for all the good I tried to do today I feel miserable and a bit like I failed?
(And yes, I do know the saying about the road to hell etc.)

I think I know why people rarely change - it's such hard work is why - and you're NEVER done.
So why bloody bother?

New Week Here I Come

I call it the PKG project.

I shall endeavour to be patient, kind and gracious toward my fellow men.

I shall endeavour to be patient, kind and gracious toward my fellow men. 

I shall endeavour to be patient, kind and gracious toward my fellow men. 

I shall endeavour to be patient, kind and gracious toward my fellow men. 

(Admittedly, a bit awkward and long for a mantra. Memo to self: come up with something pithy next time!)




P.S. Deepak keeps telling me to make at least one person per day happy. How do I know I have achieved that, though? I am not likely to be able to check that, right?

Yeah, Deepak - how do you suggest I count?!

Only one week into the new year and I have come to the conclusion that I am EVERY bit as bad and slovenly and gluttonous as last year. So sorry to all those list-writers and thank-you sayers, to the breathers and relaxers, the yogis and the gurus, the hopers and whishers, the aware and the enlightened. I suppose the LIST goes on . . .

Resolutions? Bite me!

I suppose one could now say: The year is but young. You simply slipped a little.
Nu-uh. I never thought I'd say this ever but here goes: What I have started I shall finish.
I rarely stick to anything but I do have a habit of giving up. I believe I can stick to that.

Good evening all.

Number 1

Ha, I just remembered.
On my way back home just now I did indeed see a 1 - one lady walked up to Eis Christina and tried to peek inside and then she checked the sign informing us all that they will re-open in February.

So that is my 1 for the day. And she seems to be as impatient as I for the ice cream parlour to open its doors once more. She, too, may be counting the days. She, too, cannot wait to go up to the big window and place her order like a kid. And then like a kid enjoy the smooth, cold texture of chocolate or vanilla or whatever flavour your heart may desire.

Makes me smile just thinking about it.

Numbers and Windy Season

On my way to work this morning I saw 3  people eating bananas. I also spotted 2 Christmas trees being blown about. There were 4 magpies struggling to keep their place on a roof and believe it or not somehow I came across 5 road sweeps huddled together in a doorway enjoying their morning cigarette.

I wonder where number 1 got to.

Anyway, it's crazy windy. And I am loving it.
Bring on more wind, I say!
Blow away silly women's hats and umbrellas and twirl around plastic paper bags!
Make clouds woosh by!
Lift up coat tails and swoop under doors and howl!

I would love to be Wind in training. Or Wind Intern.
Just imagine the things you could do.
Would there be a promotion at one point to Storm Apprentice or something? Though I believe such promotions would come with anger management classes.

The Big Bang Theory

Can I just say this - to get it out of the way:

Flat hunting sucks. 


I have come to this eloquent and rather smart conclusion just hours after having started this quest.
Yes, I'm a quick study.

Furthermore, I am unsure what to make of years that start with a "BANG" (for more on that read yesterday's entry).
I wonder if it is healthy for one to "start with a bang" - does that not muddle you up for the months to come. One may never recover. And then what has one gained?! A burst eardrum and temporary insanity.
I should like to start leasurely. That is to say - I would have liked that very much.

BUT! Since yesterday morning THAT is all out of the window. And I feel like bloody Gretchen in Faust, with my "peace ... gone/My heart ... sore" - though not QUITE for the same reason to be sure. But still. I feel worried and harrassed. And nervous.

The Bang - and size does not matter - is not my favourite thing, I can tell you straight off the bat.
As I have tried to point out before in my postings I like to meander through life and let things happen. Ok, so that is a polite way of saying I am a passive scaredy-cat.
The Bang does not help with that. It tends to get me more edgy and not necessarily more effective.
The Bang tends to do to me what snakes do to little birds and rabbits before they devour them. It incapacitates me. I am still sort of reeling from the experience and from trying not to panic and keeping calm and staying positive and optimistic - ALL AT THE SAME BLOODY TIM E.

Over-reacting, who me?!

Alright, no points for guessing correctly that I am freaking out a little, that I am essentially in panic-mode. That I would like to run away from this and pretend that nothing has happened and that all goes on as before. "As you were, soldier!"

I know, so mature, right?!

I feel a bit like I have to have a solution by the end of the week.
I also feel that I am very slowly catching up to myself and while doing so realising that all will not be lost if I do not have a solution by the end of the week.
And I am beginning to breathe again more slowly. Heartrate's going down, too.

So, suppose I don't find a new place on the first day I have started looking - should that frustrate me? Ok, don't answer that.
What I am really trying to say is (to myself) - stop being so insanely impatient. If you can master that the panic will stop all on its own. What did I say yesterday about the deep dark places in our heart of hearts? - That is where we always know the answers to all our questions, even the silly ones.
Unfortunately, we chose to ignore this inate wisdom far too frequently. In my case that is the reason why I am panicky, the reason why I feel I need to be impatient.

I am a nervous person by nature. I scare easily and I remember the days of my flatshare-times when I would frequently jump up and nearly go into cardiac arrest because my flatmate (for crying out loud) walked into the room unexpectedly. She would then simply say: Remember me? I live here, too.
I also do not necessarily like surprises. (Get this though, I get easily bored.)
Thus, I believe I cannot help but getting a little worked up about stuff most of the time. Memo to myself: Start with those breathing exercises already!

So that has me thinking - is this "BANG" perhaps a blessing in disguise?

A colleague said something interesting today: perhaps it is now time to start looking for something new because now is also the time that something "just right for me" is out there.

Only one way to find out, right?

Deary Me

Did I mention that the flat is falling apart?
Well, it certainly FEELS that way.

My favourite person in the world right now (aka HE WHO CANNOT BE NAMED) is still too busy and important and generally too deluded to be bovvered and so I am STILL waiting for the things to come to pass, i.e. continuation of the "WORK" that NEEDS to be done, i.e. exchanging the pipes and putting everything back to normal . . like plaster and wallpaper on the walls and the ceiling where it belongs.

I have had a letter from the above mentioned BFF in the mail before New Year's. But I thought, screw this, I am not going to spoil my fun and read this letter before 2012 has even started.
(BTW, my FUN consisted of over-eating, watching a truck-load of DvD's and generally being a slob really. I was considering calling into being the Couch Potato Society with me as Chairwoman - or should that be Couchwoman?)

So when I finally opened said letter it contained an awfull lot of name-calling and threatening if you ask me and had me a little scared this morning before work. I am still in a state of mild shock I have you know...

I know I have said it before but now it rings truer than ever - I will be needing to look for a new flat. And soon by the looks of it. That is, the new flat should materialise soon. My looking for it should have started like 5 months ago - at least that is the conclusion I had to make when I took a tentative and very quick look on various property and rental sites.

Anyway - I have - ONCE AGAIN - been thinking and I do believe my refusal to follow in Bradley Cooper's footsteps or rather his example has set a few things in motion.
(Let me re-phrase: my seeming inability. There, that sounds much more co-operative. And if nothing else I am co-operative.)

What if the universe now thinks me an ungrateful bitch for real - after the bouqet-incident last week that is all the more likely - and has decided to send me a little lesson?!?!? In the shape of a nasty letter and the prospect of eviction and lawsuits and other jolly things.

What if my inability to be grateful and openly so has angered the... well whoever runs the universe these days?!

What if I kind of asked for this?!

And if not by being ungrateful then perhaps by my moaning  - and publicly so (WITH PICTURES for crying out loud) - about the flat.
Perhaps the Chief Universal Officer thought, well she does not like it there anyway so why not shape the events in such a way that she will HAVE to do something about it.


Do you not find it worrying that I have all sorts of explanations involving HIGHER POWERS for what I am experiencing? Should I not have understood by now that the events in our lives are brought forth by our own will, might and energy?
I get it, ok. I get that this MAY be the best thing that could happen, like a little nudge to get active and start searching for a new place to stay. So why am I ranting? (Good point.)

Well. because I often feel that I am not in charge of my life.
And I feel that I am still  - far too often if you ask me - quite happy to bum along, as it were.
And I feel that in effect I am passive and waiting for some outside impulse to trigger my action, or should that be re-action.
AND I feel that I should not be like this at the age of ... well, never mind.

That has me worried. Honestly.
And I ask myself WHY?!
Is it fear, is it chronic lazy-syndrome, is it, dare I say it, some kind of self-hate?


Well, this is not the time nor is it the place. But I dare not guess. And anyway, deep in your darkest heart of hearts you always know, don't you.

Back to the point and first things first: I will have to get my head around thinking about a new place for real. Which presents me with yet another "problem" - the issue of WHAT THE HELL do I want in terms of accomodation which then triggers the question of HOW AM I GOING TO AFFORD IT?!

You see, 2012 has started with a bit of a BANG.

As yet I have not been able to decide if it qualifies to be put on any kind of gratitude list.





I wonder if Bradley does How to-sessions? DIY - The Gratitude List. Hm...

That Thing Called Hope

I remember it very cleary. I know for sure that they said, hope never dies.
I hope I'm not wrong. (Get it?)

What if I simply misheard that. What if we all did...?!

I thought it would be fun to ponder for a minute - on the last day of the year, naturally - what if nothing really changed or changes AT ALL. (I am now starting to think in the direction of 'bad idea' and 'Fun... not so much!')

What if what I thought was change was just a minor glitch, a minor de-tour in my hum-drum life to trick me into thinking I have what they call glitz and glamour in my life. Alright, not so much that but rather direction and purpose?

Remember:   http://somethingstartsnow.blogspot.com/2011/11/coming-through.html

How come then that I feel rather deflated and - I know I should not say it - frustrated.
How come that what was good a mere 3 and a half weeks ago now seems jaded pleasures?

Sorry, I am out of answers, out of silly things to write, out of neuroticisms and dizzy tales.
And I certainly do not want to spread gloom.

So, here's to hoping and wishing!

Happy New Year to all and sundry

Channelling Lauren

So, guess what. The roses were not from Bradley.

What a shocker (yeah, tell me about it!)!

Who's the Mystery Man you ask? Heck, if I knew.

Still no clue.

"Am I bovvered, though?!"

Dilemma

No more roses. No cards.

So far. Pheww! Thank God!

It's not that I am TRYING to be ungrateful. Or weird.

It's just... it freaks me out, being sent stuff by strangers.

Stalkers? Ring any bells?

Not that I think myself of as a potential victim. But then who does BEFORE they are being stalked.

Over-reacting, me?

I just find it a weird thing to do - sending someone roses.
WITHOUT a note.
And clearly not knowing me at all. Because if they did, they'd known I am not that big on roses.
I mean are we women supposed to swoon over a bunch of roses?

I find the whole idea a little  - forgive me - tacky. And creepy. After all, I do not know by whom they were sent. Clearly, whoever that was has got something to hide.

Oh, so I am the callous one now? I am an ungrateful bitch? I do not appreciate this kind gesture?
And if not that then at least enjoy the pretty roses, woman!
Right? Is that what I should be doing?
And why is that, may I ask?
Because I've been given a bunch of roses I did not even ask for?

Now, hang on a minute - what is happening right now, right this minute in almost any city on the planet (o.k. spoilt first world)?
I tell you what: a majority of those who have received Christmas gifts are RETURNING them. Shock horror! Simply because they did not like them, they did not fit into them, they were simply WRONG. And I don't hear them apologising for their honesty and candour.

So why the Dickens can I not apply the same reasoning to those stupid roses?
I mean, it's not like I am actually returning them. (Now, that would be weird.)
I simply want to be able to say, I DID NOT LIKE WHAT WAS GIVEN TO ME!

Also: let me rephrase my earlier statement.
It looks very much like I am being purposely ungrateful. The reason for that is that I probably am. Being ungrateful.
Hm, I thought those days of having to say thank you to your smelly aunt for some silly jumper she sent you for your birthday were over. Clearly not. They haunt me to this day - and whatever I am given, my upbringing and social etiquette demand that I smile sweetly and show gratitude. (Ah, here we go again - Bradley and his gratitude. His comes in the shape of a list, did I tell you? http://somethingstartsnow.blogspot.com/2011/12/being-bradley-cooper.html
I bet he never got ANYTHING he hated. Well, not in the last 7 years, I suppose.)

But be that as it may, I am simply trying to ask the unaskable - why do I have to be delighted by something just because everyone else would be and just because it's NICE. I cannot agree to that. At all.
And I am sorry if my behaviour is hurting someone's feelings.

However, I do believe that in order to send a woman a gift, whatever it may be, which she may appreciate and which may show her the sender's admiration or AT LEAST attention to detail, you need to know her a little.
Random flowers are not going to do the trick. Just saying.

Plus I nearly poked my eye out with the greenery in the bouquet.
So there!

P.S. Maybe they are from Bradley Cooper. Hm, now that would explain a lot. He is clearly too busy compiling his gratitude list for properly paying any attention. The only thing he is paying is taxes. If that.

Wowzers

Guess what, I got a bouqet of roses. Actual long-stemmed, dark red roses. No card.

Secret admirer?
Super early Valentine's gift?

I have not the faintest.

Oh, and I nearly poked my eye out with a piece of decorative greenery just as I thought 'I am going to poke myself in the eye with one of these things, I will' and there....

Anyway, I lived.
And now I have a vase full of roses.

To be honest, I am not a fan of roses, especially not dark red ones, especially not the ones that do not smell.

But hey, it's a kind of gift-horse, right? So I won't. Look it in the mouth and all that.


Then again, it might just be one of my girl friends playing a joke on me.


So, no one's holding their breath in this flat, believe me.

Fa la la, la la la -freakin' la

Nothing feels more like Yule Tide Treasure than a flat after the builders have been. Believe me.
Joy To The World sort of sprang to mind but I could not quite get my nervous system to get over the urge to simply scream.

And as for decking the halls etc etc - well, there ain't much of a hall left, to be perfectly honest.

So I get home after work, the builders had left hours earlier and, well - the flat looks butchered like a body after open heart surgery. Read OPEN. It's a miracle my neighbours cannot wave to me through the ceiling. And the walls I am afraid to touch for fear the slightest impact sees them tumbling down.
Of course, people will say I exaggerate.

FYI - I have to live here and I feel like I have been permanently locked in a cellar that was once used as a bomb shelter in WW 2 - because that is what it bloody looks and smells like in my flat these days.



Not to mention the dust and the debris. AND the plaster that rains down as soon as somebody above me moves so much as an inch. Alright, my upstairs neighbour never really just moves an inch, he stomps around and is known to throw fits or tantrums or both on occasion. But that is another story. Anyway, there is a lot of plaster raining down in my flat.

But I digress . . . because the REALLY fabulous and thrilling news this week so far were this:

the work cannot be finished. Because there would be no point in drying up the walls and covering them up again and making everything look like sort of back to the way it was, since - wait for it - the leak in the upstairs drain is not fixed yet. It would be a waste of everybody's time and money, really, to fix the walls withouth having fixed the underlying problem, as it were.
Uh hm... I know. Me speechless, too...
My landlord, the DRIP, knew about having to change all the drains in this house for MONTHS. Why he decided to go about the whole thing backwards, I really cannot fathom.
Arrgh, it does not bear thinking about the whole sorry affair.

Basically my life looks like this right now: I work at a place that is still pretty much a building site. And BONUS! I come home to a building site. It's on a much smaller scale, of course. But that is beside the point really. Because everyone who has ever had work done in their appartment or house knows what it feels like when you are not "at home" at home.

Am I miffed? Of course.
Especially since this did not happen because I could not get the right people to fix this or did not want to spend the money for the work to be done ASAP. This happened because the person whose job it was to get this organised and done simply cannot be bothered.

Am I ranting? You betcha!!! Naturally I am ranting. If it did any good I'd be raving, too.
But really - what is the point?! I know this is not going to be fixed. No one's in a hurry, especially not before Christmas. ESPECIALLY not before New Year's. So what am I getting my knickers in a twist for?
It is indeed pointLESS.
Yet every single time I stand there and have to look at the walls open like that, the wallpaper ripped to shreds, the beams exposed, the traces of mould that have eaten into the building, I get upset.

And yes, I feel sorry for myself, too. Why does it have to be my flat? Why does it have to be Christmas?
Is somebody trying to tell me something?

IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE A LESSON?!

Well, if nothing else, at least I know what to put on my Resolution List for the new year - not that I did not know where to start in the first place OR needed any help finding resolutions:
Be prudent!
Find a new place to live!
Also: MAKE LANDLORD'S LIFE HELL. Alright, fine - IGNORE landlord. Concentrate on things I can change. Concentrate on points 1 and 2, that is.

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?!?!

Done! I'm done!

Totally finished first! That's how Dr. Cristina Yang put in 2.22 when successfully completing the first round of the skills lab.

And yes - I totally finished  - whether first or 346th - I do not really care. I repeat - I DO NOT CARE.
Because all that matters is I AM DONE with wrapping gifts, writing cards, carrying parcels to the post office and queueing for what seems like days.

My mission for the days to come (and boy, will I accept it): eat sweets and candied apples, drink egg nogg and mulled wine until I feel sick, have Bratwurst and pancakes and nuts and tarte flambée and mince pies.
I shall over-eat, be carefree and just enjoy December with all its high street Christmas madness.
I shall hum carols for no good reason whatsoever, I shall be jolly and though I will not deck the halls with holly, my heart will be light and my yule-tide gay. Yessir.

Now all I need is five gold rings and oh, yes that partridge in a pear tree.

Anyone?


Einen fröhlichen 3. Advent

Some Newsflash!

Not sure whether I should feel excited, ecstatic even or just freaked out and a little scared.

I have had the news that after over 3 MONTHS of waiting something will finally be done. 

Waiting for what?

Done about what? 

Well, listen closely - at the end of August, water began to mysteriously run down my wall in the toilet. On and off I should say. But really - it's never a good thing when water flows outside of pipes and drains, especially in houses and flats. My landlord is of the Let's wait and see-variety which is always helpful, but especially so in situations like these. 

A pipe had burst in the flat above me and at some point the leak was found and covered. However, it turned out that it was the wrong leak apparently. Because I was still experiencing some weird feng-shui-like water garden show in my loo and oh, yes - boy, the wild swirling patterns of mould forming on the ceiling and walls of my bathroom and in the corridor. Kinda made me feel like I was in a continuous Rorschach test.
So the water-people returned and then fixed the RIGHT leak. (Makes you wonder how they test for leaks in the first place. IF they test. These guys, it seems, just kind of took a random guess the first time they were here.)
Praise the lord! The water stopped. Not to be blasphemous but that's what Noah must have felt like. 

Seriously, I am sooo over this whole thing. 

Anyway - cut a long story short (plus, I have been living this nightmare now for, wait, that's right, too flippin' long and I simply cannot recount all the silly details, excuses, heartache, and sheer and utter, tearing-out-one's hair-kind of frustration) coming MONDAY (12th December) builders will come to open up the walls and ceiling in the corridor, bathroom, loo, kitchen. 

Yup, that is right - I will be living in a war zone. Just when I am sort of settling in at work and the building site is slowly turning into a nice working environment, I shall be returning home every night to utter mayhem. At least that's what it already feels like to me. 

Don't get me wrong - I am not complaining.
I could just KILL my landlord for doing this NOW and not having done anything earlier. 

I just hope the whole house is rotting from the inside out and costs him all his money. Because that seems to be the only place where it hurts him.

I am not sure how I could possibly be zen about this. I am all worked up and I feel knots forming in my neck muscles already. And I will get an ulcer from this, too. I just know it. 

But seriously, though... I mean, I cannot avoid this right now. I shall carry on regardless. Right!
Right?

I just have the sneaking suspicion that my landlord wants to get rid of me and that therefore he does not really give a flying fig whether the work starts now or in the new year or never. Kinda like he is testing my "patience" or should I say stamina.
"Let's make the living situation the worst possible there is and she'll eventually leave" 

That is not a very Christmassy thought to have, I believe. 

But you get the picture. What we have here is a kind of a Scrooge. 

And really, I am not that much of a Tiny Tim to still think good of him, to still go all "peace on earth and good will to men". 

I really REALLY resent this fellow. 

Odious man. 

Insufferable creature. 

(And I am turning into a Jane Austen character as I am writing this. Dear!)

But what is one to do?

I feel like the fates have dealt me a bit of a shit hand here. 

So now what, I go and make lemo-freakin'-nade?
(Hm, it IS the season - so it should be mulled wine really, I guess - but that is beside the point.)

How do you make lemonade out of mildew and crumbling walls and no proper heating in your flat? 

Thoughts anyone?

(Moving springs to mind. Yeah, I have thought of that one already. Now THAT is daunting, indeed. Why is that, I wonder... Hm, maybe because I could end up with another super-jerk for landlord... But I also think: anything is better than THIS right here.) 

Watch this space, as the kids have it. 

I feel a project a-growing. 

The Super Cooper List

How hard can it be, right? Make a list once a day - you don't even have to write it down. You just do it in your head. Before you get ready for the day, or at night, before you go to bed - you get to chose.

So why in hell have I NOT managed to do this?!

It is odd to see myself come up with all sorts of excuses just because I do not want to list the things I am grateful for. As if that makes them more important, more real. As if I could accidentally jinx something. It's absurd, I know.
But I have been thinking about it and here's what I came up with.
Actually listing things, possibly even writing them down if you are so inclined, makes them indeed more real. Even the process of simply thinking about them, seems to pull them out of that big bag of unconscious every-day patterns of behaviour, of thoughts and highlights them. It almost seems like you are - in that precise moment of writing them down, of naming them out loud - consciously taking responsibility. You become accountable. That is even more true for listing things that you want. And I am not talking fame and fast cars and riches beyond whatever...
The things you may want to be, to become, to achieve. They grow the minute you put them onto a piece of paper, or simply out into the universe, but not just so on a whim but consciously. Like you actually mean it.
And THAT is what freaks me out. The meaning-it part.
Why?

Because we live in a world of make-believe and lies and insincerity and sugar-coating and sweet-nothings and what have you. So you don't necessarily get a lot of practice in actually meaning something. At least that is how I feel sometimes. It starts with "Have a nice day now" and ends with "Phantastic offer..." and there is A LOT that goes in the middle of those two.
I am not the kind of person that goes around telling fibs all the time. Not at all and that is not really the point I am making. I am just saying that sincerity is rare these days and one is often taken by surprise when it suddenly shows up.

So what, I am a bit of a coward and an indecisive woman. I get taken aback by sincerety because all the bullshit gets to me sometimes and I forget that there are nice people out there. (May I remind you of my landlord who definitely does not belong in the aforementioned nice-people category, so excuse me for being jaded. 'course he is not the only one, but who am I telling this.. we have all been there.)

How did I get here? Oh yes, the list. Well, I am none the wiser. I still have not really made one yet, let alone the list of all my intentions.

Hm, perhaps that would be something to do on New Year's Eve.

Being Bradley Cooper

Occasionally I do listen to BBC Radio 1 - the other day, lo and behold, I am witness to Bradley Cooper's musings on the Chris Moyles Show. Well, he was not so much musing, he was in fact being a bit boring, seemingly bored and generally not too chatty or, come to think of it, not THAT bloody glamorous, nice, zany, outgoing, or whatever the hell it is you're supposed to become when you're a Hollywood A-lister. So - bummer and for the life of me, I still cannot find it in me to swoon over him. And I do not understand my fellow females who do.
Sorry, ladies. But then again, all the more for you, eh?

BUT! One thing stuck in my head and I was actually pricking up my ears at that precise moment in the interview - which let's face it was not much of an interview at all - that was when Mr Cooper mentioned his gratitude list. Everyone in the studio was like WHAT? Yeah, me too.
So he goes into explaining what it is and why he does it and when. Well, we all pretty much get the idea, I believe.
Mr. Cooper of course finds ten things EVERY DAY to put on this list of gratitude. Hm, I wonder whether I can do that? I wonder if 5 is ok, too? I am sure they can be little things, too.
Though in Coop's world they are sure to be slightly bigger.

Today I wish to explain gratitude for my extended contract with 20th Century Fox.
I would also like to thank my agent for sealing the deal, etc etc. 
I am grateful for getting paid quite large sums of money. 
Oh, and of course, I am thankful for my looks, er my parents and ... err, wait, uhh, oh yeah - the on-going work of UNICEF, Greenpeace . . . 

I am kidding, of course!

He's never going to mention UNICEF in that list.

No, what I  am beginning to wonder though is whether this is not simply some kind of daily practice run for his Oscar acceptance speech (or Globe or whatever) - I can picture him/his agent sorting through all these old gratitude lists shortly before the big moment comes and he is asked to appear to accept his award and then the invitation also mentions that it'd be nice to utter a few words of dedication, thankfulness, jollyness and fun - well, whatever the hell your level of intoxication at that stage allows for, really.

Yes, I am being awful. I know.

And I shall stop and actually admit that the idea of such a list is rather beautiful.

When DO we take time to look at the things we might be grateful for, much less name them and show proper gratitude in whatever way we may wish to do so. There is, after all, no rule book. Which is a good thing, come to think of it. But it also means that we (as in mankind) are always and forever getting away with being ungrateful or too busy or too fabulous to actually consider being thankful for a change.
It takes no time.
Instead - much more importantly, it takes humility, humbleness. Things some of us never learn or never seem to be able to show. And it takes awareness to recognise that even though the good things in life may be free, they still should be truly and deeply appreciated from time to time.

Hell, if Bradley can do it, why not any other person on this planet?!
OKAY! Always start with yourself.
So, why not I?!

Nothing . . .

. . . makes me happy like a little piece of what the lovely ladies at
Bitter & Zart produce all day - chocolate at its finest.

They are old-fashioned and modern at once. They blend the old with the new and come up with quite mouth-watering creations.

And today I was fortunate enough - having been rained on TWICE, having ruined the heels of my boots, having not had enough caffeine today, having had been stuck in a very drafty and very chilly entrance area for 8 hours - to be able to indullllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllge (you really must pronounce it like this, stressing the letter l, because that is what it feels like when you taste their tiny chocolate miracles) in a fabulous chocolate mousse pralinè and a peace of nougat to die for.

I don't normally go for nougat - it's too rich and too bland at the same time, I always feel. Nougat always makes me think of "too much of a good thing" - and that is exactly what it is for me. But Bitter & Zart's variety came with a coating of caramelised almond shavings and added the perfect bit of crunchiness to the nougat's smooth texture. Ah, heaven!!!
It really makes you want to burst into song.

So, indeed - today was a GOOD DAY, despite all the bloody hail and rain and storm.

It's so easy to make girls happy. Really.

Work - let me say this, we are beginning to get the hang of people, we are not yet too familiar with the new building, but neither is the rest of the staff - that is the added bonus when you start at a new place right around the time the whole company moves into new buildings.
We are enjoying it.

I believe this all falls into the PDG - category. And I believe also that I like it that way.
In fact, I know. So there.

First day.
Not that exciting, actually.
Was able to leave early as there was literally nothing to do.

For future reference, here's a random list of things you may need in order to actually work at work, as it were:

• a desk
• a computer
• a chair
• A FLOOR
• lights

oh and a minor thing - running water. Usually helps when you use the bathroom.

But the funny thing was, I did not mind. And no, not because I got to go home early but because I got to meet people I believe I am going to enjoy working with.

And truth be told, I AM looking forward to tomorrow. It will be more of the same - improv at its best - but the good thing about it: we are ALL trying to find our feet, there is a lot of new things to get used to for all of us.


So I headed home, walking in the sunshine, sipping a coffee, looking at all the Christmas Shoppers. The many, MANY Christmas Shoppers.

And I smiled. All the way home.
And then a bit more.

If today had a face, I would give it a really big fat kiss right on the smacker, I would.

The Tree-Elfs of Frankfurt

Clearly, they do exist...  Those fun-and tree-loving creatures. 

By cover of night they rush around town, knitting furiosly for the trees of Frankfurt. Unfortunately, by the time these pictures were taken, they had already gone. 

And they do feel that there are not many things a bit of wool and a few tiny bells can't make better.











The common tree-elf relishes colour and it is their mission and pleasure to bring a little vibrancy during the dark and cold months of Winter.

If you should happen to come about them late at night, busy at work, please refrain from talking to them or taking them with you. They are quite in their natural habitat when they are outside in the cold and dark.
Kindly leave them be!
They are not playthings or knitting slaves!
If you want a nice jumper, go buy one.

Speaking of which. Woollen Christmas gifts?

Any thoughts?

Ooooh

It is the first weekend in December.  

It's the weekend of the Second Advent. 

 It's three more weeks to go to CHRISTMAS. 

Whhheeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

I personally will be indulging in mulled wine, chocolates and maroni and I believe a little bit of sparkling wine to celebrate the fact that I am back to work on Monday. 

Celebrate? 

Yes.

 Yes, indeed! 

This IS something to celebrate. 

I am looking forward to this new part of my life. 

I feel like I am starting afresh, like I'm being given a second chance at trying the whole "actually enjoying the job you do" thing. 

And whilst I am not skipping and jumping down the streets, hugging strangers, believe me when I say I am happy, very happy indeed. Quietly, though. 

Ok, every now and then I make this excited little squeak.  

I believe no Christmas present this year can top my finding a job and getting my life a little bit back to normal. 

Of course, there's still plenty other things to be improved. Isn't it always the way...?! 

Well, there's always next year.

Fingers Crossed

signed the contract . . . it seems I am back in the working world . . .

let's see whether the past months have taught me anything at all . . .




God, I hope so!