repetitive · absurdities

woah. the new plays on stage, the publicity work is done, the first week of uni is over, and i am ... tired. to say the least. it's been a hell of a week, really, and i'll have to leave any minute now. because, you know, having put so much effort into a play with which i had practically nothing to do, i finally want to see it on stage. with light, sound, and costume. no settings, though, which is good. and cheaper. and. i'd better leave now, go to bed then and spend tomorrow in the library. i'm sorry, somehow, that i don't find that much time to write anymore, but that's just as well since i very much enjoy being occupied - though not by university. it's such a fag. any news on this side? i guess not. can't think of anything. it's all of no interest. so: have a nice day, a good start into the new week and stuff and you know what else'd be appropriate to say.

oh my. it's been some time since i last updated anything, but, lame as this excuse sounds, i just didn't find the time. as the beginning of term approaches, i find myself occupied with a lot paperwork i completely ignored the previous months. adding to that, the new season of our theatre starts in about two weeks, and there is a lot to do in regards to organisation and other not-very-creative tasks. then there's my job, which does not exactly pay much, but takes up quite some time as well. i feel tired.

my cigarettes are nearly empty - only four left - and my supply of coffee is running low. the heating is turned up, but it doesn't get in warmer in here. not that i had spent a lot of time in my room the last couple of days, anyway.

if i may rejoice in the prospect of an upcoming event for a second: danny's coming over, danny's coming over, he's going to visit me the end of october! erm, thanks. just thought i let you know. danny, by the way, is one the guys i met in cov, one of the few i really hit it off with. he's great, especially - but not only - when he's drunk. by no means i want to imply that he was drunk all the time, but ... well, when he is, he's damn funny. good thing is, though, when he's not, he's the best person to just have a chat with (or, we usually do, slag off the ot).

oh yesss, the ot. the ot's got himself a girlfriend. well, he's trying to, but it looks promising. and guess what - he met her, told her his deepest, darkest, uhhh-sooo-bad secrets in front of a bunch of strangers, and immediately took to her when she did not laugh at him for doing so. that's what i'd call romantic - none of that carefully-finding-common-ground shit. best things is, she's called hannah, too. so he doesn't even have to remember another name when it comes to fixating his obsession to someone new. he's a lucky man, he is.

but seriously, i like the idea of him having a girlfriend. that'll spare me a lot of awkward e-mails, text messages, and... well, i guess that's it, for i didn't give him my mail address. let us wish him all the best for this brand-new adventure of being in a relationship for the first time in his life. hey ot, here's to you, hope it all goes well. (maybe then we'll be able to have a good conversation again.)

my therapist. yeah. she's nice. she's a funny one. i don't really know whether i really should do a therapy. it seems a bit pointless now that i'm doing better. then again, where's the point in waiting for a new low? i feel i don't really deserve the attention or the money spent on me there. which is nonsense. bollocks. i-d-i-o-t-i-c. i mean, so many people i know began a therapy (and did not necessarily carry through with it), so why should i feel guilty for doing what everyone bloody tells me to do?

mind if i put on some music? thanks.

oh, saying that: again, i only do what others deem appropriate. again, i don't really decide for myself. and it doesn't even feel wrong anymore. it's so much easier to just give in in these matters. i save my stubbornness for those occasions where it doesn't really make sense to be pigheaded. i don't know why, but sometimes i even appreciate my reputation for being obstinate. some days, i wear it like a badge of honour, though i realize it is nothing to be proud of, exactly. same for the bloody medication. i know i should take it, i know i feel better when i do, yet i still more or less regularly (consciously or unconsciously) forget taking it. like i shouldn't feel good when i'm just not supposed to be. i'm being childish, and i know.

and another thing taking up my precious time...

amazingly enough, i only feel the urge to write anything at all when i feel the way i do. how do i feel? truth be told, i don't know. i really cannot say. it is just something inside of me which is eating away at my nerves, my stamina, my heart. i'm palpitating, i'm sweating, and it sure is not because of a piece by matisse. i am slowly eroded, until nothing is left but a shell that half-heartedly performs the most essential functions and actions to be expected from a living, breathing human being.

i cannot describe what i mean. however, where i fail miserably, marc carroll did quite well:

nobody out there hears you, you panic and you feel you don't belong/ whatever you may think it is you know, you're wrong/ you just don't care who gets hurt now/ and fear eats the soul/ love over gold (from: love over gold)

you look in the mirror, you're dead to the bone/ people pass by whom you once had known/ and you're all alone in no time at all/ you just can't stop stepping out of line/ you can't stop shaking and you can't stop crying/ and you're out of time in no time at all// you lose your fear till you're faced with more/ you lose the ones that you look out for/ and you're feeling small in no time at all/ you look for a hand to cling yourself to/ you can't stop time catching up on you/ what can you do in no time at all (from: no time at all)

sometimes i feel that the nice little white pills not only take away this feeling and the urge to write, but that they also do make me downright mediocre. not that i had ever held any high hopes as to not living the day-to-day mediocrity, but at least... well, at least i sometimes thought about things. they might have been weird, these thoughts, and my conclusions not properly considered, but at least i kept thinking. now, all i can care about about is: do i dress correctly so that i don't stand out? do i say things considered to be within the range of the ordinary? do i do enough, do i show enough participation, am i enough? do i belong, somewhere, anywhere? should i use this or that brand of shampoo? should i not reconsider this choice carefully made just to opt for a third, brand-new make? do i gain weight? how can i get myself to lose weight, to get fitter, eat healthier, become a better person?

i hate the mediocrity i inflict on myself, and yet i yearn so much for 'fitting in', for 'belonging' that i gladly accept it most times. then, occasionally, i find myself abhorred by what i made myself become. or did i not even have a choice; is this simply what happens as soon as your perceptions, thoughts, feelings could be considered to lie within the range of the normal? my childish need to fit in at any costs controls me - and it disgusts me. when i think about it soberly, even my 'goth phase', which lasted for about three or four years and which occasionally still surfaces, was nothing but the desperate attempt to fit - no matter where. needless to add, i failed. i was accepted with these guys, but never seen as 'belonging there'. no one really made fun of my 'non fitting perfectly', but it was there. maybe it was only my own distorted perception of things, but i always felt i was not black enough, not desperate enough, not romantic enough, whatever it was that turned to be the desirable thing of the minute. i used to think it'd be a tough job getting labeled 'the weird one' with these guys, but it wasn't so hard after all. maybe i unconsciously wanted it, i don't know. maybe deep down i don't want to fit, and yet i simply am not prepared to do without the advantages that 'fitting somewhere' brings.

and here i go again, thinking about whether i fit in or not. just like any troubled teen. thing is, i am not a teen anymore. i should know what i want, at least to some extent. and if i know what i want, i should be able to express it, to get what i want to get, to go where i want to go. none of which is the case. i keep shying away from unknown, unpredictable situations, from new people, from other influences on my life than those known to me - and still i long exactly for these.

i long for stories, for the feeling of 'seeing magic at work' that always fills me when crossing borders, doing things hitherto unknown, getting along with people i've never met. it's a kind of ... i don't know ... flow? that fills me whole, like a rivulet swelling to a river in spring, the bed of which has difficulties to catch all the waters suddenly filling it. it is this 'flow' which fills me - else i am empty. or, better, was.

now, the flow is missing, just as the emptiness is. to be more specific, the emptiness is still there, it only lies a lot deeper. the yawning abyss inside has become a tiny hole which can be easily covered up with some planks of wood - or, more accurately, with clothes, the odd night out, some small talk and a lot of food. what has always made me tick... (to be continued due to interruption - now continued) ...has vanished, and i suddenly find that i have become someone else - only i don't know who this 'me' is supposed to be. sometimes it is all grown-up, sometimes there still lurks the angst-ridden teen inside. it freaks me out. this unpredictability. this on-and-off, now-and-again, this-or-that.

i feel ridiculous, writing this, thinking this, feeling this.

tomorrow i will have the first talk with my (hopefully soon-to-be) therapist, and i feel even more ridiculous for that. it seems a bit on the silly side, this not being able to work out things on my own, and yet i don't see any chance of getting along without medication or a change of attitude towards what surrounds me.

i think i am just friggin nervous. because of tomorrow morning, but also because tomorrow is the day when the fate of our project will be decided. i'am not sure whether any pupils will turn up, neither can i say which attitude they will have towards us or our project. the flyers we did seemed to have some effect, and i am curious as to what they expect from us. again, i am afraid i might fail, i might not be able to give them what they want. i know that it is not my duty to live up to their expectations, but to enable them to work on a play, to do theatre. still, i am afraid that i might not be able to live with not fitting in. again, i know that i cannot fit in, no matter how hard i try, for the simple reason that i am six years older - at least - than they are and that i am one of the leaders of the project, and not one of them. there will be an us-and-them, no way around that. everything else would be unnatural and not very productive.

today is another of those days when i try to make an effort to improve the world i'm living in, again, i will most surely fail. i don't know; yes, i do find it important, this aids-charity thing, and no, i don't know whether it makes any difference at all. and yes, i do feel down. whatever.

spending some time reading some of the first entries i ever made, i realized i started this journal exactly three months before my father died - to the day. sometimes i wonder whether i have not yet realized what is going on. it doesn't really get to me, the grief, the sorrow, the desperation are marginal. i don't understand. i don't flipping understand what is going on here.

here comes the rain again

he is gone. what a definite thing to say, and yet somehow in my mind there is always room for the concept of return. the fact that it doesn't apply in this case does not get through. my synapses just shut off, the minute i think about it my inner screen freezes. no ctrl+alt+del here.

wake me up when september ends

i feel terrible when i think about how he spent his last days, how little i was present in his life, how little support i could offer. it just wears me out sometimes, and then i forget and feel all the worse for it when it comes back. it's not like it haunts me, exactly, i simply feel sorry. no matter how often i tell myself that i wouldn't have been capable of caring any more than i did, i still feel i am not enough. i am never enough.

here comes the rain again

one day i will have to seek out the tree he's lying under and tell him what i should have told him a lot earlier. once in my life i should voice my thoughts and feelings to the person i trusted most, and hope, no, blindly believe that he'll know somehow. the concept of death escapes me, just like i cannot imagine how the universe is supposed to be infinite. infinity stretches far beyond any space my mind can ever cover and that is why it doesn't even scare me anymore. it is simply so out of the boundaries of the imaginable, it seems so vast and so sad at the same time that i could cry (and no, i am not sorry for being corny) whenever i think of out little planet in this vast and empty space, or of our lives, the same pattern repeating itself but on a different scale. i don't understand, i cannot even begin to grasp the idea, and thus cannot see any meaning in it. sometimes it saddens me, mostly it just makes me feel small and empty.

oh yes! i got myself some ... grab a chair, sit down and hold tight ... jeans. yes. jeans. me. me - jeans. it seemed impossible, but again thou shalt never say never. i am the brand-new owner of some pretty old-looking jeans. men's jeans. so don't tell me i hadn't changed over the last year.

today, i got up early, had a cold shower - yes, i was in a hurry, and no, i couldn't wait for the water to heat up - and set course for the 15. mittelschule - the school where our theatre project is supposed to take place. we went into class 8a and 8b and tried to tell them about our project. since they're about 12 to 13 years old, the noise level is quite high anyway, but i don't think our flyer exactly helped the situation. we had chosen some extremely ...well, dirty? quotes from the play to get their attention. and let me tell you, it worked - far better than we had expected. in fact, it worked so well that they all discussed the flyer and didn't give us one minute speaking time in total to get the rest of the message across. just one tip for those who have a similar thing in mind: avoid the phrases (sorry for that) 'go and choke on your cock, shut your feminist hole, fuck you you arsehole, why don't we just shove a finger up our arses and ride on it?, i think i wanna smoke some pot - you coming?' and the likes at ALL costs unless you give them at least ten minutes to calm down afterwards. well, i guess at least we do have their undivided attention now.

i phoned up the therapist for the first time, and, oh wonder, i got an appointment for thursday morning. she sounds nice. i am nervous. very nervous. full stop.

my mum just sent me an e-mail. all sweet and nice, asking me to give her ring. apparently, i hadn't done so in three weeks. my sense of time is a bit distorted when it comes to keeping in touch with people. she was, surprisingly, delighted to hear from me and in a good mood. still very superficial, exchanging a few niceties and then talking about, what else could it be, money. but still. sometimes i wish she'd always be like that. then again, who am i to expect consistent behaviour from those around me?

i do not feel like riding my bike; in fact, in haven't since i caught that cold. i really should, but then again i can't bring myself to do all the other stuff i should be doing: enrolling for this seminar, registering my car on my name, etc. etc. etc.

there is something i'd like to put into words, but words or thoughts for it won't come. as pointless as it is, i guess i should just take a shower and do some shopping. senseless activity to put my mind off this something that is bothering me seems a good way to pass time. i tried to do some reading on bdp (how stupid is that?), but i find it is bringing up too many negative emotions to continue right now.

tasks for today: take a shower, grab your bike, go to the city centre and find some trousers. or a cap. or just anything. or nothing. just take a look what they've got. eat a paprika and have a tea. have some kellogg's special k (yes, i am a brand-conscious fashion victim in that respect), enjoy the sunshine and the fact that it's saturday. get a life. don't worry.

uh. so yesterday was meant to be the day. all was well: we met up two hours before, went through our preparations again, talked things over. 16:00 sharp, no one. 16:05, no one. empty school yard. 16:10, no one. not a living soul in sight. 16:15, no one. 'cept for the punk who keeps watching us amusedly. 16:20, we leave.
so: they didn't turn up. looks like either they're not interested - and i won't accept a 'no interest', i simply won't - or they're scared and/or plain ignorant. who knows. next week we'll visit them in class and talk to them about the project. obviously, it is not enough to hang up a few posters and pass some flyers round during classes. i almost expected as much, since every time a teacher passed some information on to us, we wouldn't take the opportunities that presented itself just to spite him/her. as if the teachers gave a shit...
now, we'll have to come across as young, dynamic, with verve. at least that's what the boys say. oh dear, can't we just be ourselves and ask them - very politely so - to just.fuck.off. if they don't want to participate? i won't put on appearances to please some 14-year-olds. what we could - and should - do, though, is convince them theatre a) is not where only old people go to watch plays written by schiller or goethe, and b) doesn't involve learning texts by heart and anything else. we have to get the message across that they first have to come up with half of the text before they can even start learning it by heart. and that the play involves more foul language, alcohol, and drugs than they've probably ever seen in their lives. and if they like, they can add to that. we don't particularly care as long as we manage to get across the message that we'd like to come across: there are no fucking perspectives for these very actors you're seeing there on stage unless you give them some. 'cause in real life they don't hang out on a parking lot, they hang out on a playground at night. and that surely is a hell of a lot better.
oh my god, this is so very frustrating sometimes. i mean, we're just trying to offer them a few alternatives to the lifestyle that their school confines them to. and all you get, from anywhere, is spokes put in your wheels. and then it seems as if you'd still get it financed, and you say: 'no' is not an answer that we will accept, and then... then these brats don't even give it a bloody try. 'cause it's theatre, 'cause they're scared their German won't suffice, 'cause they don't want to do it alone and none of their friends will come, 'cause, 'cause, 'cause. always the same cheap excuses we used to have. it's funny how little things have changed.
it's just as funny to realize i'm kind of growing backwards, feeling uncomfortable the very moment i enter the school building. i guess i never noticed how oppressive i found all that until i had left school. and the smell and atmosphere seem to be the same in every school building anywhere.

it's friggin cold in the mornings already. i stayed over at jan's and since we're both smokers we always leave all the windows wide-open at night. so, just as one might assume, it is friggin cold inside as well. jan hasn't got a heating yet, he lives in one of the not-yet-refurbished houses with coal stoves. what we usually do, is sit in the kitchen and turn on the gas oven. today, however, we had to get work done at the computer before the sun had time to heat up the living room.

so jan decided he'd make a nice, little fire in the stove. said this, went to the cellar, fetched the coals, and brought some spirit from the kitchen. mind, the stove hadn't been in use since last spring. anyone familiar with these old ones certainly has had the experience that the ashes tend to clog the tube over time, so the chimney at first draws badly. now, that's exactly what happened, except for the fact that instead of the recommended stove-lighter bars he used the spirit. while he tried to light the stove, i went to the kitchen to fetch the coffee.

then i heard a loud bang, and a quite shaky-voiced 'holy shit'. i went over to see what had happened and expected to find that book-shelf had come down. at least that was what it sounded like. instead i found my boyfriend, all black in the face, half of his beard non-existent, his hair singed in some places, with a red right hand (no nick cave allusions intended). the bloody stove had first drawn no air at all and then all of a sudden there must've been a breeze that had enough oxygen to light all the fucking spirit plus the kindles at once, which resulted in... well, a jet of flame darting out - right into his face. except for a few burns on his hand and the singed hair, he was fine, so we soon saw the lighter side of it.

i hope it'll teach him a lesson not to use spirit anymore to light a coal stove. sometimes he's just like a five-year-old when it comes to playing with fire...

i still got a cold, and no motivation at all to do what i should have done weeks ago, namely making the necessary changes to my car insurance, health insurance, etc. it is truly amazing how much paperwork the death of a person entails...

i'm just so proud i got rid of the boxes and have a nice layout. since i'm far too stupid to write one myself, i admit i had to take one of those that have been kindly done for the likes of me. anyway, i'm happy with it.

nothing new on neither the ot nor the theatre front. same old drag everywhere, uni's pissing me off (who'd have thought that?) and anyway, i'm off. another meeting that won't lead us anywhere. i'm tired, i have a cold, i'm not in an extremely productive mood. but: at least this page looks better. it's always good to have a good looking page, even if... sorry, especially when there's nothing much on it. which, i admit it free and willingly, is the case at the moment. shame on me.

the ot, the ot! oh my, the ot. grinning, staring, awkwardly fumbling with the beermats, overly self-conscious and at the same time overly confident. eagerly waiting for me to open my mouth, grinning, again. waiting, waiting, again waiting. grinning. ducking, looking up like a dog, puppy, a little ugly puppy, grinning. please please please don't kick me, don't send me away. i love you, you know, i really do. please let me just be around, let me grin and stare some more. drooling, drunk and nervous. probably with a hard-on.
the ot, the ot... oh my. say, would you care to just fuck off?

tomorrow - on the train. then i'll have to spend three successive days at my mum's - which basically means that i cannot wear anything but long sleeves in the midst of summer heat. she wants to shop for some nice clothes for my sister's wedding, too. for me. which will be even more awkward considering that i'll have to talk her out of offering my short-sleeved stuff. the scars are not really that obvious, but still. my mum - as almost every mum, i reckon - hears and sees everything that's to do with her children. which is not exactly a blessing most of the time. i dread to think what she'd say if she knew.
anyway, i'm still sort of looking forward to the trip and all. at least it means getting three proper meals a day and getting up early - which is exactly what i need for a change.
it's funny. the medication's really began to work and i feel so clear and ... sort of - tidy inside. i cannot remember when i last felt like that. it's good, it sure is, yet i do feel i'm losing something. the urge to write and to pour myself out onto a white sheet of paper, the urge to search for more rather than just being content with what i have and what i am. i really have to force myself to not just take things for given, to just accept what's happening as inevitable and deal with it. 'dealing with it' is not really 'changing it', is it? i'll just have to find a balance between feeling as good as possible without merely being content. i'm curious as to whether this will go any further or whether there'll one day be a sort of balance inside me.
another thing i've noticed: i tried to write in german, desperately tried - but nothing comes of it, really. it all stays very vague, truly undefined. all facts, no thoughts or feelings. i guess i just spent too much time with trying to get the knack of writing in a foreign language and now that i'd sorely need my own for all the applications and stuff the words won't come. it's almost funny to find oneself searching for the german word for perseverance. if anyone can help - i'm too tired to look it up right now.

so, we started this new project, right? it's, like, for teens, like, you know, those who come from an unfavourable family background, right? and so, yeah, so, we need money, okay? lots of. shitloads, right. cause, you know, two of us - that's everyone but me - right, they want to earn money with this project, understood? and so, yeah, so we need to get funds, huh? and guess who's the one who has organize and apply for all the shit? correct, that's me. you're a bright one, alright.

seriously. a friend of us approached jan and asked him whether he'd be interested in offering a theatre group for socially disadvantaged youths. said friend will be a social worker once he's finished his studies (we're in germany - you never know when 'once' will be) and jan directed some scenic readings and stuff and is, just like me, quite into theatre. last thing said, i was eager to join them. i have a bit of experience in the field of theatre as well, and enjoy working with texts - something jan's not too good at, sometimes. so we kind of split the tasks: martin for the 'social' stuff and dealing with the teens on an interpersonal level, jan for the arty stuff and me organisation and dramaturgy. sounds all neat and nice to me - that is, until i found out that they want the project to start with the new school year, which is in two weeks. and that they'd like to get some financial reward for their efforts. since neither the school these youths go to nor the organisation of the school's social workers have the means to finance such a project, it is us who have to look for funding. i assure you, in such a short period of time, that's more than difficult.

we've missed all the deadlines for official funding by at least four months. now, we'll have to find private sponsors and such to provide us with the means to pay for the salary, the settings, costumes, copyright, etc. i've been trying to sort out what we need and what it has to look like (bureaucracy, i adore you) over the past week, but so far i haven't come up with any new information. most organisation only do co-funding - meaning that you have to have another sponsor before they will give you something. if only we had one first donor, the rest would be a piece of cake. but like this? i've run out of ideas. fortunately, i'll be on holidays from next monday on, which means... right! jan and martin have to go and be all nice and smiles and pleases instead of me.

i think that's only fair, i'm doing this shit for free, and although i'm more than willing to do my share i don't see why i should be spending eight hours a day on the project when it takes my dear boyfriend one-and-a-half months to type the play, copy it and come up with a half-way feasible concept. i've no idea on what exactly he does the whole time he spends in front of the screen. i did stuff like that before, and i tell you, three weeks is more than enough when working seriously. anyway, none of my business. i'm just glad i won't have to do all of this funding stuff alone - applications and bureaucracy and documents make me physically sick.

apart from being occupied with preparing the project, i do nothing really. i don't really know whether i want to be here anymore, and i don't really know if i want to be anywhere else. it's not the well-known emptiness this time, it's just the hope for something bigger, something less petty and small-minded. i know it's kind of childish to think one could one day be involved in something which is truly bigger than the sum of its parts - that seems to be something that only rarely happens, and if, then only to other people. probably it's just my distorted perception of things, but the interesting stuff only ever happens to other people. theatre: they all say it's oh so interesting and real hard work. the work's hard, yes, and it is interesting, sure, but it's nothing exceptional. same goes for living abroad. going to uni. partying two or three days non-stop. it's all okay, even great sometimes, but what does it do with me? i don't know. nothing really, i suppose, and that's a shame.

the rain's been fallin incessantly for hours now. it gets a bit depressing after a while - i can't even go out or ride my bike or just wander round town. i took up riding the bike, as i already mentioned, and yesterday it was so wet i slipped an fell off. must've looked kind of funny - the old lady who asked me if i was ok couldn't help grinning. i won't take the bike today - if i go see my doctor and she sees me all wet and freezing, she'll suppose i'm not particularly ok and then offer me (for the umpteenth time) a stay in a nice, quiet institution for the mentally ill. she never really asks how i'm doing, she only assumes that she gets to know all she needs by mustering me for a few seconds and asking me what i intend to do with my life. "study, do theatre, finish studies, then get a job, do some volunteer work" doesn't seem to be the right answer. ah, whatever. at least she's funny - even if unintentionally so.

orange skirt, cigarette, bloc party. follow me/ don’t follow me/ i’ve got my spine/ i’ve got my orange crush. i feel up to the tasks that await me. sometimes i feel i'm going slowly downwards - the slope's muddy, not steep enough to pick up the speed i'd need to propel me out of this. today, however, the world is bright and sunny - in my mind. even though all the paperwork is long overdue, even though i have to go to a meeting where i know not a living soul. even though i should be in hurry. i've got so much time at my hands that i constantly end up procrastinating. i'm doing fuck all and still feel i should be in a rush. today's different. i take my time, but do things. i started riding the bike because i had a terrible backache and hoped that a bit of exercise would do me good. i'm still not sure about the effects it has on my back, but it certainly did something i'd have never expected: it improves my mood. i hate it the first twenty minutes, but then i reach parts of town i've never been to before. i see much more than i would've if i were sitting on a tram. and i make a point of getting lost at least once per day. not deliberately so, but still. i find my way back, and somehow that's a good feeling. i'm so tired of hanging around. getting lost once in a while is just what i need. heart pounding, standing hesitatingly in the middle of the road almost causing an accident, seeing the dark clouds looming at the horizon, trying to get home before the rain starts falling - and realizing in the end that i got lost and that the rain doesn't do me any damage. it just makes me wet. when i come back, i'm soaked with sweat and rain, my glasses are misty and i'd see better without them, yet i somehow feel elated.
last night i spent at my flat. it was nice for a change, being alone. watched a movie, had a coffee at half past eleven, couldn't go to sleep until three am. no one to decide which programme to watch on tv, no one there to complain about each and everything. no one there to decide when i should go to bed or take my medication. no one there to watch me eat - how i hate that - a melon or whatever. no one there who didn't wash in days or lives in a fucking mess and calls it his home. i think i seriously need a time-out. set my own limits before finding someone elses. i'd hate to end up doing what my mother, friends, acquaintances, university, and who the hell else expect without meeting my own demands. above and before all, i need to fulfill my own expectations. i know that - jan told me, too. and i fear he might be surprised that my expectations leave no room for him if things do not change. for change they will, whether with or without him.
talking about demands: i really need to brush my teeth. not that i would only do that once a week, but out of whatever reason i forgot to do so yesterday. forgetting one and the same thing twice a day is something of a record in my book. my brain's turning into a sieve, my back aches, and i am constantly afraid of just leaving the house. it could be worse, nothing pen and paper cannot cure. i'm off. i wish myself and yous a nice day.