archive > diary > december 14 | ||
Wednesday, 31 celebrating New Year's eve with my friend from Zurich Tuesday, 30 MJ Monday, 29 I am relaxing with my novel that I've found in the train - ----------------------- had a nice dream last night. astonishingly only people i know were around while watching a play - must be the impact of x-mas time filling my subconscience with bourgeois shots. ----------------------- a broken heart caused of disappointment, empty promises, a strictness no being sorry can ever balance out. there is no when there are three people one is too much. three people are three people. every one in his or her dignity. Sunday, 28 I need the Trauma. Saturday, 27 Going back to Basel by train, I've found a book under my seat - a German translation of Calling me home written by Julie Kibler. I checked contents, year of issue and so on, but after reading a few pages her voice left kind of emtyness in my head. So I put it back on the floor. Though when leaving the train I thought twice, picked it up again and took it home. You never know, maybe on a lazy day between the years I'll find time to follow that story. Friday, 26 Boxing Day - eight o'clock in the morning and it still looks like night, here in Hamburg. Difficult to become busy. Tuesday, 23 that are dark days, currently, no happiness is arising - even sunshine has come my mind stays belied. my heart not able to open up to a joyful living. no reason found for being down like a penitent. done no wrong, though people avoid me glancing suspiciously, strangely. not part of any set dancing alone i am rarely talking to any one. on the streets as well as inside the shops people are running around eagerly providing their christmas parties or whatever. all i can do is watching them and passing taken aback waiting for a new year to anticipate a more prolific future. Monday, 22 What does make me drink? First of all emptiness, a black out, lonliness, feeling hurt, searching for a shift in mind that turns everything to a point of view more pleasing. But actually, thinking then is a lot more difficult, to concentrate the more drunk the more impossible. I think it is just about to blow away everything, like a deed - I did it - I hurt myself in hope others won't hurt me, because I am already hurt then. Anyway, the hard and more sadistic ones will tell me - did you booze again... (in English it doesn't sound really bad to me, but in German I would be terribly ashamed.) Sunday, 21 I am used to working at the weekend, but this weekend it kills me. Must be almost three weeks with no sunshine. People are strange and nagging. I feel like a robot attending our clients, my smile frozen. I am down, moving hurts, not moving hurts even more. Headache, too much drinking yesterday, and the drinking doesn't help. Well, the moment I drink I feel easier and life seems to be more positive. Since long I hadn't put on music. Living alone, dancing till I fell asleep. Alcohol is a drug. A conversation can be stimulated, but drinking for your own is just stupid. I start deceiving myself by a dreamworld that is not useful for obtaining what I gained - my self respect. Friday, 19 See, what I find interesting about writing here compared to traditional diary writing in times of no world wide web. Nowadays, you can blog any topic that comes to your mind immediately and people know instantly what is going on in your head. Why wait to say, what has to be said. Before, in bygone times, people were writing to themselves. They had to put something out - on paper - what seemed important to them. Introverted. They worked with their diaries, reread them and maybe here and then read them to their friends. Unless they were famous writers - who probably expected people to be keen on their words - the question of publicity didn't arise. The average citizen was kinda training or getting clear about their feeling and thoughts privately. And, you see, that one applies for me as well. I also try getting clear about something, but the privately makes the difference. I consider people are reading what I write. I don't know who and when and what they think. But anyhow, a contestation (of how people might evaluate) automatically activates my train of thoughts that is beyond the written. Something that keeps me moving on. On our museum's x-mas dinner people were asking me about my emigration's plans. For example, most frequently about my definite departure date. I told them at the beginning of 2016. Or if Gambia was in the heart of a rainforest. I explained it was not too far from the desert. Oh, did they exclaim, then it was dry, and they grimaced their consternation. Hey, what were we talking about? Something wrong with desert?? Thursday, 18 i tell you those hot flashes eat me up. i am on the road to nowhere. (no where or now here - whatever) Wednesday, 17 a beautiful x-mas dinner with my collegues at museum; wonderful environment and music, good food and wine, nice conversations and delicious Panettone alle Castagne to take home Tuesday, 16 on the day of her birthday she told me thinking of turning 50 soonish would stricken her with horror. in my eyes a bad conception of dignity, but on the other hand i adore her candid approach of expressing her grudge unrestraintly - my birthday present just to tolerate her disgust and load of negative energy. Monday, 15 I've received my first awesome x-mas and new year's wishes: - glad christmas days - quiet, creative days between the years and for 2015 - bear-strong health - an endless chain of happy coincidences - always curiosity as well as safety in subsumed risk on my new path of life in alien, warm and mysterious landscapes Sunday, 14 Saturday, 13 |