Is this the real life

Easter weekend. No obligations.

Bed time.
Book time.
Raclette time.

I crave you hugging me.

Supporting Greens for fun and for my friends. Not thinking about the things that bug me.

Revelling in my activist mode.
Get up, stand up, speak up!

I help friends and feel joyful.

The sun is shining and a dachshund is sitting next to me on the train. His ears are so fluffy.

Happy Easter.

The non-plan

Giving somebody time isn’t always exactly a plan. Rather it is a non-plan that relieves us from the hassle of getting back to our feet when we have just lazily snuggled up in a hole.

I won’t receive the answer I’ve been hoping for. There goes this path of life. 

But because I kind of enjoy my integrity and ego being intact… I swap the non-plan to a plan.

Let’s see what exactly that could be. Maybe, if I’m lucky, it might come with a mini dachshund. 

And a doxie for me, please

So. Here I go again. Back in control over my life. Or so I’d like to think while sloppily drinking wine on my couch and netflix plays some wildlife documentary. It’s time to get my act together and move forward. Deal with more important things than sadness. Saving the world for instance. Nothing less. Starting with giving a mini dachshund a new home. 

💕🐕

Ooooooohhh, yes I want one. A puppy. Badly. And yes, I gleefully ignore the underlying psychological interpretive motive that jumps even at me… 🙃

It’d be soooo lovely and cutie and funny to have a little doxie here, wagging its teeny tiny tail about!! We’d watch netflix together, play ball in the garden, explore the surrounding parks and play tricky games with treats.

Only thing is, what do I do with my job? Need more wine to contemplate the intricate aftermath of getting a dog. 

So much for having control over my life.

Never is an awfully long time. – Eine Fantasie

Wieder ein Blick ins Postfach. Keine Mail von dir.

Es ist 23:04.
Ob du in dem Buch liest?

Es ist eine Nacht mit wenig Schlaf. Dafür mit Tränen. Ich male mir unser Wiedersehen aus. Noch mehr Tränen. Dann Lachen. Weil wir ja wissen, dass wir zusammen gehören.

23:47. Leerer Posteingang.

Ich lese das Buch sehr langsam. Seite. Für. Seite. Ich suche nach Erklärungen. Nach einer Logik, die ich begreifen kann. Nach einem Code, mit dem wir wieder ganz werden können. Es gibt ihn nicht.

23:48. Immer noch keine Antwort.

Es fühlt sich gut an, dass du meinen Tipp annimmst. Erkennst du auch Gefühle von dir wieder? In welchem der beschriebenen Typen erkennst du dich?

0:12. Immer noch keine Mail. Vielleicht fühlst du dich von meinen Gedanken an dich unter Druck gesetzt. Mein Hirn schlägt neue Kapriolen des Irrsinns.

Backflash. Es ist Winter. Du bist allein. Du brauchst Hilfe. Wir dirigieren dich am Telefon in den nächsten Zug. Du bist hier. Du heilst. Eine Fantasie.

Immer wieder der Wunsch, dich retten zu können.

0:32. Gähnende Leere im Postfach.

Rette dich selbst. Ich kann es nicht. Will es nicht. Habe mit mir zu tun.

1:07. Kein Wort von dir. Mein Herz wird schwer.

Meine Jahresplanung ist toll. Ich erkenne mich als wichtigsten, integralen Bestandteil meines eigenen Lebens. Wie neu! Es geht um mich. Nur um mich! Um Urlaub. Um Freunde. Um Bücher. Um Musik. Mein Leben. Mein Körper. Meine Zeit.

1:58. Du fehlst.
Ich reiße mich zusammen und verschiebe das Checken meiner Mails um eine Minute.

1:59. …

Zwischenzeitlich habe ich dich aus der Depression gerettet. Alles erzählt. Gebeichtet. Widersprochen. Zugehört. Wahrgenommen. Gelacht. Die Tabletten sind im Klo herunter gespült und wir haben Pizza bestellt. Wir lümmeln und schmatzen gemütlich im Bett. Schulter an Schulter. Die Beine in einander verschlungen. Keine Zeit, kein Ort sind wichtig. So fühlt sich zu Hause an.

2:47. Forget them, Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you’ll never, never have to worry about grown up things again.

Never is an awfully long time.

A whiff of Christmas 

It’s a Saturday in December. People crowd the streets and the Christmas market. Everybody seems happy to stroll among the huts and booths where a thousand superfluous things are sold. I recently listened to a German comedian on YouTube, mocking the Germans for their annual haul of overpriced stuff on Christmas markets. The so called Stehrümchen. Stuff that nobody needs, let alone buys except in those four weeks before Christmas when suddenly even Filz looks snug and homely. Stehrümchen. Only original in a deep Rhenish dialect. 😃
But I am not here for Stehrümchen. I am here, because I need one more xmas present. Quite straight forward, I know what I’m looking for and I want to get it over with. My couch and netflix are calling loudly and seductively.

The girl at the booth selling scarfs and fine cloth from middle Eastern countries is helpful yet helpless with my request for a men’s scarf that is warm in winter yet equally suitable for summer, neither too long nor square, rather light-coloured with a tinge of blue or maybe orange. No shiny applications or obtrusive patterns, please. After a while she asks the friendly owner of the shop for help and he takes over.

I like him, a middle-aged Pakistani with an irrefutable taste for bargaining.

We discuss colours and patterns. He praises the items he pulls out from under the counter. Not the ordinary scarves and cloth on display, but finer fabrics, less mainstream. We get along and enjoy our conversation. He senses a good deal, I enjoy his calm friendliness.

Once we get talking about the prices, I back off from most items, as fine as they are. I tell him what I’m willing to pay maximum and now the real bargaining begins. After a good deal of arguing, I pay a good deal more than I wanted to for a scarf that admittedly IS very nice.

The guy hands over the bag and asks me whether I would like a scarf for myself, as well.

I look at the shiny and colourful things from distant countries that smell of Thousand and one Nights and sigh. There’s a glass green scarf with modest ornaments in flowery colours similar to the one my dad gave me three years ago for Christmas. And a hundred more oriental shades in silk and merino and finely woven cotton …

I tell him that I bought this one for my dad who needs it more than I do…

… He continues showing me marvellous patterns and colours …

… But I’m glad I can make him happy and …

How about this one young lady, this dark blue looks like the deep ocean next to your brown hair

… And that’s more important this year than another decoration for myself.

He pauses.

You made me very happy., he says. Thank you. 

We smile at each other for a while.

I thank him for our warm encounter and turn around.

Merry Christmas!, he says.

I stop, turn around once more and wave. Yes, there was a whiff of Christmas in the air.

ہربانی. Thank you.

Feeling good

So. Now that therapy is nearing its end, I might as well come forward and exercise some frolicking thought games that are supposed to light up my droopy disposition. 

Having readily disposed of 15% of my control urge (on a piece of paper in a box – yes, venturesome me), I feel I should fill that void with something good. Here are three things that were good today. 

I finished a task at work and found out that I really like working on that kind of process. 

What made me be the lucky one to get that task done? I guess, once I find the concentration, I’m happy meddling with meticulous tiny fractions of information, extract them from a larger text and piece them together to a new form. 

Feeling accurate and nerdy here…

Then Peter uploaded his application as BT candidate and received lots of good reactions on it.

Why’s that good for me? Well, the application is really good and I had my hand in it rounding it off and I feel proud that he follows his goals and hope he’ll be successful when the Bavarian Landesliste is voted in two weeks. 

Feeling melancholic butterflies…

And then I made my dad happy when he found my ‚keep up your spirits‘ postcard in the mail. 

Feeling good.