(Texts I send to my sister at age 34 - she almost never replies. In the end I tell the singer of the band that I liked the concert more than the exhibition I actually came for and congratulate him for being nice and not arrogant on stage. He says they do try their best. When I unlock my bike I come face to face with said cute bass player - he´s apparently having an earnest discussion, sitting down on some grimy stairs with a pretty girl and I know when I´m defeated. So what do I do in my weird crouching position? I ask him what an "aerostat" is, since the band is called that way. When he tells me it´s a Luftschiff, I say something like "so it´s basically a yellow submarine, but in red and up in the air". Calling my sister on my return home, she tells me that this is an excellent pick up line. Well, at least I made them laugh. I take a hot shower, check for early spring ticks and scary bruises my physiotherapist might have left behind with his cupping tool, trying to make my legs feel less numb - none and none. Then cat gets a chin tickle and I tell her I love her so. In bed before 10. My life is hilarious.)
(I have been wearing those shoes for over 20 years now. The leather is getting a bit stiff, but so am I.)
(By looking at our workshop you can definitely make out who is the Silberschiedemeister and who just isn´t. W started working on that turquoise bracelet about 30 years ago and is currently finishing it for my birthday - so excited!)
I always had to use the bathroom a lot, but with this vegan diet I am starting to feel like a bird or a mouse, digestion-wise. When you put something in, something else falls out - maybe even a bit like those dolls you feed with a tiny bottle, just so they would start to pee right away. Never had one of those, they were made of evil plastic, but I still left the toy catalogue laying open at the page with the thing on it, hoping my parents would somehow get the clue. All in vain, of course. Probably this diet is actually more fitting for the naturally constipated amongst us.
I read, read, read. Brilliant essays online, wonderful newsletters, magazines, so many books. Without Medimops, I would be broke by now because of my book buying habit - my mum actually thought I was ordering insane amounts of pet medication, because it says "Medi" and "Mops" on the packaging. These days I am down to exclusively female writers now, I rarely bother with the male ones. I grow impatient with them and become fidgety. I read so much, it is impossible to keep it all neatly stored and easily accessible in my brain. This makes me impatient and fidgety too, especially when I wake up at night - usually because my cat starts bouncing on my chest. Then my mind starts spinning with things I should look up, look at, look like and I am having a hard time falling asleep again. I think most of the available brain space is actually clogged up with food stuff, recipes I spotted somewhere and want to try someday. Like where did I find that vegan BANANA COOKIE RECIPE and did I bookmark the one with the SPICY PEANUT NOODLES I could have with the tiny winter radishes I found on the farmers market? For what did I buy the nutritional yeast for - a VEGAN CEASAR SALAD? Did I make a note somewhere of the ingredient list for that fabulous chickpea salad I had, when going out for lunch with my friend? The chickpeas were like none I ever had, so silky and fresh, like falling right down from the chickpea tree/plant/whatever and straight into my mouth... I´ll put it down here real quick: I seem to remember cucumbers, dates, celery and fresh coconut flakes, covered in a turmeric dressing. And I did read an exceptional article on how we view WOMEN´S STORIES, didn´t I, but why can´t I remember a thing about it? THE FOLDED CLOCK sat on on of my bookshelves for two years now, unread, which is shocking to me now, just shocking! But on the other hand, I am so happy to be able to read it now - maybe we were both just waiting for each other and for the right time. (There is a lovely The Lit Up Show EPISODE, which I greatly enjoyed, too - the one with Jennifer Egan is brilliant, too.) It definitely looks like I HAVE FORGOTTEN HOW TO READ. I would like to dive into all those topics, submerge and drown, but all I do is look at shiny surfaces and reflections.
My hair is too long and looks drab, my face always scrunched up, a vertical line sits between my eyebrows - there is nothing photogenic about that, nothing to successfully instagram. I can´t even fake beauty, create an idea of myself from scratch, some kind of voice. What do I sound like? I am wondering if there is a place for me in that chorus out there, where and what I want to be and what I have to do to get there. On the other hand I have just entered a new phase of unshakeable, leaden tiredness that keeps me just where I am. It is a kind of tiredness that doesn´t respond to freshly squeezed orange juice or spicy food or going out anyway. I only return shaking, with a ringing in my head and a desperate need to go to bed immediately. On one of those days I have to lie down in the afternoon and stand up again with a dislocated jaw an hour later. Chewing hurts and I massage my face using a bit of soothing oil while watching Friends. It turns out watching Friends has become unbearable in this new feminist era - Ross really is the worst of all (E says "he has always been a problematic character") and suddenly JOEY is the way better option. But maybe my voice is the one with the drab hair after all, living in the equally drab suburb and on a weird diet that makes her poop a lot. Maybe it doesn´t matter that I don´t drink a lot of WINE in a lot of places and drinking no wine in no places and writing about that down is just as legit. I really like the story of her Riesling nameplate by the way and I am thinking about which one I could get for myself - "Toilet"? "Emergency Exit"? My sister E suggests "Overly Excited" and wants something like "Easily Butthurt Feminazi" for herself.
At the flea market I find five plates and a bowl in the same blue pattern as two cups I greatly admired as child. I thought my mother so fancy for owning those, and their matching saucers. Looking at the dark blue flower at the bottom of the cup, covered by yellow coloured tea, made me feel cozy and warm. There was a turquoise enamel tea pot - now used for watering plants, a vintage leather berber bucket bag with fringes and a necklace with a tiny pearl and moon stone my dad made for her, that I also thought very grand. Taking a look in my cupboards, you wouldn´t think I live alone, you wouldn´t even think I was raising a big family. You would think I was hosting endless dinner parties instead, with mismatched dinner ware and lots of candles. None of this is happening however. It did, quite a few years ago, when dinner parties where my favorite thing. I don´t know if they were any good, but I liked coming up with a theme and preparing it all. And on each of those evenings I thought "Now your life is actually starting, that is actually how it is supposed to be. Never mind what happened until just now." I also think so every time I get a new dress.
Since I haven´t celebrated my birthday for over ten years now, I am thinking of maybe doing so this year. Well, only if my sister comes to help me "entertain", otherwise this would be too much pressure for me. What I want is a gathering of friends, sunshine (or not, I actually don´t care), pretty birthday dresses and delightful cakes with matcha and raspberries and the one with the rum soaked raisins in it. I want buttermilk scones, sugar and basil marinated strawberries with cream and I want pretty pictures as proof - those with the blurry sunspots and shallow depth of field. And I want my mother´s cheese crackers, sprinkled with seeds and spices, too, egg wash and all.
Last Easter Sunday a period of bad stomach pain started with a little twinge behind my pubic bone, when watching ELVIS on Youtube, which always makes W so excited. I tried to walk it off in the sun, by the river - the pain however didn´t give a fuck about a walk. It had come to stay, to spread and morph. This year I put a lot of brie and BLOOD ORANGE MARMALADE my mum has made on a lot of slices of sweet Easter bread. Then I take a walk with W, during which we don´t find a solution for my current cash flow problems, but I don´t really mind. After that he tells me the engineering for my new pieces is completely wrong. He is right about that, of course, but I don´t mind either. There is a storm that evening and the rain comes down slanting heavily from every direction, washing away everything but the throw up in front of the brothel I ride by every day. On Eastern Monday I eat even more of that yeasted bread with raisins and almonds and we take an other walk. I break a sweat in my new leather jacket, since the sun is out again and we pick up some earnings from one of my local STOCKISTS to ease the cash flow problem. Then we discuss our engineering issues in a very leisurely way. I haven´t felt that much like on holidays in, like, forever.
There is an Instagram ad for a vacuum cleaner attachment I am freakishly drawn to - it let´s you suck tiny bits of dust from your cutlery drawers with fuses so narrow, you don´t even have to remove the things in it. Now I desperately wish for that kind of thing and spot nooks all over the place I´d like to deep-clean with it.
I tell my parents I won´t be able to chip in on the new heating system we´ll need in the near future, since I have to save every cent to have my cat cloned one day.
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