(Not my hollyhocks, no, I can´t send you any seeds, sorry!)

I dream of just being about to board a train to Paris-Brest, I don´t in the end, it doesn´t stop at the station, the breaks don´t work or something like that, which makes sense since it is looking quite ramshackle, being built of ancient window panes, kind of like a home made hot bed. The hole dream story changes and suddenly I am a teenager and have blonde curls. The next morning, still sleepy,  I look up Paris-Brest on my phone and find out I was actually about to travel to a cake. A ring-shaped choux pastry concoction filled with hazelnut buttercream, something I´m pretty sure I would not even like.

I pick a few flowers from the garden, a thing I rarely do these days - it feels either too much or like I am depriving the bees of a meal. It is a quite intoxicatingly smelling bunch, pink phlox and old man´s beard, faded St. John´s wort is in there, too, which doesn´t really smell but I try to ease my pain by looking at it very hard - this is a rather homeopathic practice I invented myself. It doesn´t help at all so far. Stuffing stems into vases always happens on the steps leading up to my front door and this time I leave it there while collecting seeds from a redvein dock plant beneath the stairs, when a gust of wind blows it off the banister. It misses my head, splatters all over my thighs and bursts on the ground. The vase was one of a pair of hyacinth vases, my favorite, a dark green one. A couple of hours later I get caught up in a heavy rain storm, getting completely drenched despite all the rain gear I am wearing. After a bit of blow drying, we start tidying the workshop, a thing we almost never do, it looks awful afterwards, but W enjoys it so much. When I come home, I am so tired. Too tired to do anything, sickly tired. When this happens I am often so disappointed with myself, but then I get it. I am radiating with pain, pulsing with it. Pain is my rhythm.

I have started making this odd "Mhm." sound with tiny tasks, like getting on a bike, putting something in my backpack, washing my hands and such. To me it feels like I finally went crazy now, a thing I had been waiting for to happen any minute. It is almost a relief, but I really have to cut it out. 

An other new thing I am doing is stepping outside in the late afternoon or evening, hiding behind the house where no neighbors can see me and practise a bit of "wildly creative moving". Two huge spruce trees and a lot of wilderness, plus buckets full of debris, falling apart sheds and fire wood block almost everything out, but sometimes I get a few sunspots. I don´t want to make fun or too light of myself or talk down what I am doing there, so I am telling you instead that I am actually a very expressive morisco dancer. I almost look like paintings on greek vases.



The night before I am having a STORY published on a website that is not my blog, I feel like I am  loosing my mind because of loneliness. I got quite encouraging feedback from the editors that should have had me gleeing with joy, but, no. I check Youtube if there is a song called "I´m so lonesome I could die". There isn´t, it is "cry" not "die" and it doesn´t do it for me, too many birds probably. So I cry to Johnny Cash´s "I see a darkness" instead, because "well, you know I have a love, A love for everyone I know, And you know I have a drive, To live, I won´t let go, But can you see this opposition, Comes rising up sometimes?" Well, yeah, "And then I see a darkness". Crying only takes the 3:43 minutes the song lasts and my cat couldn´t care less, cleaning herself furiously next to me, sitting on a crumpled Zeit Magazin (the one with the lead article on veganism - Werbung, da Namensnennung), completely drugged out by catnip. When the song is over, my darkness is gone, sometimes I am easy that way. A neighbor calls, wanting to go for some ice cream. I ask her if we could do so the next day, that way she could also rescue me from a Tinder date, if need be.

As you can tell, I am socializing as much as I can, I go to any event where it is socially acceptable to show up alone. By now I recognize all the others that are doing the same, some numbing the embarrassment by being drunk, some of them plain crazy and I am fully aware that I am one of those lonely freaks and yes, I fit in just perfectly. By now I am completely shameless, I can´t bear it any longer, so I ask everyone crossing my path if we could maybe hang out sometime. For fuck´s sake, I am even doing Tinder. Well, no, not literally for fuck´s sake, but still. I hear this is needy and disgusting behaviour, so I will probably be known as the woman with the frown and the "aggressive jewellery" (thank you NANETTE - Werbung, da Namensnennung), who wanted to be friends so badly, because the ones she had moved to FUCKING BABYLAND. The one who started to harass everyone she knew to come to her BOOK CLUBS and asked out cute boys so way out of her league to go to the movies, even though she can´t even sit properly on those movie theater seats, her back is that broken. Her teeth are chattering with hunger and fatigue, because she just had lost 10 pounds since the pain made her stop eating.  Yes, yes, yes, even being thin did not make her less lonely. And now, now she is even getting old, poor thing. And no, she doesn´t do the sensible thing and keep all of this to herself, she is bothering everyone with it - it is highly annoying. Her sister dreads talking to her on the phone now, fearing her "condition" might indeed be an infectious one.


Following all that self help advice for lonely people, putting yourself out there, does not always help. Most times it just makes it harder, because you see what you don´t have every single fucking time and then you go home. You just go home. That´s all. Sometimes staying home would be the gentler option, not sharpening the pain some more. Also: Tinder - not a solution, it´s rather pretty disgusting all in all. That date I went on was really bad, apparently he didn´t think so, apparently I am that good at lying. Getting ice cream later on with my neighbor was a delight however and of course I told her all about the guy - un-single people enjoy those stories so much. Going home alone also felt really great that day, excellent really.


Es regnet und alle reißen schnell die Fenster auf bevor es wieder heiß wird. Die Nachbarin telefoniert, sie geht morgen nicht zum Sport, es sind Ferien. Ich seh ein Fahrschulmotorad, das bei jedem geparkten Auto links und dann rechts blinkt. Ein Narrischer hat seiner Hortensie alle Blüten abgeschnitten und auf den Grünabfall geschmissen. Wahrscheinlich hat er sie greislich gefunden.

Meine Schwester hat ein Lied für ihre Kindertanzgruppe gedichtet, darüber dass der Sommer jetzt geht. Das hat ihr so Spaß gemacht, sie ist direkt traurig, dass sie jetzt mit dem Unterricht da aufhört. Ihr könnt sie ja vielleicht anrufen, dann singt sie es euch vor. Sie hat auch noch eins über den Herbst vorbereitet.

(That iris I am awkwardly holding up in those pictures is not the one I am talking about later on, but a rather lovely variety, unfortunately with stems too weak to hold up the bloom.)




When walking is an option, I often take strolls with W and since the weather is so excellent these days, there is so much to see.  Of course we also prefer the weekend or holidays for maximun entertainment, during the week it might just be plain boring with nobody about. This time around we spot a tiny wiener dog puppy being trained. He is taking such an effort to circle around all these withered narcissus stems in his way when racing back and forth, it is the cutest thing ever. I try to make W write one of his poems about it.

Two weeks before my 35th birthday I buy a bottle of rum to soak some raisins in and get asked to show my ID - this is hilarious. Buying alcohol always makes me feel a bit guilty, even more so when I also buy a bag of sugar and it looks like I am trying to cover up the fact that I am indeed only out getting the rum. Later on I find out they actually do this all the time, probably to promote customer loyalty.

Oh, asparagus smelling pee time! How much do I love you! Since there is so much of that stuff grown in our area, you can get it really cheap now and most times there is an even better deal on the tiny slim green ones, which are my favorite anyway. Since I am quite into smalltalk and any kind of spontaneous banter, I now know that none of my favored asparagus sellers is ever eating any kind themselves, they also despise the strawberries they also have on offer and do not get what the fuss might possibly be about. They are more into cats, cats are huge for them. My cat looses so much fur these days, she is currently walking around in an aura of floating hair.

Getting my hair cut is an ordeal, almost the whole family is like that, which makes us a spectacular too long haired bunch. But by now it had gotten so bad, I just needed to get it over with. So I go to a place just around the corner called "Evelyn´s Friseurstübchen", where there are copper coloured wall stencils, a family of plaster marmots sitting in the window and the hairdressers wear apron dresses and get out their rolls stuffed with ham from a roll shaped Tupper box to snack on, while their ancient client is whiling away under the hood dryer. Every Thursday and Friday you can stop by without an appointment and I will now do so as long as I live here and they keep this establishment going, since I probably got the best dry haircut ever at Evelyn´s and it was so cheap it suited by broke state a lot. I tipped in abundance, I simply could not help myself, being so relieved to have it over with and so happy to have found such a treasure.

Despite he fact that I am in quite a bit of discomfort these days and sometimes in a foul mood, there are so many things I find delight in. First of all the smell - everything is just burning up in flower in such speed right now, the mixture being different every day. Heady with lily of the valley and lilac even - or especially - at night, and the elderflower is just waiting to join the chorus. I also enjoy things like the nerve racking, almost ultrasonic hiss of my recently decalcified tap aerator when the water is running. Also I really like to dress again, to put jewellery on - it never totally stopped, but it always needed to be something that would come off again in a second in case an emergency should arise. Now I like digging up stuff from my closet I got ages ago, things that feel like they have just been waiting for me all that time. I am so glad I never joined the Marie Kondo cult - in case some pieces just do not work anymore, I bring them over to my mum. It turns out she looks quite eclectic in turquoise pants, I just felt ridiculous wearing them. When the pain isn´t too distracting or frustrating, it actually can coexist with delight. This is fairly new to me, for a long time those two thing felt exclusive too me. In a few months I will celebrate a decade of being in massive pain. During these festivities I will not be able to share any wisdom with you, there won´t be slideshows, impressive before and after pictures, no inspirational tale of how I made it to the other side using only my iron willpower. There is no other side and the iron bits are rusty, flakey, crumbling away under the softest touch. I have not overcome a single thing, nor am I stronger than before - I have not risen from the ashes. I did the hospital stay that should have turned my life around and the diet that was supposed to change my existence, now it is probably all down to the fact that I haven´t had a hydrocolontherapy and never take a look at the organ watch. And maybe things just haven´t changed because I am simply not happy enough and not able to do any yoga, also I only meditate while riding my bike. And though I listened closely, I still have no idea what my body might want to tell my so urgently, or what possible use that pain could be for me. The answers making most sense to me so far, are "nothing" and "none" and being asked those questions sets a fire to my fury, has me reeling from hot red (or white, depending on the setting) rage. Also I do not think I am punishing myself with all this, for things that are not supposed to be punished in such a way, in any way. Things like lying to my grandmother about a singing and dancing game in the school yard that never actually happened in third grade or an ill advised hookup, leading to an undetected chlamydia infection that might have turned on my spine. My body does not strike me that vindictive and biblical and even if it would have turned all Old Testament and plage-style on me, you should think I would have atoned for my sins by now, leading a martyr nun life. I might get even beatified, if I wasn´t so pissed and angry, but of glorious endurance instead. 

I am tired and get teary eyed every time I read the obituaries and that line pops up with the way becoming to hard and steep and God seeing this, putting his arm around you, telling you to come home. This God seems so nice and I really like him. Also I really, really want to go there, home. Not dead-home, but pain-free-home. But I will admit that thinking about dead-home also gives me a lot of comfort, which makes this definitely not a saddening thing. Sometimes the sun shining outside is just not "true" for you, because you are in sick- and pain-land and this is not actually life. Life is what everyone else is doing, they own the sun and they also own Sun-days, to enjoy and be free. You do not have those. And every time you wish someone a happy weekend, you are wondering what that might look like. When you do not know where any of this is leading, or if it will indeed ever end and you feel so out of options, no solutions on the horizon and just going on, plain survival is definitely not one - bam - there it is! A new idea, one of those cherished light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel moments! You realize you can actually always put that end to it all - it is up to you, at last. Oh, that is a cheering thought! So you put on some high-waisted white jeans you will have to unbutton all the way down again when you are trying to sit down for the first time (you will never wear those again), but you do look like a very hot doctor and you meet up with your friends and go to an event in some park that makes everyone attending feel very fancy. Pants undone, looking profesh, thinking happily "I can kill myself any time I want, you fuckers - isn´t that just awesome?!". And let me tell you, that thought is so much more relieving than unbuttoning those pants and allowing that belly to expand in abundance, but just like that there is freedom and deep breathing again. An odd kind of happiness in this turmoil, a tiny bit of ease in distress.

In this neighbourhood the only excuse for an overgrown garden or even worse - lawn, is being gravely ill or indeed dead. But even then you are not totally excused for this disgrace, since what you should have done, when feeling the early onsets of old age, the shadow of death, is pouring concrete all over your place or at least fill it up with deranged zen-style pebble. Better yet, have the common sense and turn the whole thing over to someone young and neat before your decay sets in. The plaster covering my house is crumbling, my paths are covered in ornamental lichen, my fence barely held together by a clematis hard at work. My lawn is always parched and my hedges uncut (who would bother with giving their box woods a trimm, when the box wood moth is just waiting around the corner to take it down?). I (accidentially) breed escargots and tiny pink snails (my favorite) and the little yellow ones with the brown stripes, because my garden walls are made of limestone, which is good for building their shells. Thyme, chives and hollyhocks (and grass, of course, and dandelion) grow in the cracks between the paving stones and I won´t put an end to it. One of my neighbours is desperately offering me moss killers. No plant, not even the hundreds of shrill bright red 50s tulips can be contained to their beds. (Actually I am just about to tear those out every season, only stopping myself knowing they fade within a couple of days anyway. So far I haven´t found a way to tone them down with some kind of plant partners, neither the awful variety of two-toned violet bearded iris appearing a few weeks later.) This is an affront in the country of highly effective weed killers, flame throwers and high-pressure cleaners. Where the young and old can be found hurrying to the nearby cemetery at all times, carrying a watering can, since there is no greater shame then an unkempt and under-watered family grave. I´ll say - with a preachery gesture to match: "Let my grave be a wasteland." And I do not mean that in a poetic give-me-all-the-wildflowers that-will-be-so-good-for-the-bees, this-is-an-excellent-idea-I-am-going-to-be-bee-food-when-I-am-dead way, no, I actually mean wasteland. That nice God has taken me home and I do not feel a fucking thing, so why would I care if I am covered in trash, annoying the hood.

(I have to admit however, that there is indeed one resident who is by far surpassing my tame attempts at garden rioting with a property in such constant disarray, an everlasting construction site. Whenever I spot him taking on a new, and soon to be abandoned, messy and nonsensical project, I mentally applaud him. I am not badass enough to create or tolerate such a display of chaos, so he is definitely the king of suburban pandemonium.)

(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.

(These pictures of my after-winter garden basically show what is called an "Idylln" around here, in a very ironic but loving way.)

(I took the pictures of those golden ear rings to be with fancy stones in the workshop in early fall and they still aren´t finished - by posting these I hope to put a bit of pressure on us to do so.)

(This NIGHTSTAND made me want to give Anita Brookner an other try - I found her HOTEL DU LAC so cruel, but I am so glad I gave it another shot, because this one is just so, so good. Here is my favorite passage: "He would, he had long ago decided, be deliberately euphoric. It was a technique which he could practise and perfect, although sometimes it nearly eluded him. Thus, from his earliest days, he remembered scenes that might have been deviced by Proust." To be deliberately euphoric - what a way to lead ones life (despite the fact that he has been trough a lot of hardships), this seems hugely inspiring to me. I also love the fancy vintage cover and I am planing on collecting many of those. Oh, and that would be my own CRESCENT BRACELET, in case you were wondering!)

My Sundays are busy in a weird way. I do my laundry because I still have my Grandmother´s ancient electricity contract, where they don´t charge as much for electricity used during the night and on Sundays. It looks like I use as much electricity during the week as on washing and tumble drying days. Also I need to flip my mattress once a week, because I got tricked into spending a lot of money on it years ago and it turned out it is complete garbage and really sucks. After a week of sleeping on it, it feels like I have to crawl out of a valley each morning. So Sunday is when I flip the damn thing. My sister says I can´t call it being tricked, I was just being plain stupid instead, since it was one of those shops calling themselves a specialized mattress dealer in bold red and yellow letters, while  simultaneously announcing an eternal sale. The tumbler also doesn´t really work that good anymore, so I spend the day with a kitchen filled with chairs covered in clothes in the final drying stages.

I find a padded fancy leather jacket at my friend´s and stockist´s SHOP, when she is having a sale. I also fall in love with a black cashmere sweater with flowers on it. In the end I swap them for the most elaborate of our SILVER RECYCLING NECKLACES, which means I got a really, really good deal on them. They both smell like the also very fancy perfume she sells, which unfortunately gives me a  bit of a headache, so I have to air them out for a while. Which basically means wearing both a lot. I look almost sharp in that jacket, a quite disturbing sight.

I break the cup that wet with my tiny tea POT, all because when doing the dishes that morning I marveled at the fact that I had not yet broken it, even though I use it every morning since my sister gave it to me for my birthday a few years ago. Trying to put it away while simultaneously eating a shitty peanut-butter-seeds-and-chocolate-slice, I drop it a few hours later. My magical thinking is powerful and by now the facts are on my side. I had a premonition of dropping my phone in the toilet (only for the first time it happened to me, the second time it was a surprise) and even of my grandmother´s deadly stroke, I get a feeling about the tiniest and greatest losses - so don´t try to tell me otherwise. I can´t accept broken or lost things, so that damn cup was glued together again right away - you can´t drink from it anymore, of course, but at least it is not that broken anymore. However I also think when something minor happens, it means something major isn´t happening instead. So all of these plates breaking and there are a lot of plates breaking these days - sometimes they just sit broken in their drawer, broken by ghosts´ hands probably - keep the really bad stuff from happening. And I am very thankful for that. I even told my mother about this when she was mourning a broken antique jug and made her feel very good about it instead. 

A friend tells me she is pregnant while the dog she is currently watching starts to throw up violently. The poor beast heaves and shakes and I pity her a lot. She is a vegan dog, so the throw up is bright yellow. When I am riding home on my bike, I am wondering how a dog in the wild might come to the conclusion to lead a vegan life and I figure it probably goes like this: "Glaubst as, des Hoosn jogn bockt mi nimma - i friss etz Ruam!" This is absolutely untranslatable since that specific vegan dog lived in the Upper Palatinate, being a teenager around 2010, talking this era´s local youth slang. I ask my sister if it is weird to think my own joke that funny - she doesn´t have a conclusive answer.

I don´t know what is wrong with my Photoshop, the transformation frames leave traces all over the desktop and I have no idea where I am at at any point - it feels like going mad. Then I find some short cuts to press while rebooting the whole thing and it goes away. 

I am so pissed these days, carrying around some kind of anger, pared with so much tiredness and a feeling like I might come down with something any minute now. I had wanted to go to a screening by a quite successful DIRECTOR growing up in our town, visiting even the same school as I did, but I had written the date wrong and noticed it too late - made me scream. I also wanted to go to Munich and take a look at all those JEWELLERY EXHIBITIONS, but the day before I was so still so tired I had to lie down after riding the fold up bike I wanted take with me around the block. I will do so some other time, but it feels like I have failed. On the other hand, going to a bigger city always makes me feel depressed about the one I am living in. Of course I could just go visiting a lot, but I am just so immobile. Instead I feel like my life is wasting away, living at the lifeless outskirt of a narrow medieval town, with not that much to see. It is cute alright here, but I feel like I miss out on so much, the really beautiful things. But right now this is the only life I can afford and I am grateful for its advantages, but these days this irks me a great deal. I yell-tell all of this my sisters, they understand. They are not enough dates between meals to calm my mood and never any sweets in the house. My sister´s co-worker suggests I might switch to alcohol, everybody knows about my faul temper by now. Then I get an update on Facebook that one of the events I had dreamed of going to, a poetry reading at the Haus der Kunst, was cancelled due to sickness.

The seasons are changing again, my cat wants to be let out in the middle of the night, for a stroll in the dark. On her return she rattles at my door and covers my white bed sheets with earthy foot prints. The next day it feels like the first day of spring, she stays outside all day and comes home pumped, trying to pick play fights with me. It seemed like she had gotten old during the winter, but the warmth has turned her into a kitten again. It does sound odd, but I have really liked that winter, I am in no hurry for Spring either. I feel in tune with the seasons now.