Sonntag, März 27, 2011


Trotz Zeitumstellung. Und morgen muss ich wieder ganz früh raus. Aber ein bisschen zusammenfassen muss ich ja schon, was hier so passiert. Und? Was ist passiert? Es war St. Patrick's day. Erst wollte ich gar nichts trinken und dann konnte ich mich am Ende nicht mal mehr genau erinnern, wie ich in den Pub gekommen bin - nicht unbedingt mein schönster, vielleicht aber mein betrunkenster Abend hier. Ansonsten erhält hier doch langsam der Frühling Einzug. Die letzte Woche war wunderbar sonnig und verhältnismäßig warm, bis auf gestern. Gestern waren wir im Alton Towers Freizeitpark. Wenn ich die Augen schließe überschlage ich mich jetzt noch. Eine ganze Reihe wirklich guter Fahrgeschäfte haben die da stehen und wenn man sich in 2,5 s auf 100 km/h beschleunigen lässt, zittern die Hände plötzlich nicht mehr vor Kälte, sondern vor Adrenalin. Ein wahrer K.O.-Tag, von dem ich mich heute wohl noch nicht ganz erholt habe. Während ich also Frühling feiere, sind andere Erasmusmenschen schon wieder fern von hier und kriegen von all dem gar nichts mit. Ich schlage die Hände über dem Kopf zusammen und frage 'wie kann man nur', denn ich weiß nur ich kann nicht, kann keine Beziehung zu Menschen aufbauen, die nicht hier sind. Auch nicht zu Kleidungsstücken, die nicht hier sind.
Heute habe ich das Zimmer gesaugt, die Stundenplanungen fertig gemacht und die Luftmatrazen aufgepustet, denn ab Dienstag heißt es: Besuchszeit! Erst kommt Christian und dann Kristin, Julia und Stephan. Wie die hier Platz finden weiß ich noch nicht ganz genau. Aber es wird schon gehen, muss ja.
So. Ich gähne. Und geh ins Bett. Bald mehr.

Sonntag, März 06, 2011

The next will be the last...

after the trizillionst episode of Grey's Anatomy this weekend I am full of emotional crap. But more than that: I'm full of the stories I'm trying not to tell, because they only partly belong to me, they are my kind of souvenirs and half-stolen and I don't know... but on wednesday I realized something: I work at this school in Conwy with a storyteller. A gifted storyteller. This woman never fails to pick the right story for the right situation, never fails to deliver the punch line, enhances with gestures, sound effects and funny out of the picture comments - and I am keeping all this to myself. And all to myself. I am not even writing about it for myself alone. But I think it is about to get back on here. Maybe. If this thirst for telling stays.

Since Thursday evening the enemy's been taking over. I could feel its every step. In the early evening I was just tired. Then I read a bit of Schnitzler and decided to call it a night and went to bed, where I lay for hours and hours with first a headache, then a sore throat, then fever - it was adventurous! Lucky me, that I got my Essay for Friday done just a few hours before. I slept through most of friday after that. I called Vera and she printed out my Essay and handed it in and then I sat at home and read and slept and ate and slept and read some more... all that sleeping led to some breathtaking insomnia for the rest of the weekend. At some point on friday night I decided it might be wise to see the signs, stick to reality, speak truth when it hits home and somehow live through this. I am still struggling with it. I don't know exactly what this holds for me. It could be incredibly good. It could be depressing. Sometimes you have to take a plunge.
In all my sleeplessness I watched more than a whole season of Grey's Anatomy, panicked a few times about my "this is the life" decision, went shopping, read Schnitzler and essentially took a weekend off. From it all. And now. Now after I watched the second episode of the fifth season I am going to go out for one of these walks. You know one of these walks, where it doesn't matter where you go and what you see and how the weather is and if you get lost - you just need the feeling you're moving, the feeling the world is still moving. I need that a lot. Like when my friends and me picked on that girl in school bus because she was so pretty and seemingly friends with everyone and we just tried to convince her that she was cross-eyed and when I got home I was so ashamed of myself I had to walk for 8 kilometres to lash out on myself. Or like when I fell in love for the first time since I knew for sure that I was gay and I was really unsure about how to handle it and if I might be to clingy and stop it all together and then she sent an email, a really long email and I only got to read the first few words, where she called me like no one else called me and no one else called me that because I wouldn't let them - and I read the first line and I had to get out and feel this world under my feet and smile like a complete lunatic und just be freakin' happy for me, just me. Or like when I failed my first exam and I wanted to quit it all - Latin, teaching, university, you name it - and I had to make myself walk fast and breath a lot of the late summer's air to convince myself I might be not a failure after all, if I don't let myself be one. That's the thing to do. When all else fails - I walk, I jog, I run. I've been running an awful lot these past few weeks. And I don't want it to be a running away. Because I am not. I just-. Need time to think things out. To put stories together. Stories I probably never tell anyone because I wouldn't know how. Stories that keep me sane. At least I hope they do. Maybe they only keep me out of this great chaos we call life. I don't know that yet. But I decided to rip my chest open, to tell stories or let them go, to try what has to be tried und to bury what is long gone - so I am going for a walk. And when I come back this world still has to be there - waiting for me to mess everything up.