Schneemädchen.

Es hat geschneit. Endlos viel. In meinem Kopf. 142 cm. Und es war jemand da. Vielleicht bist das gar nicht du. Und es schneit und schneit. Weil niemand sagt, was jeder weiß.

Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come

I want to tell you about my christmas... kinda.

I didn't really feel the christmas spirit this year, what with being home for no December weekend at all, no church service all December, no shoe polishing for St. Nicholas (well, I tried but lack sufficient tools), no guitar playing on Christmas Eve to look forward to (my brother celebrated with the family of his girlfriend for the first time)... so it didn't strike me as too outlandish, when I met with some old school friends on the 23rd and one of them told me, she and her family were not celebrating Christmas this year: "No presents, no Christmas, just a family dinner - so looking forward to it!", that's how she put it. And I understood. The humdrum shopping every year, the hectic pre-Christmas life, the sometimes forced family gatherings... it can be deterring...

I know Christmas is a cultural thing and while it my not be an exclusively christian thing anymore, it is in (formerly) christian societies where it really flourishes. And so if some people think it absolutely ridiculous to sing cheesy songs about a baby they do not believe in or observe the blending of secular follies and christian tradition with bewilderment, I will not persuade them to embrace christmas. Just like no one will make me embrace Yom Kippur. So that's that.
But at some point this Christmas Eve it struck me that those who had celebrated Christmas all their lives - by choice, may I add - and now decided to just let it slide, could not have celebrated it the way my family does, the way I do. Yes, we get each other presents. And no it isn't our main concern in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Yes, we go all out with the cooking for Christmas. And no it isn't just a chore, it is a family activity, an opportunity for extravaganza and joking and creating something together. Yes, we have a tight schedule on Christmas Eve starting at 7 in the morning and my last church service starting at 11 pm. But no, it is not just a hubbub we have to get through. Half past seven is the set dinner time and every step leading up to it, is what brings Christmas to life, is necessary to set this day apart from all the others. My little brother is terribly nervous, my mother is preoccupied with the sermons and the rest of us coordinate the normal everyday necessities with the Christmas preparations: Cooking something for lunch, arranging the presents in the living room, preparing dinner, hoovering the whole flat once more, learning poems and songs by heart, attending the two church services always ready to extinguish fire should one break out with all the candles... Yes, we have extended family over for Christmas. And no, we are not pretending to be and example of harmonious family life. We keep it in a time range everyone can stomach, so we all can make it through feeling good. We play the new games we got for Christmas, this year we'll go to the opera, we eat together, we talk, we depart.
Yes, we do all of these things. But neither of them is our priority. We are home. We relish in the fact that even my grandma still knows all the songs and poems and stories by heart. We are stressed out and sometimes hot headed, but we come back to this evening with a tenderness and a quiet that is worth all of it.

"Bist du der eigenen Rätsel müd?
Es kommt, der alles kennt und sieht..."

"I want you to die

the way I died." And isn't that all kinds of wrong? Isn't it vile and ugly and selfish and tremendously sad? It certainly is the reason why humans do not come with superpowers. Because they stop caring about the world and the greater good, once they are thrown off balance.

There's no point in crossing your fingers for this Friday. What hasn't happened in those last 20 years, will surely not come about now. There's no reason to keep holding on to the misery and the carelessness. It is ugly. And tremendously sad. No superpowers. No apocalypse. Just the two voices in your head. One is saying "push through"... and the other one is lying.

Ladies,

I am a real catch. Even if I say so myself. :)

"Don't move so slow..."

"... I can't take it..." Because I felt I was getting nowhere and because I need all my procrastination for university and work, I decided to set up a new plan for training that is less vague and trades rest days for alternative activity. I am on it since Monday and so far I am not quite sure what to think of it. I haven't run this slowy for a very long time. And I haven't laced up my running shoes for a mere 5 kilometers for the same time. It feels a bit ridiculous. But I will give the plan a chance. So far it is laid out for 6 weeks and the intervals(starting next week! :) ) look quite challenging. Hopefully, it will be less frustrating then. For now I am just running reeeeeeeeally slowly. Which might be an advantage considering the snow and the ice on the street...

--

If somehow, miraculously, you were given ten days, ten nights and no morning beyond - where would you take them? If you had ten days left, what would you eat, where would you sleep, what would you see? For 240 hours, how much would you allow yourself to feel? If we were given counted time, instead of endless endeavour, would all of this still matter? Would we still plan ahead and have to deal with regret? If we were sure it ended, would we begin to begin? Or can't we break out, is this numbness our skin?
Maybe you have ten days. Or maybe it's two. Or twenty-thousand. Maybe it's always to soon. And if I had ten nights and no morning beyond... I'd spend some with you.
And nothing hurt.

Hey, they are playing that song...

I just wondered if you will remember the song. I guess, the pain will stay. I will have to find a way to relish in this life anyway. Sign me up, Santa Fe...

---

The snow is falling just the way I love it and I finally laid my hands on that book on psycholinguistics that I always wanted to read. It is for work obviously. I think I will take it home with me for the weekend. And I will devour it like a novel. Psycholinguistics is very dear to my heart, as it ties in with so many theories I've developed from my early childhood onwards. Language is fascinating.  

What if there is no right moment?

What if one day you find yourself transformed into the most stunning butterfly, with technicolor wings and such grace and agility, it is hard to believe you've ever been anything else? You find yourself cut out for everything. The sunny side of life has finally caught up to you, a soft summer breeze is propelling you along and you just know that this was worth all the waiting. Sounds good? Well, it might happen.

Or maybe it won't. So you might as well try to be the jolliest caterpillar in the whole wide world. Day in, day out.

Die Welt lässt sich nicht besiegen

Egal, wie früh wir aufstehen. Egal, wie weit wir gelaufen sind. Die Welt lässt sich nicht besiegen. Am Besten wäre wohl, wenn wir das einsähen. Und die Richtung wechseln. Damit nicht wir am Ende die Besiegten sind.

"You know, I'm all for your desire. I crave the feeling of you wanting me naked, the feeling I get when I hear you gasping... but tonight, can we do something else? I would really need you to hold me without falling asleep right away. I would like you to experience this freakishly demanding need of being in contact with me, just like I experience it. So you could just hold me. And you would want to stay close to me, even if you're uncomfortable lying this way, because in some way you cannot fathom what sleep is for now that you are lying next to me. I would really need that. "

Wishlist

Alright, people. I think I've been milking the heavy stuff for quite some time now. And now the point has come to touch on some other topics. As you all know, Christmas is approaching. And in case you are not totally counting on being saved by some apocalypse, I am sure you will spend some time thinking about presents and wishes and the economic rush hour that is Christmas time.
If your friends are avid believers in the end of the world, I am sure they will appreciate you packing a survival backpack for them. Which may include tequila (highly recommended), duct tape, chewing gum (MacGyver was never without it), a torch, water filtration kit, basic medication and some of these.
If that doesn't work... I am sorry. You're on your own then. Which can be really tricky especially because Christmas seems to be one of those times when you cannot remember for the life of you all the things you always wanted to have... Which is the original reason for this blogpost. I just remembered what I wanted. And I will post it here, so I can read it later:

comic underwear. No kidding. I always wanted some. If you don't understand what I mean, look here or here.

I will get back to you with more crude wishes later. And in the meantime I encourage you to think about your own. Write them down. Tell people. Otherwise you might get one of those survival backpacks... just saying ;) 

So are we girlfriends then?

You cannot move away. Not now that technically there is a place for you as my physicist-wife. We could be annoyingly nerdy. We could have spontaneous dance parties in the kitchen to songs we're both too young to know. We could throw all our tableware against walls when it gets too unbearable to be at each other's mercy. I could wake you in the dead of night, because early mornings are my thing, and you could hold my hands through the caffeine shock, while I try to join you for a long night. We could be unconventional together. We could think up sweet escape scenarios and arrive at the decision of staying time and again. I could paint a house for you and the colours of a sunrise and we would never move in, but camp in the backyard. We could take ballroom dance classes to embarass your parents on your sister's wedding. We could write endless to-do-lists and then spend the day in bed, because nothing could be more important than that. We could be good together. Really good.

There's just this one thing:
We can't.
You're hung up on that knight of yours and I don't want to get over my ex-girlfriend. So much so, that it makes me nauseous to think the word: Ex-girlfriend.

But let me tell you one thing: There's a really good chance they won't come back. And this thing we're doing right now? That's pathetic. So, you know, once I get over the denial and the anger and the bargaining and the depression... once I get there, I will wake up to see you've been that tad bit quicker. And I will regret it.

Now that is all I've had to say within the last two years

summed up in a two minute dance performance. Impressive.

Ok, Anna Calvi strikes me as slightly uncanny, but this music video is definitely one of my favourites.
Other than that I've come to the conclusion that I cannot be sorry for myself like that for more than two days. So in case this continues, I will embrace the stupidity I was born with, go out there and get me a bloody nose. Nothing like a mess, to clean things up, right?

intoxicated

My heart behaves like a drunkard lately: Stumbling around in my chest, sporting a bluntness nobody can bear and being overly sentimental. I'm aching, I'm sore, but alas, of course I cannot admit it! Now that would ruin everything, wouldn't it?

Sterben üben.

Ich bin ertrunken im Traum. Aber das war nicht das Schlimmste. Ich war unter Wasser ohne oben und unten und sank - womöglich - nur noch tiefer Richtung Grund, während meine Lungen brannten und die Panik wuchs. Kein verirrter Lichtstrahl, der die Wasseroberfläche anzeigt, nur kaltes Dunkelblau und schließlich ein tiefer Zug Wasser. Das war das Schlimmste. Der plötzliche Frieden, der sich einstellte, als ich wusste, das nichts mehr zu retten ist. Die Abgeklärtheit des "gleich vorbei".
Beim Augenaufschlag begrüßt mich eine Nebelszenerie wie aus "Angriff der Moorleichen" und etwas ähnliches wie Enttäuschung. Der Wecker klingelt. Ein feuchter Tag, kein nasses Grab erwartet mich.

I didn't say never.

But I said "not the next time", "not this time", "not for a while now"... I really don't want to travel alone next year. Not that I dislike the concept in general. It was great the first time I did it. It was mind-bending and eye-opening and much needed. And while all of this might hold true for my last solitary trip, it was also a terribly lonely affair. I felt lonely, lost, desperate and very, very sad. Been great places, saw some truly astonishing scenes, met some nice people... but I was essentially ship-wrecked.
I am trying to make happiness a local affair now. To make myself at home here. And I still want to go places, to travel far and beyond... But I refuse to go alone yet again. I refuse. I'd rather stay here.

Run. Keep on running.

This was me this morning. This will be me tomorrow morning. And in the meantime I will do the work I neglected all week, start planning my Latin lessons and try to tidy this room. Life is good. Seize it.

Truth is...

if sex had any healing power, we'd've cured cancer. And AIDS. But for now my best bet is on that other life when the both of us will be cats.

For this life though, I will make a wish:

I wish you'll find someone who makes you ache with love. Who challenges you and treasures your heart. Someone you can carry over shaky grounds and paint the most vivid dreams for. I wish that they will appreciate the compliments that you are so apt at paying. And that they can be enriched by your refreshing openness as much as you will be by experiencing such certainty. I wish you can build a life that is not so unfamiliar that it scares you, but so extraordinary you hadn't dared hoping for it. I wish that you will grow stronger and wiser and more beautiful with every hurdle in your way. And you shall cherish this world and every step you take in it, your heartbeat and the love it emanates, the countless possibilities and your own unmistakable path. I wish you a happy life.

And for myself, I wish to not become a ghost on some imaginary platform. That would mean a lot already.

Fingers crossed for you

People are falling apart out there. They are hurting themselves and cutting and transferring all their bruises from the inside to the outside. People who are trying to numb themselves with pain. I know that. Hell, I've been there. The toughest decision is not to take it out on yourself. And you have to make it day in, day out. The pain will not go away immediately. It will linger. It will almost tear you apart. But once you've found a valve for it - one that is not diminishing yourself, because let's face it: we cannot feast on ourselves and expect to not fade away - once you've found a valve, you will experience the pain and the dark going through you. Still scary, still nightmareish horror. But you will grow. You will be able to let go of the sorrow and let the good linger. Everyday a bit longer.
You cannot cut yourself down, like the rest of the world does. Reach out for yourself, be good to yourself. You only have that one body, that one soul. Your dreams and hopes and talents and weaknesses and fears and strengths - you need to hold on to them. Stop the cutting, the purging, the starving, stop beating yourself up. Show mercy. You can do it. Bit by bit. Step by step.

Why it is so crucial to make time for this:

I was angry with this day. When I got up really early and was told in school to come back 5 hours later. When I sat around in the office, unable to work because I had left my verb lists at home. When I drove back to school and was told to come again tomorrow. When I stood in line in the supermarket. When I mopped the corridor and cooked my lunch and tried to prepare this week's linguistic exercises - I was angry. I was so angry, I was ranting while biking to the park. Complaining about drivers and the wind and red lights... I was angry with this day. Possibly with myself.

On my way home, I am singing that Bruce Springsteen song. A smile is on my lips. I am at peace. For once. Not at war with myself.

I'll love you like I love you, then I'll die...

I was so preoccupied with my own fear of encountering you unexpectedly somewhere here, that I forgot.

I forgot Vienna's graffiti-stained skin.
Its gravity-strained skies.
The numbered clouds,
all neatly counted.
Number two is my favourite.
How could I forget?

How could I forge a sky
without sixteens?
No sum could make up for this.
You remain in the cracks,
a fractional number
with no name and no rain.

The wind whispers deluge,
and we wither away.
Our reflections in the puddles,
upsidedown and dislodged.
I've counted and calculated,
now I'm bankrupt of love.

Wunderbare Dinge

Morgen beginnt mein letztes Schulpraktikum und um den Entspannungsausgleich zu schaffen (und weil ich diese Woche ein unerhörtes Kilometerpensum gelaufen bin), habe ich dieses Wochenende hauptsächlich nur so rumgegammelt. Herrlich. Aber ab morgen gibts wieder Hundert Prozent. Praktikum, Tutorium, Verben kategorisieren, Masterarbeit abgeben, Schritt für Schritt alles abhaken. Außerdem geschieht nebenbei etwas. Es werden Tüten bedruckt. Das heißt - vielleicht werden Tüten bedruckt! Ich habe einen erneuten Anfall von Schenkwut. Die Opfer sind noch nicht auserkoren, aber das Leitmotiv ist schon klar. Außerdem will ein Sommer geplant werden, aber das muss vielleicht noch bis Weihnachten warten.Es findet sich Schritt für Schritt heraus.