After the clash with the Turkish Footballers, the first snow and its innumerable car accidents (somehow everyone loses their ability to drive a car as soon as the first snowflake show themselves) and all other smaller or bigger troubles, I am here and the year is almost over.
I’ve been to Paris and back, I did the one thing I could to make a wonderful relation work and I still haven’t finished my story. Hm… was that the right order ?
Eckhard’s comment on my last poem prompted me into action just now. Truth is there are two pieces in a row in this blog that simply reek of doubt, insecurity and all the really bad emotions that are just dragging everything downwards, deeper and deeper. For people that do not really know me or don’t have a day to day contact with me, it must seem that I am either on the edge of a borderline syndrome or deep in depression. That really is not the case.
It really is more a combination of ‘what do I want to write’ and the insecurities of the moment. As a poet (and yes, so sorry… I am such a confident little gal that I call myself a poet) I can actually get myself into any situation I want to write about. Just like an actor. This doesn’t necessarily mean that I am actually suicidal, just because I wrote that I am dying. A lot of people make this mistake… I remember B. calling me up when he had read Ice. He really thought that I was bad. But actually ‘Ice’ was just a little thing I had I couldn’t use in the Arthur-Story any more, so I rewrote it as a single piece. Things like that happen.
It’s true, things move on and on. And with a new idea for a project that will actually be useful (sic! it happens in my field as well) that I will hopefully realise with my beloved one, I have one more thing on my eternal to do list. And isn’t that just great ?
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