Ice cream at midnight

A ladybird just landed on my keyboard. It looks lively like it’s dancing to the music by Yellowcard. How can a journey in my room be so exciting? I’ve just noticed its dirty bum; I hope it won’t excrete. My desk is no territory, but still I accept no shit.

Tis a clear fact that women hate getting their period, but it has become a part of their lives ever since they turned 11, 12 or 13. They are now used to the monthly pain; pain or merely an uncomfortable twisting feeling in the lower stomach.
Isn’t it funny that when your period doesn’t come, you start to panic? You either suspect you are pregnant or that menopause is kicking in. Again, funny how something infuriating like the monthly blood can become such a crucial part of you – something that constitutes security and identity (and femininity). Mine was a day and a half late and I almost panicked. No I haven’t had sex and I’m nowhere close to forty – I just panicked. Every woman senses this monthly bloodlust, but the majority just isn’t aware of it.

My little dotted friend has disappeared. I just have to make sure I don’t accidentally crush it when it reappears. Why would someone just leave me alone like that?

Two foxes are having a fist fight outside. It sounds like a girl is being attacked. I wonder whether they are arguing about who’s going to get the grapes.

This is a period in my life where self-awareness is inevitable. My mental hands are rummaging around in my head, my heart and stomach. I have learnt to trust my guts, but very often doing nothing is the best option. Let people question you in their heads. In the end you just don’t care.

I’ve also accepted the fact that I am small. I mean as long as I can reach out for what I want, I’m fine. Desires beyond my reach are usually a heart-thing anyway – no hands needed just electric impulses.

Where is my little friend? I want to see that dance again…

There was a period in my life where I used to catch ladybirds to keep them in a glass jar. I attempted building a little territory for them as well by placing pebbles and leaves in the jar.
Though I should have pierced tiny holes through the lid for air to come through…

When you do bad things as a child you feel sorry later. But when you do bad things as a delinquent you regret nothing. And as an adult you can’t even tell good from bad anymore. You just do it to remember who you used to be.
Years ago when I read about Kant saying that the goodwill is the only good we are ever left with, I couldn’t agree more, but it is now that I no longer understand it.

I think my little dotted friend has found its bed in the socket. Again, fallen asleep before me.

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