Saturday child

I’m keeping fit, but that doesn’t deserve any praise. I mean, it took me about two years to realize what I’d been doing wrong. I should’ve listened to my body; instead, I was too focused on the head and heart thing. After all those years, I’ve been doing nothing but explore myself, and I’m nowhere near done. Did you know that Saturday children are doomed to put their shoulders to the wheel? My mum never told me that I was born on a Saturday, but she felt a bad omen. I guess it’s just me who thinks it’s fine. Everyone is supposed to work hard. Some lucky bastards don’t have to make an effort to get what they want or need.

I dream of walking on Saturn’s rings, walking in circles until I feel dizzy, lose myself in a nice way. I want to lose myself passionately. The urge for change is there. I can’t just feed it with work, sleep and fruits.

I want someone to make me laugh, but there’s no one with my type of humour. I used to be uptight with my humour and couldn’t laugh at comedy shows like Scrubs. I didn’t get it. But then again, I’m not the most humorous person.

I’ve realized that I act differently in front of everyone–whether it’s a close friend or not, I can’t be me anymore. Somehow everyone appears so selfish; they hear what they want to hear. Everything you say seems so pointless, like talking to ghosts. There are moments I’m scared of losing my opinions because they are redundant. So I just keep them for writing purposes.

Neil Gaiman’s name has been recurring for years, and only now have I become aware of him. I should’ve paid more attention since E.T.A. Hoffman’s Sandman or Watchmen, Stardust, Coraline, etc. I also wished I had paid more attention to Nick Cave before. Bela Lugosi or other things that had impressed me in the past, which I forgot about. I remember the loneliness I used to feel when I was a teenager, and the loneliness was never nursed. Not in Germany or England. Not in Denmark. Nowhere. There was wishful thinking, and there was the pretense of happiness. I did feel wanted and needed, but that it wasn’t enough. It’s like being taken for granted. Am I the only one who understands Miss Havisham? Even though she made a mistake.

I’ve been dreaming about water and fire. The good news is I can handle both; I don’t run away. But that’s because my family was there and needed to be saved. The water was black, and the fire was silver. So weird. There is just one thing I can’t handle, and that’s my anger. I dreamed of a gay person who was infuriating me. He was jerking off next to me and then joked about rubbing his semen on me. I saw it as a threat and lost my temper when he rubbed it on my leg. That was one of the most random and disgusting dreams, more revolting than the human kebab that I dreamed about.

I’ve been a good person. Hearing my mother laugh makes me happy. You can’t even imagine. I’m unable to tell her how much I want to support her and dad. There are things about my parents that I don’t want to talk about; paying rent is one thing. I’m glad they know that I’m doing my best.

I was saying that Saturday children need to work hard in life. I’ve always worked hard (but I’m nowhere near my goals). The real thing is yet to come. I’m ready to put my shoulder to the wheel.

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