I’m glad that I went on that holiday. I’d have preferred staying in the hotel if it hadn’t been for the cleaning lady. I never knew when she started her rounds, and I’d rather be out of the room before hearing someone knock. The beach was beautiful on Tuesday. The weather had been nice, too, except that the cold wind almost gave me a bladder infection. I did feel a slight pain that day but felt better after. The weather was still mild enough for walks on the beach.
I’d suggest you travel to the beach early in the morning when nobody is around. The giant fog that morning had blocked most of the view, even the sea. The sea was green and tired as me. A couple was following me; when saying “couple,” I mean ducks. They were clingy, probably begging for food. I wish I’d had some. It impressed me how male and female ducks stick together like older human couples.
The next day I went to the beach again. It was cloudy, terribly cold and windy. I hadn’t brought that many clothes for that trip. What really annoyed me was that no coffee shop was open. There was absolutely nothing around except for hotels and pubs filled with conservative middle-aged people staring at my tights as if I were a slut. However, it’s good going to the beach early, as Lübecker kids would start hanging around on the beach during lunchtime. Nowadays, teenagers loiter on the playground, but why on the playground if you have a fantastic beach in Lübeck?
I had spent hours picking up beautiful stones; the flat and the shiny ones always impress me. I also found little empty seashells that were still intact after being washed to the shore.
I can’t believe that I actually did start a video blog on my trip. I should have just yelled how much you all sucked or something, and that’d be it. I know I talk like an emotionless android. I get uncontrollably nervous when on camera. I can’t stop moving, can’t stop staring holes in the air, and I can’t find the right tone of voice when nervous.
However, all you get to see is the “calm” side of me, and that’s boring. As for the video blogs, the less you hear, the better. I’m too ashamed even to watch them again myself. That face that you see is not the face I see (I guess everyone would say that about themselves, except that I have a thousand faces…literally, not metaphorically). I actually forgot to say that I didn’t want comments. That video is not about me. It’s about how I intend to approach you. I’ve been searching for ways to talk to you and make you pay attention to me. Simply judging me, criticizing me won’t get us anywhere.
What matters to me is what’s beneath your surface. When you’re ready, let’s get down to a conversation.
Usually, I want to talk to people about something they consider a secret or a secret sentiment about something. Whenever I bring it up, they change the topic or keep quiet. It’s alright if you shut me out once or twice, but I won’t accept the third turn down, especially if we’ve been friends for over eight years. I’m not making you stay, though.
So instead of a 4,000-word blog post, you get video blogs this year.
Someone suggested I should do something like that weekly or monthly. – Uhm, no. Personal things are not something that appears out of nowhere. You know perfectly well that emotions and thoughts develop over time—one’s perception changes. I’m not a columnist or an entertainer; that’s something very different.
Schopenhauer and I have a love-hate thing going. In the last video blog, I said I was grateful, which means that I DO care about people. Did you really believe a word in the rubbish that I had said previously? It doesn’t matter. You believe what you want anyway. It’d make no sense if you said you understood. I wouldn’t care unless you tell me your whole story. Anything else is half the story.
Parents are usually the people who understand you the least of all. I love my mum no matter what she says or does to me. And I will always hate myself for the way I treat her. It’s not only because we don’t get along. She always says that she’s an aggressive monster herself and that she has created an even more aggressive one–me. Both of us know that we won’t ever be best friends, but this doesn’t mean anything bad.
I still haven’t drunk that bottle of Desperados. Yesterday I had to go to the chemist’s to buy medical tea to treat a bladder/kidney infection. I can’t be bothered going to the doctor’s office again. I’m sick of handing in my urine; I can’t piss in a tube without wetting my hand. Why can’t they give me a cup?
Reading in the bathroom with my back pressed against the radiator/dryer is delightful. I liked my bathroom in Lübeck; it was comfy–equipped with beautiful halogen bulbs and a clean sink.
I’m almost through with Stephen King’s autobiographical piece “On writing.” It opened my eyes. Someone is finally sincere enough to kick my butt to help me become a better writer. He’s not as stuck up as I thought he was. A man is a man when he is open enough to admit his mistakes, addictions and weaknesses. Courage is if you ask for help. This is how I like my men. I won’t escort something through their ego trip again. However, you are free to join my ride, but I will not pay for your ticket.
When I woke up in the hotel room this morning, I was covered in hot sweat. I guess it’s a good sign. I felt sad because I was leaving Lübeck.
I dreamed of a mysterious encounter with River Phoenix. We met in an American diner (80s style). He spoke to me in a clear voice. I never had, in any dream, heard someone’s voice as clearly as his. And he spoke through my soul. Though I can’t remember what he’d said, it wasn’t pleasant, as I ended up walking out of the diner without looking back.
This is not much of a happy end but a new start. Like last year after those 4,000 words, I had settled with a new start and had an epiphany. The new chapter begins here.