8. April 2018

getting old

There’s this inner riot in me. The feeling of being able to move mountains and at the same time, the feeling of being chained at one place. I’m restless, there’s no way to calm me down. Not even running seems to help.

This week, I visited old places. The place I always thought I was so unhappy there. It was a strange feeling driving through these streets. There was this emotion of being free, being unbound and totally independent. But on the other hand, there was this burdensome sadness reminding me that life had changed so rapidly and so extremely to negative.

I’m getting old, I start to think about, if I am happy with life like it is right now. I start to review the last years like I would review a book. There have been some chapters I really liked. Some chapters I did not want to end. And then there have been chapters I would do anything for not being repeated. But right now sitting on my lovely balkony, I wonder if the book I’m writing on is going in the right direction. A stranger explained me how I feel: I get used to travel looking the landscape through the window of a train that can’t stop.

My friend Conny did make me a gift and gave me a book called “How to be an author“. It has always been my wish to write a book. A novel or a non-fiction. But perhaps, I have to change my mind and make some science-fiction out of it. In this book is written, that a good author does not begin to write without knowing the milestones of the proper plot. I’m aware of not being able to know the story of my life in advance, but wouldn’t it be an advantage to even know the absolutely necessary? The things I cannot miss in life?

Which goal did I reach till now? Let me think… I fucked up a really good relationship, I deceived people that did not deserve a treatment like this, even if they had their own blemish. I kissed too many frogs (and toads) in hope of a prince again. I didn’t manage to quit my job I’m not at all happy with and I moved far away from home just to sit on a lonely balkony with one of two cats left, writing this post.

This is the story right now. If I would have only twenty pages left of my book, what should I do to wangle a happy end?

I’m not sure about the goals in my own life. I don’t want to have any children, so perhaps I should take more effort at work. But work really sucks and I never wanted to have a great career. Money isn’t a measure for me. And a career is always about the money.

Deep down inside, I know what I want, but I cannot get it back. There’s no way back in life, perhaps for a good reason. I’m too stubborn, the harder i try, the more I fail.

I always remember being so happy in the past. When I was younger, the world seemed wide and tall and full of possibilities for me. I thought I had found someone to be happy with and there was this wonderful home and a big house with all this laughter in it. Money seemed to be no problem at all and I never ever felt alone. There have been so many little moments I didn’t appreciate in the right way. When I came home from work by train, there was someone catching me up at the station, just that I did not have to walk this five minutes alone. There was this big green garden with all this wonderful trees, flowers and the vegetable patch. For me, it was only time and effort to gardening all this. Maybe I was too young to understand. This wonderful warmth of the wood stove giving me a real home when it’s cold outside. And most of all the feeling of beeing needed. So badly needed that the other one couldn’t live without me. Being a real part of someone. Of something great.

Getting older is a crazy thing… You start to appreciate things you had but lost and did not appreciate. And you start to see so many things in different ways. It’s like the world’s turning upside down. Values are shifting. Things that were important, aren’t anymore. Having an attractive man, having a lot of people around, having fun and not taking care of time. Now these things are the last I am wishing for. What’s the sense in kissing empty lips, fake friends and wasting time?

I’m desperate. I glorify the past. It’s normal that life changes and even if I don’t like the change at all, I have to adapt. I should be happy for having had such wonderful moments and not be unhappy to not being able to take them with me. I have to set my goals new. I can take out the topics of the old life, transforming and altering it to a new life. But is it really this what I want?

How can I fill up the last twenty pages if I do not have any clue of what I really want? No written page could make me happy, if I don’t know what would make me happy again. So I know I am wasting my time, wasting the papers bit by bit, but I don’t know how to stop. Get me out of this hole, help me not being overextended and show me how to swim in the sea of all these possiblities. Take away my fear to choose the wrong option again, so that I can even try to fill these pages. I am curious about my own review twenty pages later. I’m curious if there’s the happy end I need.

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About missobsolet

ob•so•let imperfection is beauty, madness is genious. it is better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.

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Personal Thoughts

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