fear of the light

Ah, what the hell. I guess I'll just continue in English for a while.

I had some rather exceptional days. Not exceptionally good, but exceptional because they weren't bad either or perhaps because they withstood my attempts to make them worse than they actually were. 


The weather's been fair and mostly dry, the sun trying its best to lure me out of my cave. 



The finances somehow regulate themselves without leaving me stranded for the last week of the month. Unfortunately the electricity bill arrived today, the cat food is nearly empty (looking forward to another € 70,00 for 10 kg of Lucy's fancy diet dry food) and the laser printer's cartridge is telling me it's running out of ink. Don't you just love consumerism?


A brief spell at court on past weeks Paddy's day and a clear conscience, feeling secure not having done anything particularly wrong (except for riding a bike whilst on the phone and having the bad luck to be run over by some absent-minded cherry boy). In case anyone forgot, here's the picture again: 

Now what could possibly happen to get me in the mood for killing people, especially complacent, arrogant and on the whole simply unsympathetic lawyers? Exactly, I get blackmailed by the honourable Mr. X again, driving his client into spending more money on him and raising their hopes of getting money from me. Good luck with that, old chap. You can't squeeze blood from a stone and you definitely can't get me to cover your expenses. However, the whole affair bothers me quite a lot and I do not really want to deal with such people anyway. If I'd been seriously injured in the accident they most likely wouldn't dream of making any claims, alas my army of overworked and underpaid guardian angels did a good job here. Maybe it is time to leave the country and all those agents of bureaucracy after all? If I'm considered an outlaw I could just as well live up to it! (insert random evil laughter here)

Meanwhile I have to content myself with projecting my anger onto all sorts of inanimate objects randomly catching my attention. Too bad I finally got rid of the infamous wine bottles. So it all hangs on shoes, chairs, teaspoons, teacups, forks and window sills...

In between I distract myself with as much nonsense as possible. Counting helps a lot.

I know now that I've got 19 dresses, 20 skirts, 29 trousers (including sweats and all the old and torn jeans that don't fit any longer), 26 jackets and coats (including cardigans), 8 pairs of heels, 36 pairs of shoes on the whole and all in all more stuff than I need or would want to move around... 

I've got 28 cigarette boxes I emptied in far too short a time hanging in a bag from my bookshelf. Please don't get you're calculators out now. I already did and know I spend an awful lot of money on feeding my little pet. That, and tarring my lungs as thoroughly as nobody would ever tar a street.

My shelves are filled with 290 books. Which is actually not that much, but some of them occupy quite a lot of space...

Roughly 100 pens are stored in different corners of my room, 10% of which come from the quiz.

15 pictures in small wooden IKEA-frames hang on my walls.

There are 9 pairs of glasses (6 being sunglasses I hardly ever use).

4 tables, 4 chairs, 2 wardrobes, 2 bookshelves and 1 sofa clutter up the 22 square metres of private space I've got.

Oh, and most importantly: 1 tiny black and orange speckled fur ball sleeps on the bed and shot me a drowsy look when I kissed her right forepaw (the orange one). Now she's perfectly blending in with the blanket. I'm tempted to go and disturb her... 

                        

Dawn's approaching again, and with it the blunt and ugly face of reality. I think it's time for my favourite 'hang-in-there'-poem:

Razors pain you;

Rivers are damp;

Acids stain you;

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful;

Nooses give;

Gas smells awful;

You might as well live.  

Dorothy Parker