solitary_summer: (...singen die sirenen)
Just woke up from a three hour nap that was probably a bad idea, considering it's now 20:50 and I'll very likely be up all night, but I sort of just fell asleep over my book, and had the weirdest dream ever.

The first bit that I really remember, although it didn't start there, was getting away from somewhere driving a motorbike, which I didn't know how to do even in my dream, so I was constantly in almost-accidents, driving beside the street, etc., and finally ended up on some sort of construction site (thinking I must have missed the warning signs even though I thought I'd been looking) where the street was getting built, tarred, etc. by some strange, big machines, and suddenly everything was closed and I was hiding and couldn't get out. Stepping on hot, wet (asphalt?).

At this point it suddenly turned into a weird Torchwood cross-over where I (and suddenly there was someone else, too, although I didn't exactly know him; I knew we were on the same side, though) was discovering some sort of crime - environment/pollution related, I think, because there suddenly was a lot of white stuff everywhere that looked like snow, but I knew wasn't snow.

I don't quite remember the next bit, but I and some other people were captured, and they were trying to make us tell something, and we wouldn't. (I think. That part is very vague.)

Then suddenly they'd given me something to drink and I was kind of dying from it (trying to throw up; toilet with really beautiful old painted tiles, like those Portuguese ones; blue), but maybe not, because suddenly I knew I was Jack, except in a different body (female, mine) although in my dream I didn't remember exactly why, or how this had happened, and I was maybe in some kind of asylum, and someone told me there was a visitor for me, and I ran into a different room, where all kinds of visitor were waiting, and all of a sudden I knew I was acting this, this was being filmed, and I ran, and there was an actor who I knew was supposed to be my father waiting for me, and was telling me something important, and I knew I couldn't do this, couldn't act this, and - here's the really funny thing, only it wasn't so funny in my dream - it all was because RTD had written this for me, except I hadn't known it would be like this, family related, and that he'd somehow met my father and therefore picked an actor who looked like him, and I stopped it all and said I couldn't do this, and then had this discussion with him (RTD) where I kept telling him I couldn't act it like this, I couldn't act my relationship with my own father, because it was so problematic in real life, and kept asking, how did he expect me to play the scene, and he said something like, 'So that it feels real for you'.

Then the dream transformed completely and I suddenly had a lot of Arab relatives who were visiting, don't ask me where that bit came from. In the dream I thought they were somehow related to my great aunt's Jewish husband whom I've never met in my life and who was from Slovakia and not the least bit Arabic.


Times like this I really want to know what goes on in my brain when I don't remember my dreams. I mean, RTD? Seriously? Giving me advice in my sleep?

solitary_summer: (Default)
::yawns:: I guess it would have been too much to ask to be eased gently from holiday-mode into work-mode.

Woke up from a nightmare today where - my sister, I think - killed someone and I spent the the best part of the dream trying to get rid of a plastic bag with (curiously small) body parts. Very relieved to wake up, let me tell you. That's what you get when you're wishing for 'real' nightmares instead of university/work related anxiety dreams. :)


Brief holiday summery.

# Lazy, lazy, lazy. Never even made it to Maishofen, stayed in Salzburg the whole two weeks.

# The single exeption from the general & completely embarrassing laziness was a lot of Russian learning. Once I actually brought myself to open the book & put the CD into the CD player, I really enjoyed it, or at least it wasn't a chore & gave me the sense of having achieved something and actually using my brain for once; I don't know why I kept putting off and off and off until I'd forgotten so much, for one and a half months. My brain works in strange and unfathomable ways. [ETA a couple of tiring work days (& coming home completely braindead) later... oh wait. Question answered.] Repeated, wrote a lot/много писала, and I mean a lot, used up almost a whole spiral notebook, the next person to use the recycling bin is going to wonder, because as it was I couldn't spell at all without checking with the textbook over and over, and sadly knowing how to pronounce the word rarely helps (*is nostalgic for Spanish*), browsed a bit through the rest of our textbook and went through the first six tracks of my vocabulary CD [новые слова изучала]. I hate the early stages of a language when you're hitting walls with every step & can't say anything beyond, Меня зовут Вероника, живу в Вене, русский язык изучаю, because you're lacking the grammar and words. Grr.

At one point, when I was tinkering with my TW fic I started to write g's for d's and cyrillic s's and for a moment couldn't remember how to write a latin one. *headdesk*

# Reading: Thomas Mann's Doktor Faustus (reread), and then The Making Of Die Entstehung des Doktor Faustus (new) & more about that later, because the desire to say something even remotely intelligent and coherent is what keeps me from hitting 'post' since Monday-ish; maybe when I've also reread the relevant diary years. Still very brilliant; still completely heartbreakingly sad. Struggled through the music passages like always with only a very shadowy understanding, because my theoretical knowledge stops at being able to read a (simple) score, but repeatedly caught myself at the thought that I must get the CDs. ::facepalm::

Finished Modern Nature and started Smiling in Slow Motion (rereads; & btw, watched The Garden just before I left, which is eerily, elegically beautiful & which I'm going to take a gazillion screencaps of for my screensaver folder to replace the current Torchwood wallpapers); read Dostojewskij's Aufzeichnungen aus dem Kellerloch (one of those books that are just a bit too close for comfort, even if you're aware of enough distance and difference not to actually identify) and Vladimir Sorokin's Der Himmelblaue Speck (No comment here; so far I've always liked his novels, but this was just crazy, and not a little shocking; I've no idea where, if anywhere, he's going with it; probably I've missed the point completely.)

Tried to reread Mrs Dalloway, but while I still love Virgininia Woolf's prose, I can't seem to focus. I stare at a paragraph for minutes, starting over and over, and my mind keeps drifting, I've no idea why.

# Discovered to my complete shock & amazement that I was still fit enough to run through the park, down the whole Hellbrunner Allee and back again without a break. More morning runs. A bit of biking around, to Bad Reichenhall and, once, around the Untersberg, this with a lot of ups & downs, geographically speaking.

# A bit of uninspired (everything too lush & green, too neat & picturesque) photography, although with some surprisingly nice results when I least expected them. Or at least that's what I thought when I quickly looked through the pictures yesterday.

# Watched some old school DW, Genesis of the Daleks, which was a bit... um, archaic?, and, er, maybe kind of stiff when you haven't grown up with it, but I can totally see the cult potential (although I think I prefer modern day Sarah Jane), and City of Death, which I genuinely enjoyed (without politely phrased reservations); funny, with Douglas Adams' touch very recognisable.

# Day-trip to Munich, Lenbachhaus and Pinakothek der Moderne. The former — lots of early Kandinsky landscapes; lovely but almost impossible to appreciate hanging side by side like that, one explosion of colour after another, impossible to chose; frustration at the sudden complete block in my mind at his abstract paintings, fighting my stupid and too literal brain for something like fifteen minutes, trying to make some kind of connection, with some success, but no real understanding. It's strange, or maybe more precisely, fascinating how these things work, or don't work. Earlier that morning I had the rather unsettling experience of looking at a painting and suddenly it kind of... dissolved and all I could see was strokes of paint on a canvas, and it meant nothing at all. It passed, but wtf, brain? Münter, Jawlensky, Marc; Klee, lovely - mystery and subtle humour. Sitting in the garden, the sun coming out after a rainy morning, writing this into my notebook, the square paving stones of the path, greyish- brown, with moss and the occasional small plant growing between them, like a Klee painting. Nothing that I completely loved, but a lot that I liked.

The Pinakothek - More expressionism, since it fit the theme of the day, skipped most of the rest.

# All the time the underlying (although not very worrying) question, why all this, what am I trying to find in all those, books, stories, art — distraction, entertainment, truth, a better understanding of life? Coupled with the suspicion that it all isn't quite real, quite essential, at least looking at it (creating might be different); but what is? The obvious answer is children, but I don't have the least desire for a child. So. ::shrugs:: Also a certain restlessness, dissatisfaction with the sameness & repetition; I think I need a out-of-Austria holiday soonish.

solitary_summer: (Default)
Other people have nightmares about getting murdered, monsters, etc. Me, I was hugely relieved this morning to finally wake up from a dream where I was back in university and had to present a seminar paper, and wasn't prepared at all. All I had was a manuscript I hadn't written and wasn't even familiar with, and too little time to try to make sense of it. And if that weren't bad enough, my parents were also there to hear me speak.

/my sad life.

solitary_summer: (Default)
I don't know if it's the warm weather (temperatures around 15 degrees, trees starting to blossom, and the part of me that isn't in a state of low-grade panic over global warming, approaching apocalypse &c., is guiltily enjoying the sun and not having to wear so many clothes any more) or the fact that the first part of the week tends to be a bit stressful, especially when there's also a dentist appointment and the obligatory accompanying nervous breakdown, but I've been feeling feel extremely wrung out/run over by heavy vehicle/other metaphor of choice and permanently tired ever since Monday.

Collapsed into bed around 9 yesterday, slept for 10 hours, dreamt a lot of weird stuff, of which I remember only a bit of a TW-esque dream with Gwen in it, a pool and someone nearly drowning; and someone having exchanged my camera for a different, older model (a D50; I actually remember this part, mostly because it was close enough to waking up to be actually relieved to do so and discover that it had all been a dream; although I think dream me had a D200, so OTOH...). Also some weird bit about almost being blown up and trying to defuse the bomb. Clearly my dream life is a lot more exciting than the part spent awake...

And I'm still yawning. Sigh.

solitary_summer: (Default)
Left work at 2, went home, had a salad (and it's such a relief that my stomach can handle salads - and fruit, at least in moderation - again without any problems, I'd really missed them last summer, worse than chocolate, coffee or the occasional glass of wine), was feeling a bit tired, lay down on the bed, read a couple of pages of Buddenbrooks and promptly fell asleep. Thought I'd sleep for an hour perhaps and then do some belly-dancing practice and woke up three hours later. Right. Apparently this weeks's sleep deficit is finally catching up with me...

Has the strangest and most vivid sequence of dreams, the weirdest and most disturbing part of which (and the reason for this entry, since it's a little difficult to get to this part without some kind of preamble) was the part where I dreamt I was dying. Apparently I wanted to [and this is another aspect I find disturbing, especially since many of the other parts of the dream(s) were clearly influenced by recent events, because I have been feeling really well lately, none of those depressed wanting to die moments], because I took some kind of poison someone gave me out of my free will. And then I the paralysis set in, I felt my body shutting down slowly, and I wasn't even frightened, although even within the dream I fully expected to panic when I couldn't move any more, until the moment when it should have been all over, when I thought it was over, but then wasn't and I could get up again. I wasn't frightened during the dream - I remember almost being angry, although a little relieved, too, when it hadn't worked, but I was definitely shocked waking up and remembering, and a little scared. I'm not superstitious, I definitely don't think it's a premonition of any kind, but to dream your own death in such detail... it's a little uncanny.

And then, there was another, rather fantastic part, that had John Barorwman in it, albeit briefly and in entirely boring and unimaginative ways...

My subconsciousness can be a weird and predictably boring place all at once.

solitary_summer: (Default)
I rarely have nightmares (that I remember); what I usually have are anxiety dreams and the kind of dreams that, when snatches of them come back to me under the shower I realise should have been nightmares, but never really felt frightening at the time. Tonight I actually managed to scream myself awake, or at least I dreamt I was screaming when I woke up. It's hard to articulate or convey what was so frightening, perhaps the part that it was so normal and realistic? As far as I remember, which is very little except the waking up part, I was at home, sleeping, and a woman was bending over me. I can't remember if she even did anything that was particularly threatening or looked that way. After that I slept with the light on, badly, and woke up before the alarm went off, despite having only gone to sleep at 2 am. Made it through work surprisingly well, but was yawning and unfocused during Spanish class, and having missed the lesson before the Easter holidays due to nin-nostalgia and doing all the catching-up on Wednesday, when I'd had three weeks for it didn't help either.

::smacks lazy self::

Lots of strange, very vivid dreams lately.

Also, three months to make it out of the post-Christmas winter depression. Three months. That's a quarter of a year feeling less than myself; more, if you add December where I generally don't have the time to feel much of anything, except exhausted. Starting to see the therapist (and I still kind of resent even typing this, avoiding the phrase 'my therapist' like the plague; hate how it makes me feel damaged and needy and dependent, even when a more rational part of my brain argues it should not. It's a step towards getting a grip on my life and if anything I should feel proud to have taken it. And, god. Now I'm starting to sound like a self-help book.) probably helped things along, too, not to mention spring and sunshine... But yes, definitely feeling better, more balanced and positive, even more open and communicative recently.

Something I realised during/after the last therapy hour is that I can ride out my emotional ups and downs - or, going back a few years, could really, really wallow in the downs, having effectively lost sight of anything else; insofar the riding out and knowing that things will eventually change is already an improvement - but I can't do things X or Y 'to cheer myself up'. [Consumerism? All the stuff (not that much, because I've learned that lesson a while back) that I've never worn, never used, never watched, never looked at again are the things I bought when I was feeling unhappy or unbalanced.] There has to be a spark already somewhere within me, at least a slight need to make me want to do something, plan something, listen to music, read a book, watch a dvd, go out. Look at the world in a certain way. Without that, it always leads to even more frustration - I can force myself to go through with things out of a sense of duty/obligation (as in, you can't sit at home all the time), but it doesn't result in happiness or enjoyment. And I can't consciously create that spark. The only thing I can think of is trying to create a personality, a more positive environment where that spark is more likely to appear/burn a little brighter?

It's a strange thing to realise, because I used to think of myself as a very rational person.
solitary_summer: (Default)

Oh dear, I had a dream about TR tonight. Why now?

::is embarrassed::

Also, ::off to morning run::
solitary_summer: (dreamsquid (© clive barker))

This morning, just before waking up, I dreamt that someone had cut back my (ex-)bonsai to almost a bare trunk, and for some reason this worried me to the point of tears; the kind of dream that makes you feel relief when you wake up to realise it has only been a dream. Odd.

I'm read too much trash, and only trash. It's rather pathetic.

Also, I think I might be getting a sore throat. As if I haven't got enough health issues (well, issue, singular, not to exaggerate) at the moment.

Randomness: Does it bother anyone else that art so often is the result of, or closely linked to, personal pain and unhappiness?

And, because it bears repeating, I really love Stadium Arcadium. So very beautiful, not only, but also in a powerful, good vibrations (awful phrase, but can't think of a better substitute at the moment), smile-on-my-face way.
solitary_summer: (candles (© clive barker))

Had another dream with Alina in it, this time without the usual tone of bitterness, but with hugging & emotional reconciliation instead.

::sigh:: I don't know what to make of, or do with these dreams.

It's still snowing, and the persistent headache that I've had for the last two days [mostly when I move my head too fast and nothing that two aspirins won't take care of, but irritating nonetheless] is also still here. Also, period.

Eh. So much for Sunday.
solitary_summer: (collar ((© clive barker)))

[The entry I was too tired to write yesterday.

# Overslept; I always have the most strange and vivid dreams in that hour or so when I fall asleep again after I've turned off the alarm - or perhaps those are just the dreams that I remember. Part of it was an almost sexual dream about Alina - she turns up so regularly in my dreams, apparently my subconscious mind is trying to prompt me to call her, but while facing the remainders of our friendship might give me closure, I dread it too much, dread meeting a stranger, and being a stranger, dread judgment and not being good enough.

Then this morphed into an adventurish sort of dream, with at least some of the Harry Potter characters (a distorted dream version of them anyway, slightly evil-ish Weasleys); at one point, towards the end, I remember standing there, thinking that this was like some piece of fanfic... ::shakes head::

(Sometimes it scares me how vivid my dreams are, or what this says about the blandness of my life...)

# Can't re-watch Angel S5, at least not right now; I've stopped after one and a half episodes. Of course, even during S1-4 you know how it's going to end, but it's not quite as immediate. But S5... I look at the characters, and I see pain and death, and the meaninglessness of that last stand, and it just depresses me too much for my current state of mind.

# On a slightly related note, cutest couple ever. (Alexis Denisof and Alyson Hannigan).

Also, survived the company Christmas dinner, which was awkward and tedious as usual. Not enough alcohol, and no surprises. Characteristically, the restaurant has pretensions that the quality of the kitchen simply doesn't back up; I don't intend to come off as snobby, I'd gladly have had pizza, it's the attitude that I hate; the quality of the food should come first, not the fancy plates and decorative garnish.]

# Lychees and dates, my comfort food of choice at the moment.

# In an ideal world there would be indestructible cd cases. Oh yes.
solitary_summer: (Default)

What is it with these dreams where for various reasons I'm back at my old school (the building; they're not dreams of the past)? I'm not nostalgic about my school days, but I'm not traumatised either, so why does my brain insist on bringing that up again? The skiing dreams I can at least explain to some extent...

Yesterday; had a morning run, gave my journal a new background, took care of the horse, took pictures and kept being frustrated how I don't actually use the camera, but try out random things which may or may not turn out okay-ish, henna-dyed my hair & watched Once More With Feeling, which I love to a quite embarrassing degree.

solitary_summer: (candles (© clive barker))

Someone kill me now, please.

::falls asleep on keyboard::

ETA: Also, very weird dreams. Missing the busstop, trying to go home (or to work?), night, then sunrise in some mountain area. Ponies. Not really lost, found the way, I'd been there before. Rode an elephant. There were lots of elephants painted in every shade of the rainbow. India? Buffy and Angel (arguing?), and some demon was slayen. Strange discussion with another demon who wanted something from me. Riding through a bazaar, still on the elephant, but at one point it disappeared. Considered some kind of surgery that would have involved lifting most of the skin of my head, but re-considered when another girl (my sister?) had some kind of brain damaged from the anaesthesia. Running from someone (skinheads?) with two children, hiding in an apartment.

solitary_summer: (dreamsquid (© clive barker))

Woke (& got) up rather abruptly this morning because I'd very nearly overslept, and most likely that was the reason why the dream I woke up from remained so incredibly vivid throughout the whole day, I almost had to keep reminding myself that it was not real, that the person I dreamed was not real, either... still, even though as dreams go, it wasn't a spectacular one, it was intense in a normal kind of way, maybe because it was comparatively normal, and she felt real, as though she was someone I'd actually met....

::shakes head::

Strange. The kind of dream one could almost get superstitious about, if one were so inclined.

solitary_summer: (Default)

Sometimes talking & writing feels like a necessity, and sometimes everything just seems so banal and barely worth mentioning.

Tired, mentally more than physically, working six days/week (although not always eight hours/day, so the tiredness probably isn't really justified) what with R. being on vacation. Checking on the horse Wednesday mornings before work. Two morning runs this week. Additional drama at work, because M.'s brother-in-law is seriously ill & was stupid enough to trust one of those idiots who claim that cancer can be cured solely by resolving some inner conflict, until it was almost too late. Drama, tears, guilt-trips, constant phone-calls from various members of the family, M.'s boyfriend annoyed because he wasn't told. Me, trying to convince M., who has a penchant for this kind of pseudo-medicine thing too, that doctors are not evil per se, bent on torturing people, but most of the time actually try to do their best and help their patients. All this ever since I came back from vacation, with no end in sight yet.

Reading Josef Winkler's Domra. Am Ufer des Ganges, which is certainly one of the stranger books I've read. Intriguing, though. Proof-read half of R.'s MA-thesis.

Strange dream tonight about being back in the apartment I grew up in, as a kind of baby-sitter/nanny for the family who lived there now. I ended up shouting at them that they ought to appreciate the place, because it had been my home, after all. Even more weird, because I don't remember ever feeling so strongly about it...

Vague thoughts about gender-stereotypes and identification, after M.said she found Effi Briest intolerable to read, because of Effi's death, and the fact that she forgives her husband in the end. It didn't bother me, for whatever reason, although at other times gender-related stereotypes have irritated and annoyed me. This made me think that I, as a woman (does the bisexuality/asexuality matter?), have no problem identifying with male characters (books, tv, movies...), in fact I often find them more interesting, because they tend to be less defined - confined - by gender/sex. On the other hand, do men identify with female characters at all?

solitary_summer: (dreamsquid (© clive barker))

At the risk of straying into overused platitude territory... Biking home today on the Ring, all the new green - spring, rain - the trees, the patches of grass under the trees, all such a stunningly brilliant shade of green, so wonderfully alive, and it seemed literally ages since I'd last seen that. On the other hand days are blurring into weeks are blurring into months so fast I'm almost shocked that it'll be already May next week. Strange paradox.

Something that struck me looking at the pictures from [ profile] cityscapes on my friends-list... Now I do love Vienna, maybe because it's such a profoundly unspectacular, comfortable, slow-moving city, generally lacking in grandeur and extremes. It suits my personality, I guess. But looking at many of those pictures I can't help wondering why modern architecture here is almost always so blandly mediocre. I never even knew I could be interested in architecture at all until a few years ago. Now most of the new business and government buildings I saw in Berlin are on a scale I find slightly intimidating, but I fell in love with almost everything I saw in Copenhagen two years ago. Here... ::shrug:: I remain unimpressed. I finally was on the roof of the new library on Saturday, and it does have a nice view, but otherwise.... again, ::shrug:: The steps are too steep IMO to be really inviting to sit there, and frankly the location isn't one that particularly invites to linger, what with four lanes of traffic on either side. And don't get me started on the pointless half-assed ego trip that is that roof thingy on the Albertina.

Strange dreams this night/morning; while I don't remember much, one was on the nightmarish side, which I only realised after I'd returned from the toilet and couldn't decide whether to try to slip back into the dream because I wanted to know how it'd go on or to stay awake and be frightened.

Later, when the alarm rang, one about M. (the disastrous crush from waaay back), still (or, as the dream seemed to suggest, again, with his long hair) looking very cute.

Sometimes I find these glimpses into my head a little scary, the sheer wealth of imagination beyond my conscious control; to discover what my brain apparently still hasn't finished dealing with, as it insists to bring some things up again after so many years...

solitary_summer: (bugboys (© clive barker))



Not even enough energy/motivation to update... at one point, actually for a long time, it seemed important to keep track, to record emotions, if nothing else; now more often than not things just don't seem worth writing down, especially once I've already put off writing half a day or a day. It's a mirror I hold up to my life and I don't particularly care for what I see there...

Strange dreams this morning, one of them with TM in it. Very weird.

Feel like I might be coming down with a cold, but then again, I've been feeling like this for the last week. Thursday my right eye turned pink-ish after I'd fallen asleep with my contacts yet again, even though I should know better, but it seems to be almost all right again.

Bike's back tyre went flat... car, bike, what next?

Too much stupid tv watching.

This is the best chocolate ever. Quite indecently expensive, but so worth it... Finally I decided to buy a couple for myself rather than just for Christmas & other gifts, and the Weisse Schokolade mit Krokant tastes exactly like Vanillekipferln.

[ ETA more whining: Why is it still this cold when it's almost March? And what about all this snow? I want my morning runs back, but I don't have fortitude enough to face both the cold and the snow. ]
solitary_summer: (dreamsquid (© clive barker))

Grumpy, tired & in a foul mood for no apparent reason ever since I crawled out of bed at about 9:30, after more than ten hours of sleep. Maybe yesterday is catching up with me, though I didn't feel the stress then, and M.'s generally pissy mood was rather an enticement to remain balanced, strong and at least moderately cheerful. It'll pass... at the latest she'll snap out of it after Christmas. As a general rule I've decided not to let things I cannot change shake my equilibrium or really get at me; at least not things of the ultimately rather negligible importance of work-related issues.

[Stormy, I enjoyed unpacking the books with the wind whipping through the narrow street, tearing at my hair; an exhilarating touch of wilderness in the ordered city environment.]

However, I'm getting really, really sick of the weekly check-on-the-horse thing, when I can (and in all likelihood this won't change in the foreseeable future) do nothing but walk her, or maybe trot for a hundred meters or so. No canter, no real work on the dressage square, no nothing. On the other hand I'd be feeling (justifiably, I guess) guilty, if I should leave Ch. in the lurch now, but on the (third? well, there's always Zaphod Beeblebrox) hand, I'm at the end of my already severely strained patience.

Sunny, but with a cutting icy northern wind, and days like this I'm seriously playing with the thought (if that isn't a contradiction in terms) of moving to a more southern climate... Except that I can't really stand heat either. ::le sigh::

Days like this, a hard blue sky and the landscapes sharply edged and crystal clear in the sunlight... when I'm in a contrary mood to begin with, it tends to depress me, make me feel inadequate somehow; and after what [ profile] soavezefiretto said, I'll never be able to look up at such blue skies again and not think of the dark of the infinite universe stretching out beyond...

Strange, vivid and not quite erotic (love, not sex) dream about someone from school I haven't see or thought about in years and certainly never entertained a sexual thought about. Then there was a kind of theatre, ascending row of seats like in ancient greek theatres, and lots of snakes crawling out from under them, smaller ones, but really big ones, too... very strange. (Not nightmarish though, since I'm not afraid of snakes.)

Also recently my more sexual dreams (such as they are: infrequent as far as I remember and not spectacular) seem to be predominantly queer... not that I've got a problem with that (my main problem is connecting with people at all on some deeper emotional level; never mind sex or gender for the moment), but I don't quite know what to make of it, or what triggered it; I've been in a kind of asexual limbo for so long, it's such an abstract question, in a way....

[On a side-note - I dream in colour; I've never given it much thought, but since I came across someone mentioning the colour vs. black/white question I've tried to remember.]

[ profile] soavezefiretto also made me think about language and journaling; the possibility of writing in German, which should come more naturally after all, and why I avoid it... Part of it, and I guess there's no use denying it, is a rather pathetic craving for attention; on one level this journal and its concerns are very personal, I'm not trying to create an image or a persona, but on an other level it also is a kind of message in a bottle. But my paper diary back in the day when my English was very much worse was rarely written in German, either ... I guess it might be a way of maintaining a certain emotional distance that makes it easier to talk about personal issues? Generally I tend to feel less clumsy, less awkward, expressing myself in English. Should I switch to German for a while just to see what happens, whether the German speaking me and the English speaking me are at all different?

DVD player has been moved over & plugged in, cable will be installed next Monday.
solitary_summer: (candy (© clive barker))

Still feeling rather shitty; some very vivid, disturbing dreams during the night.

(But lo& behold!, the update page has improved.)
solitary_summer: (Default)

I ought to be be asleep, considering tomorrow's schedule, but it's too hot to be tired, if that makes any sense...

Hot, humid, clothes sticking to your body, running was horrible today (though that may also have to do with the lack of sleep), I'm surviving on chilled water melon, greek salad, tsatsiki and iced coffee.

Funny thing... a couple of nights ago I was randomly watching the nin webcam, but strangely found myself more fascinated with the outdoor camera, raindrops in a puddle, cars passing - sitting at home after midnight, watching a puddle grow larger on the other side of the world...

Somehow, perhaps, it seemed more real than various nin-related people fiddling with technical equipment & staring at computer screens.

[Strange dreams this morning, part of it so vividly recalling my former self, still at university, the satisfaction & warm feeling of being praised, appreciated; a certain amount of childish safety. Even while I woke up with a longing to go back there, it made me realise that I'm no longer that person, and the vivid recollection left me slightly confused and disorientated all day. ]
solitary_summer: (Default)

Yesterday, boring evening at Ch.'s, as per usual, only somewhat improved by chocolate fondue. Half the talk revolved around horse-related stuff, the rest around health/sickness issues, what with Ch.'s physiotherapy training. Desperately mind-numbing.

Yesterday morning the alarm woke me from a sexual dream, where (perhaps only because it didn't have a chance to progress very far) strangely I don't have any recollection of my gender. I'm not sure why or how I became aware of this, but it puzzled me when I woke up, and has intrigued me ever since. Gender identity, after all, isn't something you can not be aware of as an adult, whether you chose to accept, alter or deny it, least of all in a distinctly sexual context... I enjoyed the feeling of... freedom(?) that came with it.

Today, having decided to sleep in for once, the phone jerked me out of a rather intense dream, from which after blearily chatting with my sister for five minutes I don't remember anything at all, though I desperately wanted to...


solitary_summer: (Default)

March 2013

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