life without a plot

Meh. I was going to take tomorrow, Fri and next Tue. off and drive to Salzburg this evening, but the weather forecast for the weekend is so thoroughly unappealing (persistent rain, possibly snow, cold) that I decided to postpone the trip until the May 1st weekend, because driving 600 km only to sit at home and read a book seems a rather pointless waste of time and energy. Spring has to stay for longer than a fleeting visit some time, right? Right?! On Sunday's walk (Kritzendorf to Purkersdorf, but you can hardly call it a hiking tour if you're never higher up than 500m...) I was wearing a t-shirt, sweatshirt, zipped-up parka, hat and gloves, and was seriously considering zipping on the parka's hood a couple of times. Icy wind, snow (though not much), and all that can be said for that walk is that it kept me on my feet for about 7 hrs. and presumably burned off some calories in the process.

( navel-gazing... )



A few pictures from a decidedly un-Easterly Easter Sunday...

( & a few more... )

I know I've been kind of absent lately, but sometimes words feel so pointless and inadequate. Or maybe it's I who feels pointless and inadequate, and on the whole am happier ignoring myself. Everyone around me is moving on with their lives, careers, family; G. has a job interview in Hamburg and my Russian teacher, as it turns out, will be moving to La Palma with her husband. Meanwhile, I'm stuck, I'm frozen, I've been struck for the last ten years, and probably will remain stuck, since I seem to be totally incapable of getting myself unstuck.

Spent most of yesterday's holiday going through another 90-100 pages of my Excel book. Exciting, isn't it.

I'm happiest when I go for long walks; maybe this is another method of avoiding myself? Sometimes I wonder.

# Tired, but pleasantly so. Went for a long walk today from Neuwaldegg up the Sophienalpe, after which I temporarily lost my way & sense of direction (Note to self: buy a damn map. It's kind of embarrassing getting lost in the woods practically within the city limits of Vienna), found it again with the help of a woman walking her dog, who asked me for directions, but at least knew where she was coming from, and finally ended up in Sievering. Sat for a while under the oak trees overlooking the old quarry, enjoying the evening sun on my face. Half of the time spring depresses me because of its connotations of new life and growth and shiny happy people in love, all of which I more often than not feel completely out of tune with, but it was lovely. The trees are still very bare with the buds only just opening, occasional faint shades of green over the brown of the hills, but the ground is dotted with bright colours, lots of Leberblümchen, violets, some kind of white flower I don't know the name of, as well as a few others, and whole stretches of it covered in bright green Bärlauch. Sunny and warm, a T-shirt was enough. It's strange, I always thought of myself as more of a city-person, but recently I have this need to get out as often as possible. Maybe the winter has been too long, but today I almost felt a hunger for fresh air and sunlight, to feel the wind on my bare arms again.

# Does this happen to anyone else, that when you've finished something you spent a (comparatively) long time writing your head feels strangely (and somewhat unpleasantly) empty after you finally post it? I noticed this after the last big post, and again today, because I usually take a notebook with me and use these walk to shuffle around the thoughts in my mind, and there was... nothing. A blank. It felt like my brain was fumbling around for something that wasn't there any longer. Or is this me being weird again? In any case, that only lasted for about half an hour until, probably out of sheer horror vacui, my brain came up with something I could write about. It seemed a better idea then than it does now, but I guess I'll see.

# On a related note, watched the Miracle Day trailer elisi linked about five times in a row with a huge, probably inane, grin on my face yesterday. I hadn't realised that I was looking forward to it so much. (OTOH... a 35 second trailer, and I already foresee meta writing. *facepalms so hard*)

# Had a rather productive Saturday, too, where I updated the old laptop I got from my sister, so that I can practice my newly acquired Excel skills on an Office version that isn't eight years old. And then did a backup and finally tried to update my iMac to Snow Leopard (finally, because I bought it sometime last autumn and had it lying around ever since; don't ask), found out that it hadn't enough RAM, went to the store, and then did the scary thing where I actually unscrewed the computer and took something out & put something else in. Works fine now, although not without some complications and another trip to the store because if I put anything into the lower slot the computer won't start. They said to bring it in, but I think I'll be happy with the 2 GB (instead of 512 MB) and either keep or try to sell the other 2, because paying them even more money to try to figure out the problem so that I can have another GB (which is all the computer can actually use, or so I was told) that I don't actually need that desperately doesn't really seem worth it.

# Again on a somewhat related note, I met with a couple of people partly from work, partly not, Friday afternoon, and one of them showed off her iPhone (complete with a gazillion pictures of her not-really-boyfriend's tattoos) and, wow, does my mobile phone look archaic in comparison. The thing is, though... I hate mobile phones, use mine almost never, and as much as I love and wouldn't want to miss the internet, I don't want to take it with me when I leave the house. I don't know why, but my minds wants these things compartmetalised.

# Woke up yesterday from a dream where I was writing my diss again, except it was about something completely different, although I don't remember what. I just remember a table covered with books, and the feeling of ideas clicking in my mind. *sigh* This is what comes from all the meta writing, delusions of academia.

# For the first time in my life I'm watching Dancing Stars (*facepalm* ad infinitum), and now I can't decide whether I want him to win, if only because of all the thinly veiled homophobic comments I'm hearing at work from customers all the time, since we're selling off his autobiography, or her, because she's such a sweetie, not to mention smoking hot in that dress. (Realistically, neither will win because they simply aren't the best dancers.)

# I think I mentioned I read Alex Ross's The Rest is Noise over my holiday? Sooo much inspiration for non-musical me. For now Shostakovich and Britten, but I'm happily clicking around on YouTube checking out new things all the time...

Inspired by green_maia, who was wishing more people would post photos of themselves at different ages. I was aiming for one photo per year, but even raiding my parents' albums that didn't quite work out, so there are a couple of missing years, and, to make up for that, and because I couldn't decide which photos to post, a few years with two photos.



( 38 years in photos )

Updating from Salzburg; I took Fri. off and drove here Thu. evening after work, which was a bit stressful especially as I don't really like driving in the dark, not even on the Autobahn, but totally worth it. The first two days were painfully beautiful, a cloudless blue sky, sunny, warm, snow on the mountains and every shade of brown, gold, yellow and green below; I biked to Golling on Fri. and took a lot of pictures in the Bluntautal (will upload some when I'm home again, since the internet connection here is slower than a hibernating snail). Sat. I drove to Werfen to see the castle, which was picturesque enough, but the guided tour was rather frustrating and I definitely had a 'what am I doing standing in a chilly dungeon looking at torture instruments and listening to a guide - "stay by the group, please" - whose boredom with his text at the end of the tourist season was palpable, when it's gorgeous and warm outside' moment and then got out as soon as possible and went for a walk for a couple of hours.

Yesterday I drove to Hallstatt; it was still warm enough for a t-shirt and light jacket, but cloudy and windy and the leaves were falling fast around me, torn from the trees. I didn't visit anything, because I really wanted to be outside, walking, moving, not stuck in some museum; walked up the Salzberg, and then back to Halstatt via another path, and in the middle of all that found a perfect spot for a lunchbreak (a package of Manerschnitten, how clicheed can you get?) with a great view across the lake. Sometimes it really pays being aimless and curious and following unmarked paths. Then spent an hour or so walking through the town, which is adorably picturesque in the 'who do I have to kill to get a house here' way, although you probably have to fend off the tourists with a stick during the summer months.

I thought finding my way out of the Salzkammergut in the more or less pitch-dark (thank you, sudden lack of daylight saving time) was already hard, but I only took a wrong turn once; Salzburg was the tricky part. I barely can navigate my way through the city in daytime; in the dark it's a nightmare. It took me at least half an hour, a couple of what I assume were illegal turns, taking the bus lane once or twice (again, I think; it's a bit hard to tell when it's dark, there are construction sites, markings are changed and over-painted...) and several panicky moments until I found my way back home.

I actually had plans for today (Königssee), but the weather was overcast, I was tired after three days of activity and depressed because of having to leave again tomorrow, so I aimlessly watched TV, read a bit, did Russian homework, and generally speaking wasted the day because doing anything suddenly didn't seem worth it since it was the last day anyway and that thought was more bearable shut up inside. A room is a room is a room. It really makes me wonder why is it so hard for me to enjoy something; why everything is always overshadowed by the thought that it won't last and will be over again too soon. Why can't I ever be content with what is? Why do I always want more? I've always been like that, even as a child, but it really stuck me that maybe spending six months thinking and writing about death wasn't the most psychologically healthy thing for me to do. (And even worse, does it invalidate what I wrote when it becomes so blatantly obvious that I'm working through my own issues?) I should be taking strength and inspiration from doing things I love doing, but instead doing something that actually matters merely makes the rest of my life harder to stand...


(The one book I read during this brief holiday? Janne Teller's Nichts. I'm really not helping myself here. *sigh*)

I think maybe I should update again? How can it have been a month already?



But I really don't want to hear (or see) myself talk. So many words to chose from, so many things one theoretically could say, in so many variations, but in the end I wonder, does it mean anything at all? Somehow I'm less and less inclined to bother. I feel I'm getting more and more... not exactly misanthropic, it's not that I hate anyone. But I was in Salzburg for two and a half weeks, and in all this time I talked to my mother on the phone three times (she called), but other than that, shops, bus, the guy who was so busy with his iPod that our bikes collided, the lady who asked after a restaurant, nothing else. Silence. No one wanted anything from me, no one expected me to talk to them. Bliss. I used my iPod exactly once at the end of a walk, and the one time I put a CD into the CD player in the car after a hiking tour I turned it off again after half a song. Silence.

It wasn't a great holiday otherwise, because either it was too hot to do anything except maybe go biking for a few hours in the evening, or raining, and I was so absolutely tired and without energy for anything that I didn't even read a lot, but the last day, walking through Salzburg and around the Mönchsberg I felt... still strangely empty, but also very peaceful, a moment of clarity. But then I had to drive home again, and back to work the next day, and it's gone again, buried in the daily meaninglessness.

I'm aware this probably isn't healthy and that I should interact more, but I just can't deal. And it's not as if I have anything to say, after all. I don't want to entirely drift away from lj too, and just now it feels like I easily could. Mostly finished DW/TW meta somewhat withstanding, but still...

I'm feeling so much better and more active now that there's actually, finally, some warmth & sunshine & spring.


Even Ch.'s dreary birthday party (Sat.) was slightly less dreary than usual.
Sunday was a bit frustrating though, because I ended up wasting so much time, sitting in front of the computer, guiltily thinking I ought to do Russian homework, now, and putting it off & off & off, because I had some kind of complete mental do-not-want! block, which makes absolutely no sense, because it's not as if anyone is forcing me.

I've had a couple of discussions about this with M., and she's right, I do, in a way, chose the things I whine about having to do. But why does it feel like so much of my life is being forced to do something, instead of wanting to do it? Why does it feel like I don't have any control? I hate my brain, I really do.

Last Wednesday flickr guy said that one of his 'discoveries' was that he now follows his instincts more and doesn't weigh pros and cons and various considerations so much. The thing is, if I'd followed my instinct, I wouldn't have gone out with him. I felt guilty and obligated, that's why I did it. If I followed my instincts, I'd probably not talk to anyone ever again in my whole life. All right, exaggeration. Not more than once a week, at any rate.

It's not that I don't know that meeting other people can be inspirational, fun, good for me, etc., and so on. But I have to beat my instinct that tells me to just hide in my shell into submission every time, and every time it's a surprise when it turns out to be nice instead of awful. The expectation of awfulness and a lingering sense of do-not-want and when-can-I-be-alone-again? is almost always there. And it doesn't really get better with time. Summer 2007 was the last time I thought I could actually be someone different.

From summer straight into winter. *sigh* Ten days ago temperatures were as high as 27 degrees, last Monday I was biking to my Russian lesson at 6 pm in short sleeves (which, I know, I know, isn't exactly normal for October...); yesterday I was freezing with a long sleeved shirt and jacket. Today the fleece jacket & light coat & gloves came out. 6 degrees. Gah.

~*~*~
Belly dancing class was good today, considering that three weeks ago I was in tears and wanted to quit. I'm blaming last semester's veil choreography, which was all steps & turns that made me dizzy & (admittedly very pretty) waving about of the veil, but barely any muscle work-out, once your arms got used to flinging the veil about above your head, so frankly I wasn't very motivated to practice, and did nothing at all over the summer. First lesson, it felt like my body was something completely alien that had nothing to do with me and that I had no control over, which may sound funny but was actually quite frightening. I've gained a bit of weight since spring what with all the stress and the chocolate that seemed the best remedy at the time, so I haven't feeling comfortable with myself anyway, and that didn't help at all. Especially since even at the best of time there's a certain... disconnect. I like doing it, discovered muscles I didn't even know I had and learned using them, and I do think learning choreographies is actually good for me because if forces me to work with my brain & body at the same time & co-ordinate them, but looking into the mirror, or especially watching the video from last year's show the first time... in a way that doesn't feel like me; it's not the image of myself I have in my head. That image wears DocMartens and learns Russian; is clever, but can't dance. The image in my head doesn't even have much of a gender or sex. At one point today I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and thought, that actually looks kind of sexy. I don't look sexy in my head. I don't even really want to look sexy in my head. Which is a bit of a dilemma, and mostly I wonder if it isn't the images in my head that I should get rid of, or at least should stop letting myself be limited by them.

~*~*~
Dentist appointment yesterday, enough said. I think he might be starting to regret that he ever talked me into the braces. I always had a bit of a phobia, but I never used to lose control like that, complete freak-out, hyperventilating, tears, everything.

~*~*~
The Jack/Ianto post is still eating my brain, I don't even dare look at the word count any more. Which means I'm having periodic attacks of get-a-life, because, seriously, what the hell, woman. I'm not getting paid for this. If I put that much energy into writing fanfiction, I could at least pretend I'm practicing for my big novel, or something. This isn't even pseudo-academic anything; G. actually got a paper on Chakotay's tattoo published; can't I at least be interested in something like that? But this character & relationship analysis is a 120% pure & utter self-indulgence. And I highly doubt writing about Jack's issues will help me figuring out my own.

So tired. Best intentions for a morning run again, but while I did manage to crawl out of bed only about an hour after the alarm rang, this was one of these days when I knew it was useless to even try. I'm trying to suppress the guilt by telling myself that I'll do some belly-dancing practice later, which I have completely neglected since the end of the semester, but I really haven't been in the mood. Which I assume is more or less directly related to the fact I've been feeling so completely uncomfortable with myself, my body, the whole being a woman thing recently. I can't exactly pin-point why, and I have no idea how to fix it, because I've never really felt like that before.

In the meantime the TW/CoE post I'm currently writing has almost reached the 5000 word mark which is a whole different reason for *facepalm*ing. I'm (happily, albeit guiltily happily) throwing away time on this that would probably be much better and certainly much more productively spent reading a book, taking photos, learning Russian, going for a walk, anything, everything else. Oh wait, trying to figure out what to do with my life, searching a new job or at least start exploring opportunities. /sarcasm

In a way it makes me so angry at myself that doing this still feels so satisfactory. I'd feel better about myself if I were at least writing fanfiction, because that at least seems a little more of a creative effort, more active, in a way. Interpretation and meta is mainly about bringing my thoughts into order, making the chaos less chaotic at least in this tiny, completely unimportant space. In a way it always revolves about control.

Er. I feel like I should be updating with, um, actual words, maybe? The thing is, recently I whenever (rarely) I manage to type a couple of half-sentences, I invariably stop and wonder why I even bother, because it never seems worth saying, much less inflicting on others. Words dry up and fade away before the (metaphorical) ink has even dried.

I've also always thought being able to see things from different perspectives was a good thing, but I'm actually starting to wonder. Because for me it's almost too easy, comes so very natural, no effort at all. It's a lot easier than actually making a judgement, having a decided opinion on something. I do draw my lines, but even then, I'm mostly still able to at least sort of understand where it all comes from, however offensive to me it might be. I don't know what kind of person that makes me. And as a result mostly I tend to just... hover in the middle of everything, options and possibilities and motives and reasons and histories and... fade, in a way, as a person. Transparent. At the very least life must be easier and more clear-cut if your brain isn't wired that way. When not almost every opinion comes with so many 'but's and qualifications that in the end it doesn't even seem worth stating.

~

Yesterday, after much postponing, I finally got to see the Star Trek movie with G.. And okay, let's not touch the whole lack of women in that film, and maybe I didn't like Kirk a whole lot (seriously, that man should have ended up on the Darwin Awards list instead of in a captain's chair...) but every one else was completely adorable and the whole thing thoroughly enjoyable. (I know, Vulkan turns into a black hole, billions die, Spock's mother dies, big drama & whatnot, but in the end it's the warm fuzzy feeling of nostalgia and childhood memories, and Der Weltraum. Unendliche Weiten, *tadüüütadadadaaa*... that lingers.) I'm still trying to figure out who Karl Urban reminds me of, though. The LotR trilogy is apparently the only movie I've seen him in, but the thing is, every time he appeared on screen, I was thinking 'Russian', not 'Rohan', and I've no idea where that association might come from.

Had three spritzers afterwards and actually a lot of fun geeking out, in, ironically, the same pub where we had that huge blow-up years ago. It was really nice, which makes me hope things won't become all tangled & complicated again...

Now what to do about this urgent urge to watch some old school Trek... *g*