solitary_summer: (geneva (© clive barker))

God. Yesterday, work, an hour at the hospital visiting G., making a birthday cake for my mother; today, birthday, family, nausea & throwing up from lunch (the mushrooms? fucked up eating habits that don't tolerate a soup/main course/dessert warm meal any longer?); and it's evening already and tomorrow's another week with no day off. Oh joy.


Sister brought her laptop so that I could show off my holiday pictures, and it's kind of embarrassing how much it still means to me when my father says that I managed to show him perspectives of the landscape he never saw before - considering he knows the place as long as I do, if not longer, because as a child you don't consciously appreciate landscape, I guess.


Half-read an interview with P. Coelho in the paper, because the headline caught my eye, and apparently he thinks happiness is boring ('like Sunday afternoons', if I remember correctly, or was it Sunday mornings?), and he doesn't look for it. I admit I was kind of baffled... Because personally, while I don't buy what the advertising industry tries to sell you as happiness, after so many years of depression, or at least fighting depression, goddamn it, I do want happiness. I don't really believe any longer it's going to happen just like that & and miraculously fix everything for the rest of my life, but that doesn't stop me from wanting it. If I knew how to look for it, I'd do that, too, but as it is, I'm trying at least to appreciate those moments when you feel at peace with your self and the world, when you're in the right mind-set to appreciate the beauty of things around you...

The statement strikes me as either incredibly arrogant, or very stupid.

solitary_summer: (tower (© clive barker))

It's strange how long it can take to realise things that really should be obvious. What an elusive thing happiness is. For a certain span of time apparently you just expect it to happen, some day, see it as something natural, something you have a right to; maybe because the concept is so omnipresent, even while the real thing is not... books, tv shows, commercials, magazines. Happiness. Love. Often synonymous.

And you're depressed and angry and disappointed, because your dreams aren't coming true.

And one day you realise it's just not going to happen, not like that, anyway. Not the big revelations, the grand emotions. If you're lucky there'll be bits and pieces, periods of calm, of being in tune with the universe, but it will always be a struggle, and you'll be alone.

And maybe you should try to work harder, fight, but maybe you're too weak, too tired, and all you can do is try not to drown.


And then, what?

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solitary_summer

March 2013

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