You know... Sometimes it is easier to make people feel a little uncertain, when whenever they speak bad about you and expect you to go crying to mommy... you don't. You just bounce back, grinning and smiling and being your sunny self...

That's what I did today. But... of course the story was about a bit more than that. There I was, waiting for the teacher after the lesson, so that she can rant about me and my teaching methods (me teacher trainee, me being helpless little lamb thrown to the wolf)... I wasn't alone. There was another girl sitting at the big round table kept for the teacher trainees because we all have to partially live in the school building, so... She sat there while the teacher insulted me, my intelligence, said my linking sentences were bad and she didn't feel like I linked the excercises together. (First excercise: warm up: listen to Sweet Dreams from Annie Lennox, ask questions, like do you know this song? do you know who sang that? Were they male or female? and here comes my linking Sentence when they fund out it was Annie Lennox: And now, we will read an interview about Annie Lennox, the singer of that song.) When I asked my teacher, what was wrong with my linking sentence, she said: "I don't know, I will have to think more about it."

Bullshit. I can smell a lie, and she doesn't even care about it. She still thinks I'm a bighearted fool. Good, I don't mind. Easy to fool people with that facade.

Anyway... after she said, that I should not pause and think if the answer was right or wrong, and I said I don't know, I have heard many sentences that are considered grammatically incorrect by secondary school books and correct by university standards, she started ranting, that I should know this, and if I do not know, I should go back to the uni, wait a few years and come back again to teach after. I told have I don't have much time, and refrained from grabbing the first blunt object and smashing her face in.

After the ranting has stopped, she went off, telling me that she must be off and she will call me whenever to look at my next lesson plan. Jolly good by me. Then, as soon as she was off came the other girl who was sitting there and said, that my teacher was an utter bastard. Duh.

Well, as it turns out, teachers are forbidden to cut in to the teacher trainee's class, to butt in and change their lesson plan ( that she did with me!!! In the middle of the lesson, no less... the bitch), and they should never (as another intelligent person) talk to someone like that. Not to mention that it was uncalled for.

Well, duh. I really hate to say, but the bitch is really as bad as my friend and predecessor teacher trainee said. She is a dense, mean and deaf thing... not to mention that she told everyone and their dog that I was deaf to one ear... dunno where she got that from, but she is sure that I told that. Har har, I'm laughing inside.

Never mind. I screamed myself out, raged a bit, spilled my guts to my friend, and went back to the meeting with the bitch.

First question she asked: "Are you afraid of me?"
Guess my answer. You wouldn't. I told her: "No. Why? I should be?"

And smiled. She instantly shut up and went back to being nice with me. I guess being all kind, friendly and never showing fear or anger or murderous intent counts as scary now and then. ^^

Whew. 2 down, 13 to go.

First class: I go in, all in all a nervous wreck, look at the guys, and turn into a pile of goey mass. They were sooooooo cute! 16 year old little guys, witty, clever, and abso-bloody-lutely cute as teddy bears in a toy shop window.

They warmed up to me, and I was so glad to have got them as my class, and I would have hugged all of them then and there... but that would have come out as strange so I didn't. Still, the urge was there.

There I go again. All it takes is cute children, and I go back to Miss "oh kids! give us a cuddle!". Have I mentioned I have a strange personality? If not... I should have. Long ago.

But they were sooooooooooo cute!

I'm scared shitless. Teaching practice is just around the corner. The students are angels, but the teacher I'm teaching under is a bitch, and and I'm bloody scared of her... and that I'm going to say a few things that should be said, but will cost me precious points and grades.
It's a sort of in-built reflex, that I don't take shit from people, because I have already taken enough to last me several lifetimes. So now I lash out before they would score. Guess my nickname comes handy...
And my need for callous, cold blooded boyfriends is explained now. At least they can't be hurt, and they can say the exact same things I'm already used to hear. Like a pavlovian reflex... You need to hear it, or you just can't feel good. Yeah, sometimes you can call me masochistic. Not too much, or I kick your face in, mind... ^^

Yum. Nothing can beat hot milk.

Want to have some great fun? Get on a bus. Claim the seat which is in the most crowded area and sit down. Wait till enough grannies have gathered, then stand up, and step back a few meters.
After that enjoy the fight that breaks out over one single chair, and laugh yourself silly while the grannies viciously list their age, and their many many sicknesses. (Only thing missing is the walking-cane fight.)
Oh, and don't forget to marvel at that they are still alive with that many problems. It's hilarious.

Why I decided to write about that? Well... funny thing is, whenever I stand there waiting for a bus, no matter how long I have been standing there, no matter that I always let the grannies sit instead of me, and that I do stand on the exact spot where the door will open to...
They always, always stand before me, so that I have to jump several steps back if I don't want the rude granny who elbowed me away to be splattered by the incoming bus. Honestly, at least once I wanna stay standing rigidly and see what happens. Too bad it will be my bloody fault and not the hag's.
Anyway. I stand there, and I get elbowed and they shimmy their way in front of me every time, but then I am second to get on. What do they do? They push past me! They run with their cane tailing behind them horizontally in the air, and rudely, rather rudely push me aside if they see one more free place to sit.
Not that I usually sit down. I do it only if the tram or bus is empty, and I'm dead tired. But that's in the evenings around 8 pm, when they do not frequent the busses anymore.
Still, the funniest thing is when two hags get their sights on the same seat. You just look at their eyes. They, of course, start it very polite, but their eyes scream bloody murder. Then they start listing how sick and old they are, trying to beat each other. At the end you just can't fathom how they can still be alive, because they should have died of at lest 3 illnesses now, which they have listed, or a bit more.
Were they 30 years younger, they would be kicking and screaming, tearing at each others clothes and hair. They are utterly disgusting. I don't want to be something like that.

Oh, and just after the operation of my back I was traveling on the tram, back hurting like hell, more so because it was rather humid on the tram and the sweat hurt my wound, and if I bumped my back into anything, or had to hang on tight, muscles pulled, back bumped and all that pain exploded like a huge red and white firework of pain...
Well, I automatically moved to help a granny to pull up her luggage, but stopped short because even bending down just a bit pulled muscles and the wound throbbed... And I was relived to see that the granny anaged it quite nicely on her own.
The tram moved, and the granny sat beside another granny and then she started talking about youngsters who were utterly rude and not helping at all. She - just in front of me - started badmouthing everyone under 30, while she looked at my way, and nastily so. Everyone on the tram who heard looked at me like I started hitting that hag in daylight and had a few kicks too...
So I told her, that if she meant me, and because of the way she looks at me I am pretty sure she did mean me, I would like to add that my back had been cut up a few days ago and I was aching even when I didn't do anything. Not to mention that bending down and pulling heavy stuff might open my wounds.
Then she gulped down a great breath and starting shrieking that I was a liar, a rude youngster, and I had the cheek to tell her that after not helping her carry her stuff.
I smiled and offered her to show her my covered wound (which had a bit of dried blood showing) in the nearest public bathroom, if she wants to call me a liar.
She screamed that I would club her and take her money.
I said, how else might I show her that she has no reason to call me a liar. I am not stripping in the middle of winter and a tramful of people just to show her that she is wrongly accusing me and ranting at me.
She called me a bunch of names after that, so I wished her to experience the same thing, if she is so petty.
There she went, that I was wishing her bad luck and cursed her...
So I asked her, why would she think so, if she is sure, that I have no wound?
She screamed at me a few choice words, so I wished her back, while she screamed, that I was talking back to the elderly.
My last comment was: does it mean I have to take multiple insults just because she feels like it? I am not taking any insult thrown at me, which is not real. If she wishes to be an elderly, so be it, but elderly does not include being rude and screaming at me at the top of her lungs, accusing me of lying and intended harm and theft. I wish the same for her for such a nice behavior.
And then I got off.

You know, I just love bad tempered old ladies who want to make people feel miserable just because. And I will always laugh at those. And maybe send a curse or two in their way.

Spleen

When the cold heavy sky weighs like a lid
On spirits whom eternal boredom grips,
And the wide ring of the horizon's hid
In daytime darker than the night's eclipse:

When the world seems a dungeon, damp and small,
Where hope flies like a bat, in circles reeling,
Beating his timid wings against the wall
And dashing out his brains against the ceiling:

When trawling rains have made their steel-grey fibres
Look like the grilles of some tremendous jail,
And a whole nation of disgusting spiders
Over our brains their dusty cobwebs trail:

Suddenly bells are fiercely clanged about
And hurl a fearsome howl into the sky
Like spirits from their country hunted out
Who've nothing else to do but shriek and cry —

Then long processions without fifes or drums
Wind slowly through my soul. Hope, weeping, bows
To conquest. And atrocious Anguish comes
To plant his black flag on my drooping brows.

- Charles Baudelaire
/translated by: Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)/

I believe, that Mr Blake was owned by Mr Coleridge. Well... now, that is, for me.
This is, how far Tyger had been my personal fave, and now, it is Kubla's turn to roam freely as my fave. For a bit, that is.
Why? Read and weep at the sheer... graphicness of it!

"A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon lover!"

Na most kavarja, vagy nem kavarja?

Ez ment folyamatosan a fejemben tegnap, és megy még ma is. Imádott vezetőnk tegnap elérte hogy hátast dobjak. Az egy dolog, hogy én bepróbálkozok nála, de... eddig Ő még nem próbálkozott be nálam. Nos tegnap ez megtörtént.

Most pedig szipogok hogy ez csak poén volt, és a hátsómon találom magam, ahogy két szék közül alá esém, nem túl kicsiny valagamra. És persze ma nincs fent. Talk about being a tease.
Aaaaaargh!


És itt ülök, 11-kor este, és a kibebaszott előadást csinálom, mert kibaszott Árpika a kisujját se mozdítja. Faszom bele hogy meleg. No és aztán? Csinálja a kibaszott istenit, mert az ő lerohadt veséjét fogom átrugdosni, és nem szerencsétlen Ildikóét, amit ő ajánlgatott ugyanazzal a műmosollyal, amivel szar magasról az egész feladatra.

Faszom kivan az egésztől.


De azért jól vagyok.

PS: Come to think of it... I do like teases.

Looking for my Muse

Looking for a muse!
Requirements:

• far away
• nice to stare at
• easy to like, easy to hate
• provide inspiration
• require little attention
• endure my temper

Oh Raven! When you finally do get here, there won't be a hint of my old self left. You sure it's a good idea?

I think, I'll have to stop soon. I mean... the guy is cute, intelligent, funny and is to my taste (longish black hair and a hawkish nose - woohoo!)... but he is too young for me in my book.
I have a few rules for myself about dating, which I keep. Three, if fact: No dating the same man again. No dating someone's bf. No dating guys younger than me. Same goes for a crush, and 20 years is still not good enough.
Not to mention, that there is one 20 year old guy I would go for - given that I woold ever consider getting mushy with one. So... in the really really close future I will stop - I did the same thing many times. So I can do that.
Not to mention (number two), that I don't want a bf. They are time consuming and annoying. Of course... I could get one. If I wanted to. I could even use my "spooky powers"... Just imagine my face as I write that. Spooky powers my ass.
Anyway. I could try to get one with it. It all depends of course on the matter that; a: I met him, so I established a contact with said person so that he can actually link me with the feeling; b: I want it - and how much energy I use up for that matter; c: I get some favor or bit of help.

Now why did this even cross my mind to write about? A few days ago I saw an interview with a stupid loser idiot, disgrace to all, who call themselves occultists: Loui Padre. He is a dumb, useless fool, who makes up lies and sells them expensive. He says he uses voodoo, but he does not even know what it is. And he makes love potions, which can make people fall in love with you who never met you. Which is stupid.
Of course, there might be... no, I'm sure that there are people who are able to make that work, but... Loui Padre is sure as hell not one of them. And neither am I. I'm just a lowly occult scholar who... tinkers with stuff.

Anyway... using psychology would be, and still is easier. Meet the bloke. If you are lucky, you can engage him in conversation. Try to be attentive, take notice of his responses. Fairly simple. You just have to look. If he likes something, try to react, show some twinkle of interest, act all attentive and make remarks in kind, so that he sees you care. That's quite a way to make impression. Guys are suckers for that. So are girls...
Anyway. Starting off on the net is one great advantage, and sometimes disadvantage too. You set your sights on someone, do the above mentioned talking method, while you have time to check up info on the net... And when you see each other, no matter how much the guy likes you, he sees you and faints. Well... try to get to know his interests beforehand...
Gahh... I'm writing a manual. I suck. Anyway... This works. You just have to think. Why am I writing this? To show that brain makes up for many things. Psychology rocks, and you can get almost anyone with a bit of knack for psychology, good attention skills and brains. Hah!

Well... while I was panicking about one of our newest bus drivers on the hill, who, as it turns out, wasn't only bad at driving, he didn't even know the way, and people had to point out the directions and bus stops... Well... while that happened, I was thinking about many things.

This is one of my infamous traits, when 3 hours or 3 days later I shout out, that yes, I did see that movie, or yep, I drank that kind of tea and it tasted horrible as well. So, while I was pondering, came the light, and I knew.

Sam would be a fabulous woman. High cheekbones, delicate feathures, but what makes it work is the mouth. He is not as thin lipped as a normal male... (the ones I usually prefer - with the hawkish nose too... anyway, back on track...), and not as long faced and resembling a horse like the usual Brit. He has that Checkish blood in him, and it shows.

And he has a rather feminine build. Getting thinner made him look... more effeminate, and given the right tools, I could make him into a fine woman. ^^ He would kill me, I know, but a little bit of mascara, a bit of shaving (he will have to learn to shave soon, because those baby fine hairs around his mouth will grow strong rather soon), pretty girly clothes (women in London tend to be flat anyway, or so the clothes looked for me - one more reason I wouldn't live there: people don't know the meaning of F-cup... /moan), and probably no high heels. I didn't see his feet, but if they fit with his hands, they are slim and not really small. And I don't think people in London do stack up on size 45 high heeled shoes. Sandals will have to do, or some kind of pretty slippers women use.

Yeah. My brain is a scary thing. Better not wish to read it, or dinners, lunches and breakfasts will see the sunlight pretty soon. Gods, I love to be so scary. I just wish I could tell my brain what to think about... ^^;

Urgh?

Today I was totally miffled. I was just halfway to the uni, and at least 5 guys already looked at me. And I mean *looked*.

I'm pretty sure I didn't look all that different, just my usual stuff: turtleneck, pullover, long leathercoat, pants, boots. Nothing extravagant. And it's not like I'm a total beauty... Sure, I clean up pretty well if I really have to, but right now I didn't. And I still got stared at - in the flattering way.

All in all... it was pretty strange. I didn't get stared at in London (guess Hungarians love curvy women more), and it's not like I love the attention when I get it. I like to stay in the background. Better to observe...
Anyway. Off to sleep I go, and then back to the uni.

London, Day 4

Woke up, ate, Kriszta drank a coffee at King's Cross, then we went to the Westminster Abbey. My feet now hurt really bad and started it the first thing in the morning. The not so fun side of being fat, I guess. The muscles are one thing, feet are something else.
Alas! We went there, looked around, had fun. I was, and still am usually interested in arches, ornaments... anything over 2-4 meters, meaning that I'm not really that much of a fun of the paintings. Not everyone can be a Rembrandt or Michelangelo. And I feel sorry about that.

Anyway. After Westminster, we made a little detuor, looking for a toilet. We found a little canteen, and Rosa even bought a coffee, just to be fair. I feel a little guilty, but I would have left without buying anything at all. I'm so very mean.

Then we actually went to the Tower. I loved the ravens, and I felt so very sorry for them. These idiots should be charged with animal cruelty, and I mean that. We saw the jewels, the crowns and the false diamonds. My feet really did hurt then, so while Kriszta raided the jewel shop, I found myself a quiet bench and I was happy to note that I could rest my feet on in without actually dirtying it. So I did just that - piled my very effeminate docs on the bench and was ecstatic while it lasted.
Then we went on. Actually, it happened between the crowns and the toilets, and way before the jewels. But we saw them too. In the toilets we were hysterically laughing our asses off at the year of the loo awards we encountered stickied to the walls. We even took photos. It's completely logical: Hungarian tourists come and photograph themselves standing besides the year of the loo awards in the toilet od the Tower. What a hoot!
After the jewels, we went to the medieval gift shop, and both fell in love with the dragon pens. So we bought each, and managed not to kill the little kiddies who ran around with sugar rush on them, and who piled up at the cashier, each of them waving a playsword. Second time I was glad I didn't have a gun on me.

After we finished, we encountered a Hungarian couple, and after taking a photo of them, we went off to meet with Pete. We met him in front of Saint Paul's. But seen as we were famished, he brought us to the Japanese restaurant he worked in, got us some food and we were happily munching away in a few minutes. The food was great, by the way.
Then we went off to see Sain paul, and after seeing the interior and the entrance fee, we went to visit a little, unknown church instead. It was modern, but very pretty. The paintings were done by a guy who wanted to join the freemasons repeatedly... Never mind about that.
Then we went to Trafalgar square, then to a posh ice-cream store. I got off easy, eating one scoop of vanilla ice-cream dunked into a delicious espresso. Yum!

Then off we went in search for some gift chocolate. Chinatown, Soho. We actually saw the gay bar where not so long ago 4 gay people were killed by a bomb. Oh wow. We found a Marks and Spencer, where we bought some stuff, and after that we got to a bus stop and parted with Pete, who wshed us a safe journey and told us he might come and see us in Hungary.

Then we went home, after a torturous bus ride, which was way slower than the tube, which is really saying something, and reached the hotel. Kriszta ate I tried to get some food in me (I didn't have an appetite, which was really strange), watched the tube for a bit, showered and...
Well, Kriszta fumbled with the blinds, because on her window it was kind of broken, but the moon was shining, so she tried her best to rollit down. So we went to sleep... and just when I was nearly asleep, our beloved "random ghost" pushed it up with a loud noise. I nearly got a heart attack then. We got our trick that night, as it was Oct. 31 then.
It took me a while to get to sleep, but I managed it.

London, Day 3

Woke up, ate breakfast, spent half the day in the British Museum. We shopped a bit too. Didn't dare to look at most of the books, or I would still be longing after half of them. Have I mentioned how bloody expensive London is? Well, it is.
Then we went back to King's Cross, and Kriszta drank her coffee while I switched my bag for a bigger one at the hotel... and ditched my coat... or was it in the morning? I dunno.

Anyway. After that we met up with Satrio and went to a second hand book shop, where I promptly had to stop myself from buying half of the store. I bought 9 books, one of them will be Kriszta's Christmas gift. She has been longing for it for ages. I bought myself another few Pratchett books, a manga I fell in love with after reading it, some myth books (one Ireland oriented and one Faery oriented), some kind of "magic" book, which gives off a new age feeling (at least I'll have a good laugh), and other thingies. I'm so sorry that we left that occult book behind... well, never mind. Kriszta had a field day with the books she found.

Then we walked around, and went down Portobello Road. The shops were mostly closed, which was a pity. Then we went into a little umm...pub thingy, which is currently my favorite in London. It looked like a tropical island inside, full with palm trees and a colorful parrot kind of bird. I loved it. Had a lovely talk with Satrio, and I actually found the female side of the toilets first. (Long story, but once I found the wrong door, went in, was empty, couldn't be bothered to find the female one, and nobody was in... so it was ok... ^^ Kriszta had a laugh, tho.)

After that we went back to the tube station with Satrio, then went to the Hyde Park. Had a wonderful drenching (it was raining) at the Hyde Park by night, then went back to the tube station, got to Oxford Circus, walked around a bit, shopped around a bit, then went home, utterly tired.
Ate, showered, slept.

London, Day 2

Woke up, ate breakfast. It was what I ate in ireland, so I was used to it. Loved the tomatoes. Drank a tea while Kriszta drank a coffe at King's Cross, then went and got to the Temple station.
Sam was late. So we worried a little, then we went and I took a few photos of the bridges and other stuff around.
Then Sam came and we looked up the Templar temple. It was pretty. We didn't manage to get inside, which was too bad. We looked around tho, and it was really nice. Took a bunch of photos too.
Then we walked along the Thames to the Parliament and took photos of the Big Ben and Westminster Abbey too. Didn't manage to get in, as we had to hurry and eat dinner with the guys.
Met Satrio, Kevin and little Brit Brass near the station and went to eat. Had a good time, I think.
Then we said our goodbyes to all, and went to meet with Pete and Xavier.

Pete was a darling. He no longer has the mohawk, and I would call his hair blonde, not red, but never mind that, he was such a nice guy. Xavier was... intimidating. I admit, I have never talked with him before, and after first laying eyes on him I had a kind of prejudice against him. You know... efficient, good looking, staring at my friend... just the guy I was itching to ditch. I just had a feeling I was something he would have wished to leave out. He never really talked to me either. Never mind, didn't like him either. (God, I sound so childish.)

First we went into a bookstore. kriszta bought a few Neil Gaiman books, I bought 6 Terry Pratchetts (Discworld), and the 6th Harry Potter book. I hated my hard covered one. Then we went to Camden, looked around, shopped, or more like didn't really, because of the high prices. I tell you, I wished Ireland back. I bought faeries. The shop assistant even told me which one was which. I didn't klnow they had such a complex system for faeries. Wow.
Then we went and sat down (had to leave the first ...restaurant thingy, because it was so loud), and not too long after some musicians parked down in front of the one we sat after, and made enough noise to suspect them chasing after us to sabotage our talking with each other.
I took some pictures of them too.
Then we went back to the hotel, took a shower, ate dinner and slept.

London, Day 1

Woke up bloody early by a ringing phone thrust under my nose. Mark was calling me in the middle of the night, saying that he would liek to meet us. I said sure... after I understood what he was saying.
Managed to get dressed, get packed and got to the airport on time. Had to take off my boots - just as I expected. Then we went in, and not long after were allowed on the plane and departed. The food was edible, the plane not dark enough and I didn't manage to get enough sleep.
Over all, I think I was acting better than one who had slept around 3 hours.

Then we took a train (the airport was big, and it would have been easier if we didn't have to walk all over the place... I started hating the Brits again then) after we finally managed to get out of the airport, and then bought tickets.
The underground is a mess. You may need to walk more than you actually have to travel to find your bloody tube line, but yes, they have tube stations everywhere. But no escalators. And the people were so bloody rude, I really couldn't have guessed that we were in a civilized country. If this is what people call civilization, I'll stay an uncivilized Hungarian, who does not knock people over when they are in the way, and says sorry if she actually does bump into people.

So. The hotel people said we had to put our stuff into a room reserved for bags, and wait untill we can check in. After some shimmying, we managed to do just that.
Then we went to a Burger King (yuck yuck yuck) and ate something which tasted a bit better than in Hungary. Still yuck. Then met up with: Mark, Sam, Satrio, Kevin and... uh... Brass? Didn't catch his real name... and he wasn't very sociable. Just the way I imagined Brits. Keep your distance, keep your cool, act all polite and don't care the slightest. Yep. Just like that.

Then we went to Covent Garden. First stop: Body Shop. Yay. Bought some stuff, then went out and saw people making fools out of themselves. Never really liked those anyway. Went to a market, then made a complete 180, and went the other way to eat.
Wasn't hungry, so I listened to the guys instead. I took out my money and organized it, and they actually looked away when I put my money back (the little pouch hanging from my neck, directly into my cleavage) as asked them to! I think only Brits would do that. I laughed my ass off. Inside, of course.

Then... we... uh... went to the British museum, walked around, until we got tired and decided to go and check in to the hotel.

We saw the third person at the front desk that day. It was a middle aged guy with droopy eyes who (I'm not kidding!) searched for Kriszta's name for half an hour. After she showed her the proper way of writing it down. And again I was so very glad I can't wear or use a gun, or I would have shot him point blank there and then. And then we got our key.
Which was a hoot, because there was no lift and our room was on the 4th floor. My arms still hurt. My baggage was around 17 kg, so... it was fun. Full sarcasm here.
Then we realized, that the so-called bathroom we were so adamnant about was actually a little closet room, which housed the toilet and the shower. So, if you wanted to shower, you closed the lid of the toilet, stood beside it and let the shower roll. There was nothing dividing the two. Still, it was better than it looked. And it looked really bad.

Then we met up with the guys, (for the record we were late) and went to eat. "Just over the corner" aquired a new meaning, when we were still walking after half an hour and actually didn't manage to find the restaurant. Still, Moo is a darling, so I won't talk badly of him. But at that time I was so tired I considered fleeing as soon as I found a tube station.
We found an arabic restaurant first, so they were lucky, and I didn't kill them either. I was nice, see? We ate, we drank no alcohol, we talked.
Then we went back to the hotel, tried out the shower, and slept.

My memory of the four days in London is a jumbled mess right now. I'll try to do the tellingof tales tomorrow, after a night's sleep.

Still, I'm feeling morre than less hurt. My friends apparently have problems with everything I do. If I don't take action, I'm at fault. If I do take action, I'm at fault again. It would be better if I left them - apparently. I got a suggestion like that as well: join the next group, they are more active anyway. And maybe I just will. I think it's time to deal out as many hurt feelings as I got already for being active and... being there if needed. Guess people who give a fuck have it the hardest. Ain't I just so very positive? Har har.

Anyway. I didn't like London. It was civilised a few decades ago, but now it's plain ugly, depressive, gloomy and just lacks prettyness. Just like the German language, which you would never call the language of love.

I miss Ireland. I miss the long planes of green, the ever colorful moor, the many bridges of the Liffey and the pretty doors and buildings that line up after each other, no matter which town you are in the Republic of Ireland (which excludes the six counties, because Belfast I found plain ugly, nearly as much as London). Well... so much for today. My nocturnal habits just returned, so now I will try again to catch some sleep.

But first I'll have to cleanse my room, because somebody apparently rearranged my entire room, and books of no relation got to be in the same stack... I think I'll have a field day tomorrow reorganizing the mess. God help me. Preferably a nice one.

And if I get lucky enough, so that the weather will be better and I will have time, I'll go to my favorite cemetery to walk around, and clear my mind. I really, really need some peace, and alone time, or I might start to scratch the walls as I slowly and painfully go mad.