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.