It contains a duvet, a pillow and two towels. And it’s worth 10 pounds in ryanair terms. Now all that’s left are clothing, shoes, pans, cutlery, pots, dishes, books (but which? I can’t take them all, but whom could I possibly leave behind?), Roy (My laptop. I name things.), documents, some DVDs, toiletries, maybe a waterboiler and the 5 – 20 things I’m forgetting to list now but will realise I need within the next 11 days. This let’s-just-take-a-plane idea is starting to get tricky. The fact that my posessions will of course increase in quantity within the next year and I’ll have to move out again in July isn’t exactly a treat either. Bring it all back home with me for two months just to schlep it to Bournemouth again for the next year? Well, god knows I’m a lazy bugger as it is! Plus, there’s a fair chance ryanair will charge an extra forty pounds per gramme by then.

I see there’s an old entry of mine on this site which recalls me writing I was sure of going to Griffith or Trinity. Oh, dear foolish Nessihoernchen. I can’t even remember ever being so certain of leaving Austria. I’m still surprised I am, in fact. Friends of mine have told me they’d always known I was not meant to stay here. The said I didn’t even seem Austrian. And I was, like (Dude, like, totally American-like ‘like’ fail!), “Heeey! …really?” Now, that’s just bloody rude. And only half-true.

Why it makes sense for some of my friends to desire reading from me now makes sense. So does me taking it up now. It’s only two weeks from today that I will be leaving the country to live in England for a minimum of five years, which does not mean me being out of this world, certainly, but does imply quite a change for myself. As I was riding a taxi home around four this morning, I caught myself with a smile on my face more sincerely than I had expected. Thinking about it, it must’ve also looked more dopey than I realised at the moment and I sure hope the darkness prevented the cab driver from seeing my foolish-looking features. What I was smiling at was the thought that I wouldn’t have to pay a taxi to get home late at night in Bournemouth anymore, because the flat I’ll be living in is close enough to the city that I can always walk back home. Seems shallow? Indeed. But the ability to enjoy these little sweets my “new life” will let me enjoy and thereby avoiding the panic everyone around me expects me to have (and I’m constantly reminded of the fact that I should really panic) gives me endless pleasure, it does.

I there and then decided that I missed writing down the little things. Which are, let’s face it, often much more interesting to read about than the big ones. I can hardly think of a more personal way than to stay connected with the friends soon-to-be so far away than writing them stories. (Yes, Facebook is all well and good but I’m a fan of long sentences and constantly reading how someone has purchased a new cow in Farmville I find distracting.) For me, this has a sense of preparation. I’m looking for ways to go home in a heartbeat.

Whatsoever, I am joyful to announce that I have once and for all decided to find my future in Dublin city. I will apply for Griffith College and Trinity College the following year to receive the best possible education a writer could hope for (at least, well … a writer who’s madly in love with irish literature)! And I am actually quite confident to be accepted at Griffith – being not as popular as Trinity, they’re always looking for foreign students. And so it begins: the path of preparation. Having set myself a goal as huge as this, I’ll have to start “collecting” letters of recommendation, documents and prizes to make myself seem valuable enough. After all, as respected as my school might be in my country, the deans in Dublin won’t give a fiddler’s fart for a graduation at APP. Am FBA on Irish literature and my scholarship for the IUP will hopefully score me some extra points as well. Let’s try and dream out loud – why should it be too good to be true?

Celebrate, we will! ‘Cause life is short but sweet, for certain!

1. I drowned myself with hydrochlorid acid contaminated red wine.
2. I mysteriously diappeared after strangeling my host family and only the sea knows what happened.
3. I was put in jail for throwing condoms at the pope on the one day we’ll spend in Rome.
4. I accidentely made a certain gesture in order to express my feelings about rock music and was shot by …
5. I drowned in a sea of garbage.
6. I met Berlusconi.

I want this song to be played in my memory.

Hm.

What a transformation!

Seriously, I’ve never really given a rat’s arse about birthdays. And I don’t mean, ye know, the actual day someone was born (considerably that is of quite some importance), but the bloody date in your calendar when you’re supposed to celebrate your life. Even if you’re not even slightly in the mood. I hardly ever am on april 2nd, for some reason. I’d rather celebrate my being a part of this particular period of time whenever I feel like it. And I do. Just yesterday, as I was expected to be all cheery and … communicative I rather felt like being in a really introverted, fucked up mood – but you can’t really do that, can you? You can on every other feckin’ day that is not your birthday, noone’ll give a crap, try not to be all cheery and enthusiastic, dripping of joooy and looove and all that kind of shit, what automatically will be assumed is “Oh my GOD, what’s wrong, you hate your whole darn life, don’t you?”

So don’t get me wrong there, had a really nice day, a lot of people showed me how much they cared, which, honestly, meant a great deal to me, I couldn’t have been more honoured! Still, the day I’ll actually celebrate my birthday will be the next time I bloody will please and feel like it.

Anyway, on the paper I now am 17, wow, yay, ain’t that a kick in the … wait, that doesn’t really work for me. The point is, it doesn’t change a thing (Not the latest finding, I am aware of that.) and I’m sure as hell not going to … reflect on the past year and what long way I’ve come, how time passes by etc. Then again, noone expects me to.

Btw, Dylan’s coming to Austria, what a treat!

“Are you a lesbian?”

Their reaction to my dropped jaw and uncomprehendingly raised eyebrows was to explain how this had occured to them.

1. They were wondering how it was possible I had not had a boyfriend for ages while I am “not only very hot, but also darn smart!”. Firt of all, thanks – how very flattering that is taken out of context. Secondly, the only explanation I have for this is that I am ridiculously picky when it comes to choosing a partner and keep turning them lads down. That is, I suppose, because I expect too much of a special connection I have not found yet.
2. I was told by my very best friends – who were by now laughing like nutjobs – I had a charisma that was so feminine it could also be very attractive to other women. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? And that comes from a gay man who is pretty feminine himself! I always thought lesbians were considered masculine …?

Fair enough: I am not gay. Even if women definetely are the better kissers. Good god, now that proves I need a man!

So, I try to write. And yet am not good enough to reach my one and only goal of understanding.

I often wish I’d drop it eventually and start living a shallow, laid back life – though, what would it be like not to feel overwhelmed by times? Overwhelmed by someone giving sense to beauty, hatred, hope, love, temptation or … just … anything, anything there isn’t even a word for, not a darn single word evolution has invented once upon a time, anything there’s been a song for before words as it’s been existing, but inexplicable!

And is there a bloody way to sympathize music?

Still, I’ve been crazy about Dave Matthews lately and can’t stop listening to him. Seriously. He’s driving me mad. And I’m not (only) talking about enjoying his music. The man is neither very handsome nor extraordinarily charming, it’s just my ridiculously huge weakness for talented musicians. It’s always been like that – almost scares me off, hell! But he’s just so darn good! As soon as he starts playing with those incredibly talented fingers, I go ….

Anyways, I’ll be attending the “Fremdsprachenwettbewerb”, the competition for foreign languages, the day after tomorrow, to represent my school in Tyrol. Let’s see how it goes. I somehow can’t seem to get excited about the whole thing.

>It’s crazy, I’m thinking, just knowing that the world is round; I’m here, I’m dancing on the ground<

It’s good to be healthy. …is what I realized after 4 weeks of almost constant illness. There were some days in January when I should’ve stayed in bed but didn’t because of certain incidents and school stress. Don’t do this. This flue almost became chronic. As soon as I got up I fell back into bed and couldn’t move for days. This went on for weeks ’till I got so ill I had high fever for 6 days in a row, but therefore: I now am back! Woohoo!

Why, these days I might actually have the time for a little writing again. And reading, finally got started on some Thomas Mann.

Farewell and let’s get back to normal.

>Greift nur hinein in’s volle Menschenleben!<