I’ve been meaning to write something. Anything; but every time I start, it doesn’t get finished because I lose interest in it halfway through. Mostly because there is nothing new to say. I’m still the same old scared person, some days more emotional than others.
Last night I cried while brushing my teeth because my birthday month is approaching and since I don’t have anyone to give me big presents anymore, I buy them for myself but then I also don’t have anyone to show them to when they arrive. Also, my birthday isn’t for another two weeks so I don’t get to wear my new watch just yet. Anyway, my point was, my birthday is approaching and it seems cruel and unfair that I have to celebrate it without the woman who brought me into this life. Simple as that.
Grandma is still not doing well. She’s old and her body is that of a person who worked all her life. Who worried way too much and who saw lots of heartbreak. It’s no wonder she isn’t well and I’ve been at this point too many times by now to still be fazed by it. Not until something really extreme happens. Sometimes I wish for the extreme.
In other news, I go to work each day, I come home, I eat and watch TV. My life isn’t exciting. I’m not always the quarter life crisis 20-something blogger anymore. Aside from my love life, almost everything else is settled and I do the same stuff all the damn time. I even write about the same stuff all the damn time.
So many of my blogger friends are dropping off the interwebs. Their blogs do and in a way I get it. I don’t have much to say anymore and I also have hardly read any blogs this year. I realise that I’m part of the problem but I also don’t feel like changing. I’m not going to give up on this space yet, maybe there are better days ahead for me. Who knows.
Until then, I’ll try to come up with words. Because writing is essential to my mental health. It is. Not that I have an actual mental illness but just to keep my head in the right space, I need some form of this *gesticulates wildly into the abyss*.
And lastly, I don’t feel comfortable talking about the current refugee crisis in Europe because I’m not sure how I feel about it. The far right wingers who set fire to refugee homes make me mad. But I’m also afraid of what this will become because so many people are arriving each day and while Germany’s economy is one of the healthiest in Europe, I’m not sure we can stomach all of that at once. I also realise though, the trek to get here for these people is expensive, difficult and dangerous and you don’t put yourself through it, if you see a better alternative. You just don’t. I feel like I’m too uninformed, too dumb to actually form a concise opinion on the matter. The media and our politicians paint various pictures but my heart doesn’t always agree with them. Maybe there isn’t one way I should feel about this, maybe the fact that I’m so confused about it is an opinion in itself.