Walpurgis night

So...

I could make a long story of how and when it all exactly happened but who really cares. I have a boyfriend now. And he's wonderful.

That's what withes' night is for, I guess: magic happens.

A monday to look back at

How often does the thought of monday make you smile?

I'm wagering; not very often if at all. It is much the same for me but then came along yesterday. Not only have I acquired the mobile telephone number of my most recent crush, we'll be meeting over ice cream later today.

*sigh*

Twee zachte armen om me heen....*

It has been for the first time in a very long time that last night I have wanted a boy/girlfriend regardles of being in love (which I am by the way but more on this subject later).

Not because it is what family and society alike seem to expect of me.

Not because I think a partner-for-life is essential for my happiness.

Not because I'm utterly sex-crazed from the withdrawal of physical attention.

But because it would be so nice to be able to say "Hold me for a while" without the immediate need for an explanation.

ANd I really don't feel like explaining. I only makes me tremble with anger. An negative loop that I need to get out of.

*two soft arms around me, a reference to a well-know dutch claasic about the solitude of a pestered misunderstood boy whose father is a sea

Stil looking

A month ago, coming within three years of my third decade on this planet; I thought myself (and not before time) too old to be falling in and out of bubbly love and unreasonable hate with every change of season. Too old to chase after cute specimens of my kind, too old to still want and desire.

And yet there is hope in my heart. Unfounded delirious joyful hope where all hope should be crushed, dead, extinguished. Hope.

As a wise men said:

"Yes, McCoy. Hope is a human emotion. But after many years in their
continious company I can't escape being tainted. And hope is an emotion I will
not be ashamed of, considered it is turned to good."*

* attributed to Mr. Spock, more or less

Kuh Kuh Kuh Kuh Kowkayne

While my house mates are slaving to keep the house clean and free of fleas, on the verge of influenza or abroad getting drunk more slowly and expensively then would be possible in governmentless Belgium; I go to work and come home bubbling with joy.

Mostly because I've allowed myself to crush on a colleague, mostly to escape the love sickness of a heart broken in the last year; and which will soon enough case me despair.

I must be honest it is almost alien to me to type theoppostie of hope; I can't yet imagine what horror and sadness and grief I feel when I'm not in this mood and I've been this bubbly for so long I'm starting to suspect my housemates of putting cocaïne in my food. The only reason I know this cannot be possible is that all of them would rather snobble (sic) the fairy dust themselves.

Phone-/Lifeless part two aka Rant VII

In case you had not noticed from my absence the past two weeks. I suck at communication. I have been without mobile phone for about three weeks now, and I daresay there has only been one instant so far that I actually missed it. I have also been without access to my google account (including e-mail) for about a week and again I barely missed it. True it was rather inconvenient for the people that have wanted to contact me but as far as I figured; I almost couldn't care less.

Except of course that it has been impossible for everyone to contact me. Everyone including him. Him being the one person I never declared myself in love with despite being hot wax in his warm loving hands. And it drives me crazy. Crazy that it takes me almost two years to realise that it doesn't feel like any crush before because they were in fact crushes and he isn't. It's different. Totally different. Completely different.

Wedding Night

As I write, mere hours before you read this I help out preparing the stage wedding of a friend's friends. Two people who are dear to each other and to me will be (fake-) wed.

I always thought I hated the fuss. Having recently seen one of my oldest college friends get married to a very handsome tall dark 'stranger' had -I thought- put me off quite a bit. I loved seeing him and her so happy and brave to simply say we'll face the world together from now on, but throughout the ceremony I felt that it would be impossible for me to vow love and fidelity eternally ( a leftover from having scarred my heart once too often). Combined with a great lack of interest for cake dresses, family festivities and fuss about my person, I concluded that I had better not marry.

However, even knowing that nothing of what will take place today is meant in earnest, I simply adore being involved. I have been wondering a full two weeks about what to wear. I will beam with joy and pride when I am complemented on the choice of corsage and bouquet. I think constantly of event-appropriate music. Had I time and an oven to spare I would without a doubt have volunteered to bake a wedding cake. Already I'm jealous thinking how they will look at each other and the children, with pride, love, warmth overflowing their hearts.

Now that I am well beyond the point of sentimentality I might as well mention that either one of my sort-of-single sisters must marry or the one man that may be mine (if there is such a man) will not escape nuptial frenzy. The official paperwork I can and could do without, but I'll have my damned party.

Quote #38

I couldn't agree more.

The unknown phone-number

Now that I have finally learned how to live a life of my own, on my own, without being entirely miserable it seems some unknown life force is bent on making me fall in love again.

How else does one explain the apparition of a telephone number of, if I am not mistaken, a very new acquaintance off whom a majority of mutual friends claims that a-said person might possibly be more than an indifferent acquaintance, should I put my mind to it, that afore was not there and that I did not acquire myself?

Either life is dropping me serious hints or one of my housemates is messing with my cell phone.

7 and counting

I can't recall ever having received Valentine's cards and this year I have so far found seven in my inbox, some tackier than others. None with a return address and all in a different handwriting, so as to leave me clueless to the sender(s)' identity. After now a week of wondering, pondering and pestering my friends and housemates for help in unravelling the mystery that was forced upon me, I have come to conclude that I may be happier about the entire affair if I just enjoyed the idea and feeling of being at least regarded worth some stamps and effort. Also this is really sweet. The url reads: www.tinyurl.com/voormorgan

Coincidentally one of my favorite Jazz songs.

edit: Number eight arrived yesterday, infact the same card as number 4 with a message that I will not repeat until sometime next year when I'm really really drunk. I have also concluded that somewhere out there someone must be really really really desperate for sex if they have to appeal to me to get some.

The Rose Test

Ah, so true.

You Believe that Love is Mysterious

When you think of love, you think of what could be possible in the future. In love, you see things as they are. You accept and love your partner's faults. If you are in love, you want the whole world to know it. You don't hold back with letting people know. You are somewhat patient in love. You can wait for the right person, but once you have found the right one, you're very impatient.

The Rose Test

The Weekend

Somewhat boisterous, I'd wager to announce Saturday and Sunday past as 'the weekend' as if none other could have had one like me, or even worse to think that I will never live trough another Friday evening 'till monday morning filled up with pure joy.

It does not befall me very often to start an evening at a party in the kitchen sipping to end up practically sober and shaking every inch of my body on the dancefloor.* Nor do I spend many of my Saturdays shopping tea, reading newspapers, singing Flemish chanson out of key** and shaking off rather drunk Dutchmen who insist on kissing me.

* For the sake of those who've heard the story a billion times by now I shall remain silent on the subject of what happened between the first glass of wine and half past 2 a.m. but you may fantasise about it if you promise to include these ingrediënts; semi-hot guy, three glasses of rather sweet white wine, a very hot black'n'pink outfit and lots of converstion.

** These are all lies, I wouled spend all my saturdays like this if I had even te remotest chance.

.38

WARNING! This is a vague vague vague rant/rambling about a personal emotional matter.


Recently, let's say sunday evening last, I received one of many anonymous letters that flock to my inbox off late. It was special though, in that respect that it was no invitation for poetic contribution to someone's study-hours entertainment. It was a love letter and I am thus puzzled about the person's identity that I am calling on you to help.

The letter reads as follows:

"Hey Sweetie,


I just wanted to say: you're one of a kind. You're beautiful, you're cute, you're wonderful and I adore you.


.38"*

Date sent: 09/08/09 22h36
E-mail: personality.38@gmail.com

I have not received answers to my multiple inquisitive letters. Any information that leads to the disclosing of aforementioned person's identity may be rewarded with coconut-brownie.

* Translated from the original Dutch:

"Hey lieve meid,

Ik wil je gewoon maar even zeggen; je bent er een uit duizend. Je bent mooi, schattig, in 1 woord geweldig en ik hou van je.


.38"

Does not compute

Of all the things I'd thought I'd never say, the following might not even have been on the list for reasons of inconceivability, but...

"I wish there were more guys just like you"


Editors note: This was once again purposely and sufficiently vague so as to keep most people wondering. I can't say more, because it does simply not compute.

I <3 you

I heart you. Oh yes I do.

I heart you, you , you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you*, you, and you. All of you. And don't ask why I say '<3'.

The word 'like' does not do you justice. The word 'love' is overused and hence meaningless. And you do mean a lot to me.


*I do not long for you, I do not lust for you, I don't go mad with desire for you, I don't need or want you but you have a place in my heart.

Carmen

*

Apart from the setting, which was I grant you gradn. There was not so very much to enjoy about the Opera I went to. The story was very familiar, the singing, the dancing, the music; very nice and all but to be honest, not what you'd expect from a state opera assembly.

All I wanted to remark is that you never know when you can learn a lesson. Hearing it sung once too many I think the following line, may stick for a while:

Si tu ne m'aime pas je t'aime. Et si je t'aime prends garde à toi!

* May or may not be replaced by a self-made picture of the event.

Going with the flow...

Not a day goes by that I don't ask other people or at the very least wonder about how to handle my curent situation. Often the current situation needs only some advice on what to wear or what to cook, now something more serious has come up and it is not at all clear to me what the obvious bad choice is between:

a) Go with the flow, just let it all happen and see where I end, realising that there's an 85% chance if will be a short happy period of bliss followed by a possibly long period of misery and heartbreak.

b) Fight for the one I am now certain that I like/love, realising there's an 85% chance of it ending in misery and heartbreak with no period of bliss whatsoever?

You tell me I guess. 

One question

I know barely were to start writing. And I fear or rather I am certain that for the bulk of my readers it will be utterly incomprehensible.

I feel very very well right now. But at the same time I feel sad. I'm in love. And still I'm not heartbroken to learn he doesn't love me back. I feel like crying but I can't help, really can't help smiling. I slept little, ate nothing, had one cup of tea since yesterday evening but I'm so full of energy I feel like terribly long walks and shouting out loud and taking a shower just to be able to sing.

Could it be that in spite of an unhappy discovery I'm secretly happy?


I wouldn't know, I'm too confused.

Penguïn - part I

I just knew penguins were cool.