Fat Wednesday

i never mentioned madrid, getting there, being there, or getting back.
this last was me missing carneval
returning too late, carneval passed by in a room on tracks, tired, relieved, hurting, bleeding, bearing gifts, cold outside to warm inside.
Spanish planes and german trains washed off prickling skin along with the smell of darkened rooms, oranges, sweat.
Why not submit myself to german over-hygiene. The change in location immediately apparent as soon as I walk into the self cleaning toilet.
I liked the dustiness of spain, the disarray. They are almost there, almost fully modernized Europe, but not there yet. Every corner is under construction
I imagine the only drawback to living in Madrid would be the difficulty of riding a bike through it. But then again you can walk everywhere interesting, and the metro is literally the cleanest easiest easiest system I’ve ever had the pleasure never getting lost in. good job.

This is egostistical. I’ve been reading up on depression. Apparently there is no way to snap out of it. Which I don’t like to hear because I don’t like hard work. Id be more patient but the whole crying at the drop of a hat, (or pencil, spoon or word or anything or nothing at all) is starting to impede actually functioning in daily situations. I wake up and cant get up, I go to sleep red eyed, I weep over my breakfast teacup and drink teary black tea, I excuse myself from composing correct sentences in german class in order to go to the bathroom and compose myself. I feel bad when someone says something thoughtless but am more likely to cry when someone says something nice. Its as though the idea of someone being sympathetic to me is overwhelming.
So, it’s annoying, this soppy state of being. Ive never liked people seeing me cry. I used to avoid it at all costs. For a few years I just stopped crying. I never cried. Maybe once or twice in all those years.
It would be too bad to think that now I have to make up for it. If I knew it worked that way, I wouldn’t have tried so hard back then, and maybe done some preventative wailing in some choice private moments, or semi-private moments. Crying can be powerful, if used correctly you know. Maybe I should have tried to put it to work and use it to my advantage instead of scoffing the whole idea that emotional displays are manipulative and refusing to break down. Ever. In any case, a little prevention goes a long way.

I am making sure I drink enough water of course, to make up for the loss. And also eat things with salt. Ive been saving the tissues used up so far, to weigh later on. So far they fill a chocolate box.

I think I will use this as a way to keep track of my thinking. I know that I am building patterns of negative thinking, so maybe putting them in a semi-public forum will force me to be extra aware of them. Being embarrassed about what other people think is as good a motivation as any to change back into a normal human. To norminate yourself, no, to re-adjust, whatever. In fact airing paranoias seems cathartic

i am also a philosophical argument

"'Elenchus' in the wider sense means examining a person with regard to a statement he has made, by putting to him questions calling for further statements, in the hope that they will determine the meaning and the truth-value of his first statement. Most otten the truth-value expected is falsehood; and so 'elenchus' in the narrower sense is a form of cross-examination or refutation."
"The elenchus changes ignorant men from the state of falsely supposing that they know to the state of recognizing that they do not know; and this is an important step along the road to knowledge, because the recognition that we do not know at once arouses the desire to know, and thus supplies the motive that was lacking before. Philosophy begins in wonder, and ... elenchus supplies the wonder."
"The following objection may be made to the method of elenchus: it only tells you that you are wrong, and does not also tell you why."
http://www.ditext.com/robinson/dia2.html

queen of tarts

It wasn’t until I was walking, three grocery bags overfilled in my arms, home from the market in the morning that the headache kicked in; and I comprehended exactly what (I think) I had been doing the night before. Namely, swimming in the organically formed black plastic (?) beam supported pool/tub built by Berliner-parisienne artiste amateurs comprising last room of the new MArTa exhibit which, it being the opening, was as much overflowing with gin as with salted water (heated through copper pipes run through an old oven standing off to one side of the massive wet monstrosity—which looked as though it had swallowed, rather than just contained—the collection of arms and legs drifting opaquely around).
But no time to think about that, or the carnevalesque chaos ensuing in an old villa which (a nice paris lady named elisa gave me a tour, pointing out the bright red red carpets with her full redlipsticked lips) had a basement that looked like one eyed jacks and there were cages in an adjacent room (“zcahriest pahrt first” exclaimed she in her drawling French tone “I don knoh whad waz goeeng ahn dohn hea, but eet ees zo strainge!”)…no, no time to think: I arrived home, bags about to drop, to find guests already arrived. Happy valentines, I had, for some reason, though it a good idea to get together a little tea and cakes and hearts of chocolate valentines gathering.
Ok, it was sweet. But I miss my ol valentines.

Elentier

I find out there is an animal called the elenantilope. it lives in the Savannah and is overhunted. I also find out that elen is an old poetic word for elk, or moose, no longer used. In a big dictionary in the library i read that elen is short for elentier and formerly das seltener, which means the rare one. maybe this is becuase the elks died out in germany in the 13hundreds.

blues

I listen to the sputtering of the espresso machine behind me, instead of turning it off.
The pressure is too great, and the machine concedes, unwillingly snorts, short releases of steam out around the valve—which is now no longer airtight.
It is no longer airtight because of perpetual loving abuse by those who like to steam their milk. Or soy milk.
Whatever floats your macchiato
However,
these indiscretions on the part of the coffee machine, I am convinced, are the only thing keeping it from entirely exploding—so painful do they sound. It wavers instead, only gradually nearing the brink of utter self destruction. Luckily, my father walks in the kitchen just then, and with the press of a red button, delivers it from almost certain doom.

I spent the last days wavering, on the verge of tears. This is uncommon, so it was uncomfortable for the two reasons that 1. Being an emotional timebomb is inconvenient and uncomfortable and 2. Being fairly unfamiliar with the state of emotional timebombasity, it means an added discomfort of disorientation. At least, that’s how I see it.
The fact that these states don’t always offer a reasonable ground or justification for their existence is another blow to someone, like myself, who, if they are going to spend any amount of time being a blubbering imbecile, would like to know WHY that has to be the case.
Its not that I’m against short outbursts, or some occasional stint of blubbering imbecility, but these should be a) completed/experienced within a reasonable timespan and b) have a ground, cause or identifiable offsetting event. Otherwise they are indulgent, inefficient and insupportable. All considered, depression be awful.
I have little patience for people who are depressed. No, I should rephrase that. I have a lot of sympathy and am always ready to be there/ be supportive for people who are feeling down, its not their fault, etc. but at the same time, I have little respect for the idea of depression itself. Or for people who are emotionally irresponsible—who don’t at least try to resolve, regulate or take preventive measures in heading off their own down (or up) swings. Just an ounce of emotional self-sufficiency is all I ask. Everyone feels all things at some point. Learn to deal.
Be that as it may, I hold myself to no double standard.

I think it is time for some coffee.