Sometimes I really am not quite sure how I get myself in certain situations. And often times when I am in them I don't quite care what the outcome of things are. I sound like Michael from The Reader, a book I recently finnished reading.
There's nothing quite like the depressing and anxious mixture of not knowing what to do, lying on a mattress, being annihilated by insects and reading an extremely somber, confusing and heart breaking book about holocaust memories and aftermaths. There's also no better distraction than copious amounts of sex. After all of that, it feels like my brain could explode and my heart could handle no more.
I once read in Women Who Run With the Wolves that you get women who are dancers, they're always on their toes and throwing their bodies...and eventually to exhaustion then they die. Pretty depressing eh? That's what people always tell me...
So right now, I have moved to a guest house. It is quite pretty, very relaxing and non-demanding. No strange colours that pull my eyes, no fancy smells to disturb me. The sheets are quiet, the walls...everything feels like it was designed for you to be the only soul in the room. Nothing else feels too alive - so you can be left in peace with your thoughts.
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