Going, going, gone.

Today's post really was supposed to look like this:

* * *

Checklist:

• Make the crucial decision which clothes to take to Ireland. Change your mind at least 13 times. Then change it again. CHECK
• Lay out all the stuff you intend to take on your bed. Leave it there right until you want to go to bed, then realize that there's no room for you. CHECK
• Spend at least two hours agonizing about which CDs to bring. CHECK
• Repeat as necessary with books. CHECK
• Pack your rucksack and hand luggage. Pack everything you own. Totally ignore the fact that you are going to have to carry around all this stuff all by yourself tomorrow. CHECK
• Spend at least 20 minutes of every hour on facebook, waiting for people to respond to something extremely witty you've written. CHECK
• Return Spooks-DVDs to library, get all the cash your bank will give you (ever again), buy plenty of cheap and light convenience food for those nine nights in hostels. CHECK
• Buy a maxi-pack of earplugs for those nine nights in hostel dorms. CHECK
• Hoover the flat, tidy up, water the flowers, put your bike into the basement, take down the garbage, do the dishes, have far too much pasta and wait for your travel companion to arrive. CHECK
• Oh, and annoy everyone around you by rubbing it in over and over again that you are off on the best of all holidays tomorrow. ...and CHECK!

Gewidmet.

Liebe Lieblingsfeindin vom Besoldungsamt, das hier ist für dich.

Das heißt, eigentlich für mich, weil es so viele Leute wie dich gibt.

* * *

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nb3MCdOBbls

* * *

Variations on the theme (3).

Can we have a quick reality check here?

They are actually doing it. I didn't expect that. I mean, they had this card up their sleeve all along, but I kind of trusted things would turn out alright. But this really is happening. They are actually fucking up my life, or at least, more immediately, my holidays. Those incompetent, lazy, self-righteous bastards from the education board and salaries office obviously conspired to spoil my long longed-for holiday.

Remember how a couple of weeks back they sent me a letter announcing that I would in fact be paid over the summer break? Yeah? Well, so do I, but maybe my contact person at the salaries office doesn't because she sent me a letter today stating that my payment for July is going to be € 33,55 (covering only the one day until term ended). She also managed to send a second letter which informed me that she had forwarded this information to my insurance, which of course means that I am now for a fact back to the outlaw status I joked about back then. Busy girl, here, take a handful of Brownie points for your diligence! However, what she didn't manage at any point during the last two weeks is answer her bloody phone!

Neither did her colleague at the education board who was/is supposed to set up my new contract for the next term.

And neither does my headmaster right now.

Typical. For once I'm angry enough to truly shout at someone official (i.e. sitting in an office) and mean it, and they don't pick up their phones. But of course they know. They have a second sight for such occasions, they sense when someone's not going to suck up to them and just choose to ignore them. Which of course they do all the time, sucking up intended or not. I wonder do they just let it ring or, because I got a fair amount of engaged tones, do they just leave the receiver off the cradle or - my theory - do they constantly ring each other so as to keep their lines busy and bitch to each other about those sad losers trying to get through...?

Who's to know? The only things I know right now are that 1) my holiday budget is dwindling before my very eyes, well that or my rent for next month, which isn't really an option, 2) I better don't get sick during the next weeks, especially not in Ireland where it certainly would be great fun explaining this whole sorry mess to some nurse or dentist and 3) I hate German bureaucracy. Maybe other countries' too but you can only hate what you know. I mean, that woman at the office, my have-fun-trying-to-contact-me person, does she ever have a sudden bright flash of a moment in which she catches a glimpse of just how big the mess is she creates?

Nah, I didn't think so either.

Done.

All songs sung, all dances danced, all pieces played, all speeches made, all smiles smiled, all farewells waved. The semester ended in one long day where everything came to a climax in first our singing recital and then the goodbye party for one of the professors. In the end it lasted not two but almost five hours because every single student and colleague wanted to give him a good send-off into retirement. Unwillingness to leave, big emotions, a chain of fantastic performances*, lots of laughs, and now the silence that follows such a full day.

Leaves me feeling empty all of a sudden.

* * *

* * *

* The most astounding performance was a vocal sextet singing the extremely tricky "Butterfly" by Rajaton. If you don't know it yet, here's the inevitable link to the original:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oghj7y4hluU

Ich genieße das Leben...

...in vollen Zügen.

Heute war bei der Bahn mal wieder der Klassiker dran - nur die halbe Anzahl von Waggons zum Feierabendverkehr eingesetzt; immerhin konnte man nicht mehr umfallen - deshalb muss auch bei mir ein Klassiker herhalten. Sollte ich das folgende Video etwa einigen wenigen Einzelpersonen noch nicht aufgedrängt haben?? Nicht mehr lange, und ich kann es als Mantra leise vor mich hinbeten. Vielleicht biete ich morgen mal ein "Public Viewing" auf dem Bahnsteig an...

* * *

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l4X_JsEwjHA

* * *

Work in Progress. Updated.

Yet another music seminar weekend over! Loads of hand-and-knee-clapping, finger-snapping and going "Bagdad-Bonn-Bagdad-Bonn-Bagdad-Bonn-Bagdad-Bangladesh" (That's a bass drum, snare drums and crash cymbals, obviously!) and "ka-ta-ki-ci-ka-ta-ki-ci"... Ooh, I could tell you tons and tons of stuff now about percussion, vocussion, improvisation and other words ending on -ion... Then again, you might fall asleep.

Anyway, afterwards, with all that new input, I somehow couldn't help myself but sat down (on the train actually) and started writing a new song. It's been a good while since the last one and of course it's not finished yet, but I kinda like it so far, so you have the (yes, inevitable) honour of getting to read the lyrics - as far as I got - hot off the notepad. So that one day, when I'm rich and famous, you can say "Ah, I knew her back then. So modest and unpretentious she was..."

* * *

* * *

Damsel in Distress

Yes, there is baggage I bring along.
But I don’t expect you to carry it for me.
Well, if you insist – but don’t make a habit of it.
* * *
Keep in mind that the sudden lightness on my back
Will only weigh you down,
Will only weigh me down the more
Later. When you get too tired…
Later. When you get too tired…
Later. When you get tired of me.
* * *
I’m not your damsel in distress.
The dragon’s already slain,
So don’t try to clear up my mess in vain.
I’m no damsel in distress.
The dragon’s already slain,
So don’t try to clear up my mess
in vain...

* * *

Don't make more promises than you can keep.

I'm not gonna try to use your word against you.

I don't need a crown - just don't send me off on my own.

* * *

Cast off your shining armour, it's out of style anyway.

It would only weigh you down,

Would only weigh me down the more

Later. When you're getting tired...

Later. When you're getting tired...

Later. When you get tired of me.

* * *

I'm not your damsel in distress.

The dragon's already slain,

So don't try to clear up my mess in vain.

I'm no damsel in distress.

The dragon's already slain,

So don't try to clear up my mess

in vain...

* * *

So you carry yours, and I'll carry mine.

And we'll meet half way

for a picknick break.

* * *

* * *

Ticking away...

Nothing makes you doubt the concept of time like sitting on a train that little by little slows down more and more until after a few eternities it (always, without fail) comes to a complete standstill in a field in the middle of nowhere. After a few more eternities the conductor's disembodied voice will announce that due to some obscure technical difficulties ("Aufgrund von Verzögerungen im Betriebsablauf...") your train will be delayed by ooh-really-not-very-many-minutes-at-all.

And then you wait.

In fact, you had been waiting before, because you are going to be late for your seminar and you know this line (both the route and the excuse one) far too well to be fooled by it. So, as the seconds slowly ooze away, your nerves hang by a thread and you feel like screaming and/or strangling someone. Since that is still considered somewhat socially controversial, even on German trains, you impatiently start fumbling with your mp3-player...

Oh, but, hark! I was saved (this time around)! It was all I could do to stop myself from loudly singing along: "Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day..."

* * *

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntm1YfehK7U

* * *

"Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time.

Plans that either come to naught, or half a page of scribbled lines.

Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way.

The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say..."

Ever so sorry, but...

Baaaah, that someone outside better turn their Cher-album off soon!!! I'm not sure I can take any more vocalizer...

* * *

More to the point, I've just come back from my sure-I-can-go-to-the-movies-by-myself afternoon and Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. And I had seriously planned on discussing/bashing it at length here, but somehow I find I don't have much to say about it. I thoroughly enjoyed those two and a half hours, in turn laughing, snorting, fighting goose pimples and cringing (well, once, you know when that hand comes out of the...ehm, well, maybe you don't know). Alright, to be honest there was some more cringing and incredulous eyebrow-raising in the dark on my part at the obvious cuts and changes made to the plot, but what was there to be expected?

Obviously, the books still rule, no question about that.

Still. A good laugh. Make sure you bring drinks. My favourite line of the film: "I sleepwalk a lot. That's why I sleep with my shoes on." Ah, Luna, gotta love her...

* * *

That neighbour of mine is seriously out to get me. Unspeakable choice of music. Full volume for hours on end. Quick, help me think of something to retaliate with!

Kleinanzeigen.

* * *

Gesucht:

- Willige Kino-Mitläufer für den Half-Blood Prince (OV). Anyone?

* * *

Gefunden:

- Die Erkenntnis, dass sich die eigene Nervosität vor einem Klaviervorspiel umgekehrtproportional zur Anzahl der Verspieler der Vorgänger verhält. Danke!

* * *

- Zwei weitere Köln/Bonn-pendelnde Musikerinnen. Jetzt auch in Ihrer Nähe!

* * *

Sonstiges:

- http://nichtlustig.de/toondb/081118.html

Scatterbrain.

Last Tuesday on my way back to the station after my pop-music-class I realized I had left my water bottle on the floor next to my seat in the classroom.

Today on my way back to the station after my pop-music-class I realized I had left my water bottle on the floor next to my seat in the classroom.

Thank God that was the last class for the term (or this would soon be getting costly since both times I had to stop and buy a new bottle).

If only I didn't have to be 150% concentrated tomorrow afternoon for that stupid piano recital, that's what's worrying me ever so slightly. Because...I had also forgotten what time today's singing lesson was. And I can't quite remember what time I'm supposed to show up for my last minute piano lesson tomorrow either. And I just happened to lose my mobile phone sock on my way home. Once again, I completely blame the weather. That, and maybe that overdose of chlorine from this morning. (The tiler guy responsible for the leak showed up at 8am and very enthusiastically sprayed the mouldy wall with skull-and-bones-labelled stuff - probably eager to render me unconscious? But I gracefully desisted...)

By the way: Scattered brain...?! - Yuck! English language = very weird language.

Dubdeedoo.

A blue sky, a warm breeze, a for-once-fair-and-cooperative landlord (remember the water/laminate story: we very quickly decided to both blame the guy who had done the tiling behind the sink a few months back...fantastic!), a bit of wild guitar playing in the folklore ensemble, then an ice-cream and a couple of beer with nice people in the shade of a birch tree in the park, finished off with a take-away Chinese and an evening to myself with a non-challenging book and two long phone calls.

- All's well in Maryland!

* * *

...Meanwhile a nasty little headache crept up from behind my left eye (thats what Mary gets from one bottle of beer, thanks very much), but I'm determined not to let that get me down tonight.

* * *

...And if you happen to have a thing for crappy sound quality, here's something for your entertainment:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Our8AsVX6Xs

Random weirdness.

If you're ever in need of perspective or distraction I can always recommend a train journey. You will invariably feel just so much more normal-by-comparison afterwards. Today, on my trip (pun intended) from home-home back to just-home, the general weirdness seemed to be mostly drug-related:

The overture was made by your standard friendly, drunk, whiff-of-urine lunatic on the platform. He was in splendid spirits (no doubt), had a voice to be proud of, and knew some quite astonishing, hitherto unknown lyrics to popular songs such as " My bonnie, my bonnie, my bonnie.... My bonnie, my penny, my pen..." and "Wo die Nordseewellen..." (sung in secret code, but with great conviction).

Next, just aboard the train, a scruffy type sitting in the row in front of me took over. He was speaking on his mobile in a, given his topic, remarkably confident (i.e. loud) manner. "Oi, where you now? ... You got the stuff, right? ... Listen, it's gonna take me a little longer... Yeah, still on the fuckin' train. ... Now, make sure you don't start smoking it! ... No, you bloody well won't!" ( I so swear I'm not making that up.)

Later I had to change trains, but I wasn't disappointed there either. A young girl, the tarty type, waltzed by, on her mobile to her girlfriend who was on the train as well and appeared seconds later. They sat down across the aisle from me. Tart 1 had obviously been caught fare dodging, but the conductor had turned a blind eye. What a shame! Now she was busy calling every single member of her very extensive circle of friends to coordinate tonight's upcoming party, general set-up plus particulars. "Hey, you got any (stage whisper, furtive looks) stuff for me? ... No? Well, I better ring Sergej then..."

Oh, and just now - at 11pm - someone outside started playing Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" at full volume. No idea if that's drug-induced too, but, oh, what a glorious finale!

* * *

Well, Vyvienne, over to you once again. The video is from a concert I attended myself, shot from very close to the spot where I stood that night, so it simply has to come up here, first line missing or not.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGHhzNCRCj0&feature=related

Chilly.

I know this post is coming months after the fact, but non-news-following me only came across this story in a talkshow last night and it's left me speechless: A 24-year-old student called Tennessee Eisenberg was shot dead by police in his own home on the morning of April 30th.

Apparently his flatmate had called the police saying that Tennessee had threatened him with a knife. So eight police officers entered the apartment and found the student holding a kitchen knife. According to police statements the officers asked him to drop his weapon and when he didn't do it, first attacked him with pepper spray. When that remained without effect - they claimed that Tennessee had cornered and threatened one of the officers - they opened fire. They fired two whole magazines, 16 shots (!) - 13 of which found their target. Not at all surprisingly, Tennessee didn't survive such a salvo. He died within the hour.

So many questions remain unanswered though:

- Why was no trace of the pepper spray found in his lungs later?

- Why did several of the bullets hit him from behind? Was he trying to seek shelter?

- Why, for heaven's sake, did eight fully trained police officers not manage to disarm one skinny student?

- What did really happen between him and his flatmate?

- What caused such an out-of-character behaviour in the first place?

Although, scratch that last one. Because whatever the background story, however unreasonable or (possibly) threatening his behaviour might have been that morning, nothing, absolutely nothing justifies such an execution.

Which leads to the next question:

- Who the hell do they liberally hand out lethal firearms to in this country? I mean, very obviously those police officers did not manage to maintain any kind of proportion between problem and remedy.

- And since when are police officers (above) the law? Did I miss that tiny note announcing the separation of powers had been abolished?

* * *

A young, quiet student of music. 16 bullets in the hallway of his own home.

Chills down my spine.

Helpful hints.

Water, water everywhere. Oh, and that old favourite of mine, mould, is making a guest appearance too. By the looks of it, the drain under my kitchen sink is leaking, probably has been for weeks, and the water has slowly but surely made its way underneath the laminate of my kitchen/living room/bedroom floor (yeah, just the one room), which in turn the wooden panels just loved and very enthusiastically soaked all up (Well, I too would have been thirsty in that heat!). So I eventually came across the leak not by seeing the pipe dripping, but by getting wet socks just from standing on a point where two of those panels touch. While doing the dishes. Marvellous! That was before I discovered the massive puddle that emerged from behind the fridge - well two metres away from the sink...

So here's one of those useful tips that one of these days might make your day: Do not spend all day planning (completely ficticious) film shoots - especially not if you intend to go away for a long weekend the next day - if that means that you'll have to do your dishes close to midnight. 'Cause by the time you realize that your sink is leaking it will be a) too late to call and shout at your landlord for putting such a crap sink into the flat in the first place, and worse, along with laminate right in front of it, b) too late to call anybody else to get both advice on what to do and a few soothing words (except from priceless, very patient parents) and c) it will be way past 2am by the time you actually finish your crisis management intervention plus the washing up, which incidentally kills your back when done kneeling in front of the shower.

My, thanks for sharing, Mary!

* * *

Land unter!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7fMtG7_1-pQ

* * *

Hurra! - Ach nee, doch nicht.

Einige aufregende Stunden lang dachte ich heute, dass ich reich und berühmt werde. Oder so ähnlich. Zumindest hätte sich meine Urlaubsfinanzlage deutlich entspannt und ein Abenteuer hätte es gratis dazu gegeben.

Eine alte Studienkollegin (von der ich seit Jahren nichts gehört hatte) rief an und erzählte, dass sie nach wie vor für unseren mitteldeutschen Lieblingssender arbeitet und da jetzt eine Sendung über Irland zur Disposition stünde. So eine Sache, wo man am Besten mit einer "Irlandexpertin" - Pick me! Pick me! - für ein Wochenende mal kurz rüberjettet, ein bisschen hübsch was filmt, ein klein bisschen interviewt... Und da fügte es sich ganz großartig, dass ich ja sowieso Ende Juli auf der Insel Urlaub zu machen gedenke. Meine anfängliche Skepsis (mich auf gesamtdeutschen Bildschirmen zur Hampelfrau zu machen) legte sich schlagartig als klar wurde, dass die Produktionsfirma bereit wäre, unsere Flüge zu bezahlen - ja, ich bin käuflich und mein Preis ist, wie ich jetzt weiß, derzeit nicht besonders hoch. Wir haben also lustig angefangen uns Drehorte und Tagesabläufe zurechtzuspinnen, in Gedanken schon das Mietauto passend umgebucht, das erste Guinness bestellt...

Leider hat sie den Beitrag dann doch nicht bekommen. Also alles wieder auf Anfang, Uhren auf Null, zurück zu Plan A. Blöd nur, dass immer so ein leicht schaler Nachgeschmack bleibt, wenn man fast etwas Spannendes erlebt hätte. Der Film im Kopf läuft schon längst und auf einmal kommt jemand rein und sagt "He, mach das aus! Wir wollten doch Mensch ärgere dich nicht spielen! Ach übrigens, die nächste Runde geht auf dich!"

Paranoid.

As I walked home from the train station earlier, the air was so nice and cool (well, comparatively) after the thunderstorm that I decided to take a little detour and amble down the busy shopping streets in the city centre. On one corner, where three streets meet, an ice-cream parlour had put its tables outside - every single one of them was occupied. There, about three metres from the tables, right bang (bang indeed!) in the middle of the pedestrian zone's late afternoon hustle, stood an abandoned plastic bag with a simply enormous, gift-wrapped box inside. Big enough to easily contain say, the Playmobil Circus or...or...huh, something else?!

Now, call me paranoid, but I simply couldn't take my eyes off it. What is more, I couldn't stop myself from automatically quickening my pace to put a good few dozen metres between myself and that box before looking round yet again. Nobody came to collect it. Nobody else paid it any attention. As I turned the next corner and walked away I was honestly half bracing myself for the deafening sound of a detonation, already playing that scene in my head where I condemn myself for not having alerted the authorities in time...

* * *

I guess I should get out more. And watch less Spooks. Yeah, I should, definitely. (inserting DVD into DVD drive...)

Ah, to be young and in love!

Amongst all that contract-kerfuffle (love that word!) I forgot to mention there also was a letter the other day from the police asking for a written witness account of a school-related incidence that happened a while back...

* * *

A colleague and I had been on early playground duty before the start of lessons (which basically entails standing at the school gate and stopping the little darlings from being run over by a bus by shouting at them to use the bloody traffic lights) when some 5th Years came running towards us asking for help. "He's hitting her! He won't let her go!" ...Ehm, sure, right. No prob. (completely out of my depth here) So we ran across the street (well, no, not at the traffic lights) and found a strange 18-year-old giving one of our students, his girlfriend, a hard time. Her arms were blotchy and red - from what we later found out to be the marks of a leaden emergency hammer he had stolen in a bus - and he simply wouldn't let go of her, squeezing her wrists hard, pushing her into the hedge...you get the picture. Since we couldn't persuade him to stop harassing her, we borrowed one of the kids's mobile and called the police. (Note to self: Always carry your mobile with you. Always.)

Of course some happy ten minutes passed before a patrol car showed up, by which time we had slowly and very carefully managed to calm the boy and girl down by ourselves, by gently guarding her (all the while not getting so involved he might feel threatened) while trying to talk sense to him, asking for his version of the story, distracting him with questions about his job plans etc. Don't ask me how, but somehow we coaxed him to let go of her. The police car that came was, by the way, not the one we had called for but just happened to be in the area by accident. (How very reassuring!) The officers took our particulars, the girl pressed charges, then I accompanied her to her classroom. The boy I think was sent on his way to his vocational school.

On the way to her classroom the girl filled me in on the background story. Apparently her boyfriend had gone ballistic because she had tried to break up with him because he had forbidden her to go on that school trip to Munich. ... I mean, what the f***?! She told me other things too, about how they'd gone out for over a year, but that after the first few happy months he had begun to control her every step and become increasingly violent when she tried to break out of that "cage". She, in turn, had already once used a knife against him in one of their fights - I had noticed the scar on his hand.

Long story short, there she went back into her classroom. A week later her mother showed up, worried and helpless, asking us for advice, telling us how she couldn't get rid of him, how forbidding her daughter to see him would make things even worse etc. The class teacher and I sat and listened and did the only thing we knew to do, which was give her a bunch of helpline and social service numbers to call.

The girl didn't manage to break up with her boyfriend after all. He was back at the bus stop after just a few days, chatting to her and her friends, holding her hand. When I took her aside one day in my class and carefully asked her what the story was now, she was evasive. I still see them every morning. All seems quiet. So what's with that queasy feeling in my stomach?

* * *

Anyhow, that other day my colleague called me straight away. He seemed quite agitated: "Did you also get a letter from the police asking you to give written evidence?" "Huh, don't know, haven't checked yet. Why?" "Well, 'cause we need to get our stories straight!" ...Is it just me finding that hilarious?!

There are no mirrors in the Serengeti.

Billy Connolly has been one of my favourite comedians for years, so in case anyone out there still needs a pretext for a lazy evening of youtube-zapping, here's where to start:
* * *
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vItQtTZTcAk&feature=related
* * *
Cracks me up every time...

Variations on the theme (2).

Wow, the education board must have messed up in an even bigger style than I had imagined. I've just retrieved a letter from the stairs downstairs (there being no seperate letterboxes in this house, whoever opens the one letterbox divides the mail into neat little piles on the lower steps...don't get me started...). It's from the Salaries and Pensions Office and the long and short of it, after very careful translation into normal German, seems to be that by ruling of the Ministry of Magic ehm no...Education I will be paid over the summer holidays! Picture me humbly kneeling and bowing in the dust, kneeling and bowing...

* * *

Und weil es nur auf Deutsch so richtig schön ist, hier eine Kurzfassung des Briefes:

Landesamt für Besoldung und Versorgung Nordrhein-Westfalen

Betr.: Beschäftigung von Vertretungslehrkräften, Ende des Beschäftigungsverhältnisses (Waaas?) (Einbeziehung der Sommerferien) (Ach so...)

Sehr geehrte Frau B.,

auf Grund einer Entscheidung des Ministeriums für Schule und Weiterbildung ist in Fällen von Vertretungslehrkräften, die spätestens am 2. Februar 2009 eingestellt wurden und bei denen das Beschäftigungsverhältnis bis zum letzten Schultag vor den Sommerferien terminiert war, der Beendigungszeitpunkt des Beschäftigungsverhältnisses nachträglich auf den letzten Ferientag, also den 16. August 2009 zu ändern. (Äh, das ist jetzt was Gutes, oder? Warum sagen die das dann nicht? Kostet so'n Verb wie "verlängern" extra?)

Das LBV stimmt den betroffenen Personenkreis zurzeit mit den zuständigen Personalakten führenden Dienststellen ab. Wenn auch Sie für die Dauer der Ferien Anspruch auf Fortzahlung der Bezüge haben, werden wir dies umgehend veranlassen. (Und weil ihr das noch gar nicht geprüft habt, habt ihr mir erstmal auf's Geratewohl den Mund wässerig gemacht? Vorfreude ist ja doch die schönste Freude...)

[...] Fragen hinsichtlich des Anspruches auf Fortzahlung der Bezüge sowie einer evtl. Weiterbeschäftigung nach den Sommerferien können vom LBV nicht beantwortet werden. (Natürlich, selbstredend.) Richten Sie diese bitte ausschließlich an Ihre Personalakte führende Dienststelle. (Ja, ach, was versuch ich denn hier?)

Mit freundlichen Grüßen,

Ihr Landesamt

* * *

Hach, rührend, oder nicht? "Mein" Landesamt... Sis is biginning of bjutifull frändschipp!

Variations on the theme.

Our school secretary just called me back to relate the latest developments on the contract front. Apparently she spent a few happy hours this morning trying to contact the person responsible for this sorry mess at the education board and didn't catch him. Meanwhile, however, three of those new substitute contracts arrived at school by post, but, surprise, surprise: mine is not among them. More calls, more emails, no response - our theory being that he's out for a long lunch. Or abducted by aliens.

As of right now, our secretary is on holiday, so I'm left to fend for myself.

No, of course I'm not panicking.

Why should I??? (hysterical laughter...)

* * *

The heat. The humidity. The mess around me. The hating it all.

* * *

Smouldering.

Hate me for it but I hate this weather. The air outside hasn't moved in far too long, my flat under the roof can no longer remember having seen the lower side of the 30°C (40°C?) mark, not even at night. Everything has come to a stand-still, everything except the perspiratory glands. I hope they get paid for their overtime. Yes, you can sweat on the back of your hands and on your eye lids. (And it stings a little when the salt meets your eye.) I am quite literally melting away. I can feel my brain atrophy, and no, not in a nice way. More in a knocked-over-the-head-with-a-blunt-object kind of way.

How can anyone do any work in this heat? And I use work in the loosest possible sense, including concepts like getting up for a cool drink of water or, god forbid, walk down to the shops for more ice-cream, juice, cucumbers and watermelons. How do they do it? And how come some people actually enjoy this weather? I just don't get it. The only place I could imagine pleasantly whiling away a day like this is in a canvas chair in the shade of a big tree, my feet in a paddling pool and my hand holding a frozen cappuccino. But, alas, these places are terribly thin on the ground in the city. Instead, plenty of white-hot concrete to stand on at red traffic lights, plenty of un-air-conditioned buildings to have classes in. Plenty of sunshine, sunshine, sunshine.

Since no benign force seems to be beaming me to a breezy northerly shore anytime soon, I think I might spend the next two hours watching the meditative revolutions of the washing machine in the (coolest place I can think of) basement. Or maybe not. Too much trouble to get up.

I think I need more fluids.

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That nice man from the education board must be having a hard time working in this heat as well, or maybe he had a stroke or something, or, more likely, went on holiday. Because he doesn't answer his phone or emails and, no, he didn't manage to set up my new contract in time. As of today I am a nobody, an outlaw, vogelfrei. No work (wouldn't get anything done anyway), no contract, no money, and, a little disconcerting this, no insurance. Woohoo, a walk on the wild side! Hope my tooth won't play up again during the next weeks...

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YErXozSHW9w