Life on a paper napkin.

And while we're busy chasing high aims... I'm sure I'd be a much better person if I could realize in my own life even the tiniest bit of what this quote has been trying to tell me for years:

"The only dream worth having, I told her, is to dream that you will live while you're alive and die only when you're dead.

- Which means exactly what? (Arched eyebrows, a little annoyed)

I tried to explain, but didn't do a very good job of it.Sometimes I need to write to think. So I wrote it down for her on a paper napkin. This is what I wrote: To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty in its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget."

Arundhati Roy - The Algebra of Infinite Justice

Post postscript.

Apparently I'm not the only citrus-fruit-obsessed person out there:


We all need a goal to which we can aspire. Developing just that attitude is mine. Finding such contentment in small things, internalizing that lightness. Lightness, mind you, not shallowness. Resourcefulness, not arbitrariness. My, my, what a lot of "nesses"...

Today, I'm proud to say, I've been pretty good and stuck to my training plan. I complained only once - over a headache at lunchtime - and tried to focus on the nice things of the day. (I also probably annoyed everyone around me by going on and on about how I vowed to think positively henceforth.)
Well you know what they say about pride and falling, the proofs of puddings and the way to Tipperary - I'll doubtlessly have a much harder time sticking to this fabulous positiveness thingy tomorrow during the 1001 minibattles with my favourite adolescents. But I guess it's like building stomach muscles, or babysteps onto the elevator...

I think that merits a new post label.

Satsuma Season.

Today I had my first satsuma of the season.

However, trying to share this mindblowing event with you has inadvertently thrown me deep into a bewildering pool of nomenclature. (And I might be using the word "inadvertently" quite wrongly here. Possibly "nomenclature" too, but I've always wanted to use those, and who's to know?) See, it's difficult enough in German, but the shady nuances between "satsuma", "tangerine", "clementine" and their various subcategories are quite beyond me.
So I went with the alliterative most charming one and decided I had one of those.

I've always loved the process of peeling a satsuma. Ever since I was a teenager. No matter if I was walking through the winter forest, crying my eyes out over my first heartbreak or just killing time during yet another awfully boring science class, I've always found it very soothing and focussing to concentrate on just that one task of peeling off the skin, dividing the fruit in half, picking off every last bit of white ...um... stuff before finally popping a piece into my mouth...

Anyway, it was delicious.

Kindred Spirits.

"...But I admit my thoughts verged on the profane. And I have such a cold in the head - I can do nothing but sniffle, sigh and sneeze. Isn't that alliterative agony for you? Queen Anne, do say something to cheer me up."

L. M. Montgomery
Anne of the Island

Which she dutifully did.

...'til bad ones go by.

So you think I should just blog again.
Well, fair enough, and I'm honoured that someone is checking in here after all. But, you see, it's kind of tricky too, because it is November after all, peak season for whinging and moping and "the autumn of our discontent". And for some reason lately I seem to be having the same conversation with various dear people over and over again:
The one about how you seem to spend your life wishing for things to pass (like terms, exams, heartbreak, dreary workdays...them especially). And you've come to realize that if you spend your whole life wishing for things to be over, then very likely one day you'll find that your life is, in fact, over. And you spent it lamenting the would-have-beens and wishing for things to be different.
What a scary thought.

No, honestly. As scary as they get.
But, sadly, the epiphany didn't bring the remedy in a pretty, oldfashioned doctor's bag. So I had to devise my own training program.

• Step 1: Think happy thoughts. (Bahahahaaaa. See, that cheered me right up!)
• Step 2: Refrain from punching people who suggest you simply stop whinging and get on with it.
• Step 3: Only tell people how you really feel if you think they actually want to know. (This should include Mental Note 3a: If your singing coach/colleague/piano teacher asks you how you are, they are probably just being polite.) Which should lead up to
  
• Step 4: Cut down on your daily complaint allowance. Gradually, mind you. Going cold turkey might have unforeseeable effects!
• Step 5: Oooh, I dunno. Any suggestions? Oh, I know! Find loopholes! Investigate how often you may miss classes without being thrown out, then hatch a cunning, sly plan in which you distribute your "missing classes" evenly throughout the semester (whilst allowing for real illness and parent-teacher-days). This should reduce your weekly workload by at least three hours.
• Step 6: Try to put things in perspective. I don't mean to get all sanctimonious on you, but some of the things you complain about are actually quite a luxury in someone else's eyes. Like being able to study and learn new things and...ah, see, I knew it would come across all sappy. But there it is.
• Step 7: Eat well. Get some exercise, all that.
  
• Step 8: Do nice things. If you can possibly find the time and energy. (Obviously this is the bonus track on the list.)

As for this blog here, I guess it should mean that I should make an effort to find some cheerful things to post about. Every once in a while. At least. And wait for the healing effects of the power of suggestion. For the ugly truth I guess I can still refer you to last year's posts...

P.S. I could have told you I have a bloody awful headcold and still a pile of 30 English papers to mark, but that would have been against Step 3 and 4, so instead I'll virtuously adhere to Step 1:

Picky.

"For I cannot find
among these pale roses
a flower that resembles
my red ideal."

Was machen wir?

Und damit wären wir mal wieder in der Saison der Durchhalteparolen angelangt.
Noch 8 Wochen bis Weihnachten! (Hm, nicht soo motivierend...)
Nur 6 unvorbereitete, Hammerdidaktik-Schulstunden bis zum langen Wochenende!
(Na, schon eher.)
Vielleicht am allerbesten was Allgemeingültiges: