I’m off. I have no keys of anything anywhere. No home. Right now I only have the keys of my bike lock with me. But no bike.
It is tremendously easy to leave vienna. I’m not emotional at all, I feel no connection no thoughts. (I’m just really exhausted!) Maybe it’s because I’ve been traveling around for so long.
My flight was cancelled. Vienna does not want to let me go. Now I’m just tired, I’m waiting for hours and hours at the airport and I only want to sleep. It’s so heavy that I will arrive to stockholm so late.
It pushes me down.
My head hurts.
Lately I can barely look at photos of babies. Not to talk about real babies. My body screams. I need a child.
Of course my mind says that I still have time and many things to do before that in my life, that there is no hurry and that the situation of my relationship now is not ideal. Because, of course, I don’t want just a baby, but the love and complicity within the couple that a baby brings. But my body really wants a baby. I’ve been talking about this for a while already, but now it became burning.
And I also feel like time starts to be short.
I’m so so afraid that I will end up alone and without a family and without children.
Honestly I feel good leaving my flatmate. Strange how easy it’s been to become awkward with someone that was living in my same home. She was really not so bad as a flatmate, organized fair and understanding. But she also had her anxieties and weird fixations.
I’m so done dealing with other people’s neuroses in my home!
What are you doing on your last night in vienna, she asked me. Actually I don’t know. I didn’t think about it at all.
I just think that maybe I won’t do anything at all. Or maybe I’ll go and drink a glass of wine alone there where everything started.
My stuff is gone! All the things I own in life. They were picked up and shipped and they will take some days to arrive to sweden. They’re somewhere in Europe now, and I have no control over them. So now I only have a small suitcase, and I’m a nomad: I had to leave my flat because my flatmate had organized for some guests to be in my room and I moved to a friend’s place (I could be anywhere in the world – is this still vienna?), then I’ll move to stockholm but to my man’s place, until my things arrive, and then I’ll finally enter my new home.
I guess it’s nice to make my moving to stockholm more gradual but I also can’t wait to settle into my new home. I went to buy a couple more nice things and the idea that I was shopping for my own home made me so joyful.
It’s also quite strange how it wasn’t sad at all to leave my flat here for ever, it wasn’t even weird; it was really just ok. I said a goodbye to my place that was a very fast and practical goodbye. I changed four homes in seven years, and now I’m very ready to move to my fifth one. I want to go to my new place and my new city and stop feeling “inbetween”.
But I’m also nervous.
For ever (well, who knows?)
I would really love a glass of wine tonight.
It’s time for peppermint tea. Time to look out over the city. I turn toward the window. There’s always the hope that it may have started to snow while my back was turned.
I wished I had better hair. With a nicer shape/texture and better haircut. I start feeling uncomfortable again now that it’s long.
And sometimes I still wished that my hair was blond.
Maybe falling in love, the piercing knowledge that we ourselves will someday die, and the love of snow are in reality not some sudden events; maybe they are always present. Maybe they never vanish, either.
Lately I realized how I really feel comfortable with my own sexuality. I really found an important side of myself that makes me feel good. It’s a very big part of my being a woman. I feel relaxed and confident and happy. It’s an important big part of my life.
I want my man to love my breasts and show it to me.
I enjoy writing here. I would write here everyday if I had something to say other than rambles.
I enjoy time and solitude, reading for a long time half naked on the armchair. I should do a lot of things but I can’t make myself do anything. I drink one coffee after the other, I am slow, I take a long time to do the few things that I manage to do.
Maybe it’s just the thoughts-free holiday that I needed. Maybe it’s ok to allow myself to do nothing in preparation to all the new things ahead of me.
I see that [s]he is alone. The way someone in exile will always be. And I see that [s]he is not afraid of solitude.