Berliner Blues

Coming home and feeling like I was a step above everyone around me, people ask me how was the trip, and some probably regretted their question as soon as I opened my mouth.

Clearly, they were not ready for the passion kept within my 5'1 body.

How has it been just weeks over a month and I feel Berlin finally has compressed itself into my memories, it has accepted it's position as my happy place to think of, but no longer kinetic. It knows it will feel like a long time before I return.

Maybe I'm so down because of these damn tonsils. (or lack there of)
A week and one day since they were removed.
They never gave me too much of an issue, closed up my airways a few times and I had a hard time eating- but nothing to really complain about.
Now I've returned to the ER and had to have the surgery redone because the stitches refuse to stitch.
The dead fuckers just won't leave me alone.

I've laid in bed every day, and haven't eaten anything since Tuesday the 21st- due to my mouth being unable to open.

I think of the food I ate in Berlin- I think of YamYam.
I think of the scallops from the first night.
That huge cheeseburger that without a doubt I would probably be able to eat 3 of right now.

Everyone complains in my house that my stomach growls too loud at night.
I have to use a cowbell to get someone to help me out of bed.

Even when I shared a room with two other people and 40+ towels it was easier to get out of bed.

I'm awake in bed really late now, because of all the energy I never burn-when it hits 2 am I count and say, it's 8 am in Berlin. I wonder if Crobag still have the sandwiches I like.

I've known food to bring tears to a persons eyes, but this heartbreak is inhumane.

My room is a Berlin shrine, anything and everything that could be put on a wall or shelf, has been hung or propped. (and the occasional Lars can be found)

I think it's Berlin that keeps me going because anyone else would probably have gone crazy with this much bed rest. I was grateful then, and I'm grateful now.

I miss every little piece that made Berlin, Berlin for me. Even those stupid high schoolers in the halls.

No, never mind- I hate those kids.

http://concert.arte.tv/de/thomas-ostermeier-inszeniert-shakespeares-richard-iii-beim-festival-davignon-live

Isn't it weird that in memories all we really have are moments and events. But in the moment all we really have are our wants and our fears and our attempts

I've been having difficulty sleeping. Difficulty writing, eating and reading. A siren buzzes outside of my apartment window. It is no longer that gestapo sounding screech of a Berliner ambulance but that of my home. There is a history to my ambulance sound. Memories that have gone and come. Come and gone. and gone and gone and gone.

I saw Hand to God

I saw a show after most of you were gone. In Berlin. I forget the name. It was small. It was in the blackbox of Gorki. I personally did not enjoy watching many of the main stages at Gorki. But I loved this little last play. It was a reflection and a catharsis. We all sat on cushions wrapped around a room. There was a catharsis there. Some of it was very imperfect. All of it was very imperfect. My last little play. I enjoyed it so. I hear the siren again out of my window. It is bringing me back more and more from this daydream I have of that little last play. It was sort of about love. Sort of about a journey. Sort of about finding yourself. But it was really about this man who was trying to do a play. And do it well. Be good. And it was imperfect. And it wasn't good. It wasn't great either. But it was imperfect and that was good enough for me.

It's strange now. Being back. I tried to explain how i've been and I just said life has been weird. And the weirdest part is that I was able to articulate why life has been weird. And I was able to articulate how Berlin changed that and made life more lifelike. And I was able to articulate how it was what I needed and I am here now and life is going by fast but I have this thing now, this time and place and these people. And I didn't articulate any of it. Because they didn't want to listen. Not really listen. I tried to articulate and was shocked when I realized I could. But I was hardly shocked when I sensed the not listening. It is a really scary thing to do, listen. And everyone has their own motives and everyone has their own defenses. But it is a beautiful thing; to truly listen. I'm not sure if that is a proper use of a semi-colon but it is okay. one two three four five and one. More people than I could've dreamed of.

I want to connect. Connection. To feel wanted. To be with someone. To belong.
Isn't it weird that in memories all we really have are moments and events. But in the moment all we really have are our wants and our fears and our attempts