Death to everyone

I've been in a really horrible mood for days. Usually, writing takes my mind off it, but I'm beginning to get distracted. 

The only thing that has been cheering me up has been laughing about the following:

A few months ago, I tried to stay off sugar for a week, just to see if I could do it. I could. I even lost 1,5 kilos despite eating a LOT of butter to keep away from sweets. But I did not enjoy myself. Not at all. I knew I could turn into a really healthy, slim, pretty person if I just stayed off it for a few months, maybe forever. 

I went online and found blogs and articles about how bad sugar is for you. I mean, it apparently costs your body vitamins to digest refined sugar. It's addictive, messes with your system and makes you fat. Life with no sugar is just more natural.

I was very inspired by all of this, and was imagining my new, healthy life. But then the thought hit me:

I AM GOING TO DIE

Because I am. Life is just too short. I will be dead soon. Maybe not soon-soon, but if you look at the big perspective for a second, we're all as good as gone. And when I die, I want to still remember the taste of chocolate. I want to know what it feels like to eat so much of it that my head starts buzzing. 

In fact, if at all possible, I'll stuff my mouth full of chocolate when I'm just about to go. 

And now the thing that makes me smile; I imagine all these tofu-lovers. These people that spend their days meditating and learning yoga in order to make themselves healthy from the sole of their sandal clad feet to the top of their long haired heads. They are going to die too. They might die a little older, a little prettier, a little less smelly than me. But they will die. And when they die, they will have no idea what a steak tastes like, or chocolate. 

I imagine going to one of their meeting places and shouting "You are all going to die!! You are going to die! You will die!!" while laughing like a maniac. I imagine their annoyed confusion, their tired, patient sighs, and I smile a little more. Look, hippie, you have about eighty more years to live, at most. By the time you are a hundred, you will be very, very ready to die.

You'll be bored. And you will have no memory of chocolate. And you are going to die. 

Good morning!

Somewhere out there, a person googled something picturey and came up with my fat unicorns.

Apart from the ridiculous amount of funny I find this (OK, enough with the bad English, it's not that funny) it makes me feel guilty about not posting anything new for a week. How weird is that? I'm not even really talking to anyone here, my audience is as sporadic as can be. And besides, I'm posting an entire novel in daily little pieces here, what more can internet-people (which in this case means my own head) demand of me?

I was woken up at 5.30 and sang a stupid song over and over till 6:30. Then my baby fell back asleep, and I got up and cooked mung bean curry. Very delicious, but a little silly to have it for breakfast.

What is it about babies' expression when they wake up before their normal time? Any parent, sibling or baby sitter will know which one I'm talking about. Like ”WOW! I'm awake! Awesome!! Yay me!!!”

Okay, my tablet broke down half way through this (so much for no mould) and I made it really long for no reason, so you probably can't see it. But it's an illustration anyway, and I wasted two hours of my life trying to make it, and it still turned out ugly. Now I have to go give my tiny friend (her face is less square shaped mess and more pretty irl) some mung bean curry.

Maybe I'll keep track of meals by writing stupid blog posts about them always. Clever.  

FAT SPACE UNICORNS!!!1!

I went to the basement and found my tablet. It's been down there for two years or more and it's pretty astounding that it hasn't somehow corroded or molded (to mold? Isn't that a word? When something is covered in a hairy growing mass of fungi?). Oh I see, I'm suddenly being all American. Moulded would bee the British spelling. Not that it really matters since I am neither. 

Anyway, anything else that's been down there for more than a month has ended up black and slimy in no time.

The basement itself is so creepy that I don't go down there, even to save my lovely, lovely shoes after my husband put them down there to make more space upstairs. It was a strange mixture of energy and courage that got me down there the other day, and the smell kept me from touching the box that contains my shoes.

As the house was built in 1901 I'm pretty sure the basement was dug out later. Possibly for protection of bombs. (We live in Berlin after all).

The ceiling is extremely low despite the fact that the stairs that go down there are very long and it has a very strange, irregular shape. I don't know if that's what the foundation of something like a big apartment building looks like, but I imagine it is. It would also explain the extreme conditions that rule down there, the smells and the large amounts of various bugs and spiders.

It was a true rush to be down there. And it resulted in this:

17, I believe, but I'm really bad at counting and not forgetting where I was, mortally obese unicorns in a spaceship. You can't really tell it's a spaceship, but I know. And now so do you. Besides, how else would they float? And where else would unicorns live? They have to be space-based creatures. It's the modern life with spaceships and space food that makes them so sad and fat.

That is all.

Oh except that I wanted to explain why I would say something so ridiculous as “a family way” in my silly story: I was actually described that way when my sweet man wanted to excuse my strange behaviour. He's very polite and strange. And I had to get that out of my system at some point.