A year on...

It's been a year already, well way past actually. This place has changed, I have changed too but not as dramatically. I am back home in the mother-country. I live with my parents as I am an unemployed academic, as I finished the beast and moved up in the world. I am no longer a struggling student, I'm officially an adult without a job, i.e. freelance art historian. What a joke! Well, I am back here in the navel of navelness. Enjoying my friends again and creating dramas at every street corner. Feeling more whole for some strange reason, yet a bit itchy. I am itching to leave this place, this town, yet roots are starting to take shape. Or have they just reattached themselves to the earth where they once grew?
For the first four-five months this place, my birthplace even, didn't feel like home. My thoughts were still in English, some parts still are, my friends felt distant and untrue, fake in some way, my living conditions (a 2-by-1 meter room at the parents') felt claustrophobic and every ounce of me felt like running away at any opportunity. I don't feel as much like that anymore, I am starting to feel at home. Starting to feel like I could make it here, maybe. I wouldn't mind having my friends from all around the world here with me though. It's lonesome without a job in your thirties in a country full of 'cold' people, in a city without smiles. However, I try to spread the joy that I feel, with a little smile here and there. Most of all I miss my exhusband, would have been great to share all of this silliness that is my life here with him. 

The hunter

The endearing qualities of the other sex has again drawn me in and I have become an internet stalker. As I see my ever increasing age approach rapidly I have become one of those women who look up their newest conquest endlessly online. With a mix of excitement, horror, embarrassment, endearment and outright curiosity I search for whatever information I can get my eyes on. What were the days like before the search engine I wonder? Where did one find out all the littlest details about the person of one's fancy? I think the internet has made me want to know, see, understand everything - it is a curse! In my 'old' age I have started caring about the impression I give on the phone, in person and above all on the social networks to which I subscribe. Why? Am I that lonely now that I have to make every little fuck into 'the one', who knows? Or am I just seeking out whatever little I can to satisfy my need to make it ok to feel something for someone 7 year my junior. Or the fact that I like the thrill of uncertainty that comes with someone who does not, for the first time in a very long time, share any of my acquaintances, friends or even know any of my colleagues. Probably the latter entices me more than anything, so I look around the cyberscape for anything of meaning(less). I ask myself why I don't just pick up the phone and call/text. I have decided not to, it has become as if an addiction. I have decided to be more timid, maybe this is a good thing or maybe just maybe I am playing a game (not with him as much as with myself). I have decided not to be too Scandinavian, too open, too different - this last one is probably, come think of it, not a good thing. The decision not to make any contact is one that is making me stressed, yet also prolongs the thrill of waiting (and maybe by effect of hoping). It is one made on the basis of interest I guess, one in which it should be proved to me that the other is worthy of my affection, of my caress, of my longing and essentially of my bed. However, we all think differently and he might not think my silence is due to a test in which he should preform in a certain way, yet such is life and inevitably fate itself. In my defence he is not currently in close proximity to me, or so I was led to believe. It might have been a lie, I take a chance and say it wasn't. Even if he is somewhere else, somewhere further away, somewhere out of reach, it is not too much to ask for a recognition of my turning-even-older-day - is it? Probably! Yet I cannot help it, I want to be wanted again. For him to pursue me. It is very non-feminist of me I know. So I continue my hunt for any remnant of him across the interscape.

Drama Addiction

I've decided to give up on a social life until the beast has been fully slayed. It might not happen, but I have at least made the effort to make a rule about it. People are overrated anyway, right? I just get too easily distracted when people are involved, driven away from the path. This usually due to my lack of self-discipline and work-ethics. Last night was a great return to reality festive occasion that really put my obsession into perspective, my addiction to distractions, in particular the male variety. My problem is that I am addicted to drama, to tension and to the self-harm that I usually find myself in the middle off. It's a curse, a self-imposed curse. I have a love-hate relationship with my own sanity, I get myself into a corner because most of the time I have no idea what I am doing. The choices are there before me and I seem to 99 out of 100 times choose the worst option, the option where I end up being emotionally drained.
Have a look at my last three relationships. None of which were the run of the mill relationship. My ex-partner and cohabitant, the guy who left me with the nightmare flat and moved back to his home country without as much as a penny to help me out. Me the student and non-earning part of our living arrangements. I put myself in a classic gendered position for what I thought was love. It wasn't and I had known that for a long time before it finally fell apart. I was very unhappy living with him, and it was a constant struggle to keep up appearances. I was relieved when it was over. The arguments would at least stop, and I could regain myself, my 'true' self.
The next relationship I jumped into, and I literally did throw my heart at this guy's feet. After having been with a guy who argued against every point you made, and told you to shut up if he felt you didn't agree with him. I fell hard for the dark, exciting and well-read young man, who actually listened to me and looked at me with admiring eyes. But of course officially our passionate affair, was just that. And even though I tried to not fall, I fell over heels in love with him. Of course I never told him so, I never admitted anything. Not until it was over and he, too, had left the country. I suffered in silence while we were together. He never hurt me or made me feel unwanted, or even unloved, but the pretending and being denied my rightful role as his girlfriend was very hard to handle. I know a part of him loved me, but there was also another woman in his heart, one who was waiting for him back home. I agreed to this so-called affair, and thereby hurt myself deeply. After him there were some men in my life, but they were never as special as him, never him, never serious.
Then I met my most recent ex, the guy with sever homophobia and extremely sexist viewpoints. I settled with him affections because he insisted. Because he was very persistent. I had no energy to be alone, I wanted someone to care for me and make me feel less lonely. He did, for a while. Then all the extremities of his character started to shine through, yet I had not the heart to break his heart. And it took an interest in another to change my view of the whole deal, the settling for someone cause there is nothing else around to preoccupy your time. Awful, even shameful really. Yet I did it. And now the drama of the aftermath, the not dealing with being on one's own. I want a break. I will have a break from my social life, from my addiction to drama.

huff and puff

I think I am a bit confused after having read so much art theory lately. Everyday I wake with a different mood and a tired brain. It is making me do irrational things, react irrationally to simple well meant statements and actions. I don't know if I want to be like this for the rest of my life. Stuck in an office, surrounded by books that I really have to use all of my mental ability to understand, alone and anti-social. Maybe academia is not for me, but what else is there for someone like my, almost a Dr and all? Nothing else that will pay my loans and save me from this sea of debt that I have created whilst being a student for 10 years. Shite, I am stuck! I'm not even motivated to do this, to read another chapter on Modernism or Socialist Realism or Art Theory, the absolute hate topic. I do not understand why such intelligent people have to make everything so complicated, so hard to understand, so many big/fancy words that basically means language or image. Why? Can we not write in a language that is applicable and understood by all? Why do we have to pretend we are more capable through the use of semiotics and methodology that no one, not even a suitable candidate like myself, understands because the structure of the sentence is without reason and made with such disdain for the grass roots that after reading it for a whole hour one still doesn't understand! I think I will start a rebellion - I refuse to be an academic that writes for the elite! Even the Marxists write like that, Karl Marx himself would turn in his grave! He never did, he is understood by all. So why can't we be? I always wondered why one has to write in a fashion that is so far from Marx himself. Well well, maybe that's just me.

I can't believe I am caught in this trap again. It must be my personality. I wait and wait, but they show no interest, I try playing someone I am not and they show no interest, I give up and they haven't even noticed. I pick them that's why. I guess. I said let's see what happens, I just came out of a relationship. That doesn't mean treat me like I am no one, like I don't exist. I try to be just me, but it seems most of the time that is not enough. Maybe I am getting too old for this dating 'game'. Maybe I should just give up. I think I would like to, but I can't. I want sex too much..