Boredom

Boredom: I am still in love. The frozen state of being changed as the sun and more time for myself came around... I painted the whole weekend with Jeanne d'Arc, a wonderful soulmate I found here in Berlin and spent time at a lake, at an amazing exhibition of an Ethiopian Artist and went to a terrible terrible blues concert.

When I think of him while lying on Jeanne's bed, with the sun on my face and listening to her playing the piano oh so wonderfulyl I feel how I become so soft inside. So terribly terribly tender and soft, I am all softness and love and tenderness for this stranger, it is fucking weird, is it!

And whatever I say, there is always in some corner of my head he being present in my mind. Tonight, as I was biking home, along the riverside with Camilla I told her how beautiful it is to do cayaking. The silence, the sound of paddles on water... And then I realized that in the same time, as I was saying this I imagined somewhere in my stupid little brain David and me cayaking together.

Matter of fact is, that I can imagine doing all these things I love together with him. I cannot only imagine it, but I would love to do it. Of course, he is still a stranger, and maybe after a week or two I would realize that I was wrong and there is no way I can do all these things with him, but thats not the point. The point is, that with my last boyfriend I couldn't imagine spending my holidays with him, for example. Bam! There IS SOMETHING WRONG, when you don't feel like doing that, right? He kept on talking how much he would love to go on a bike trip through Scottland with me. I always felt so sorry when he talked about it but there was no way I could get enthusiastic about it. Sorry, lad, it s simply not on my way!

But for David there would have been a way to spend time. Many ways. It would have been my way then anyways, because I would have love to do that.

*sighs*

life is a bitch.

but I had a nice idea today and I think I am going to do that: My father, who insists on having a handwritten mail contact with me instead of talking on the phone, answered my letter in which I told him how much I would love to have children now by saying that artwork often can be like a child to you, too. I totally got his point and what he was trying to tell me with that.

And today I remembered that, soon after I had met David, I painted a Zimbabwian landscape. I had found the photograph on google, as I was googeling for everything I could find about Zimbabwe (i really think my heart is a dumb little fool, but in a way it s cool, because now, at least, I know a lot about a country I didn't know anything about before I met him).

So I decided that as I hate the idea that the whole thing could vanish in thin air now, as he obviously isn't going to contact me no more, I should do something about it. Writing or calling is out of question. I would feel stupid. But I can go to the police, find out where he lives and drop the painting there with a - handwritten (to honor my dad) - letter to bring this whole thing to an ending.

In the end this painting is our baby. He inspired me and I gave birth to it. It s fantastic, isnt't it...