Making it to Mannheim

Making it to Mannhiem

"Don't worry, about a thing, 'cause everything, everything's gonna be alright."

When Lauren and I embarked on our Holiday to Berlin, we harbored whimsical, fantastic dreams of doing our paper on Friday, begin done with it, with only minor editing for the return overnight train.

"I'm really excited with about this!" Lauren bursts out as she plays with her new water bottle toy, going to stand near the window.

Before our many mini adventures, we believed in such notions, but such did not prove the case. We, needless to say, didn't get much real work on our papers done.

Sunday night. Sunday we'll stay up all night, work on our papers and it'll be awesome. And it was. We finally met up with one of Kristin's good, close personal friend, shall we say while getting the quick tour of Berlin. It was really sweet. We went to a huge park near the parlement building before running like hell through the train station worry about German efficiency.

Lauren shifts her pillow mountain making faces at me. I watch.

Lauren and I thought briefly about bringing baggage and runing around Gard de Nord for absolutly no reason but exercise. It was pretty entertaining and more then I've run in a long time, but I somehow think we lack the motivation to do it without real impetus.

Our couchettes we better this time, if solely for us both being on the top bunk, being kinda high, and getting to watch our fellow cabin mates. There was a English guy below Lauren who was too determined to go to bed, goddamnit, that he couldn't be bothered to put on pants to go to the bathroom or find his ticket and deal with the conductor. Watching him try to understand and install his seamed sleeping-bag style chouchette sheet was like watching small children playing with those toys where you have to match differently shaped blocks with their corresponding cut-out shape. If I just push, and twist, push again, maybe. . um. . how about this?

Under him was a French women. She reminded me off one of those old Southern women I secretly want to be like: well dressed, well accessorized, completely competant and in charge of the situation, yet elegant. Somehow ruling over the entire situation, but with a certain grace. Only our woman out shown most Southern examples because she had a more style, a quieter more self-assured air. No need for matching brighton luggage here, I can choose quality better. She may be the only person I've seen who can wear a long sweater, skirt, and an over sized belt and make it look good, not moderately out of place.

After momentairly thinking we were on the wrong train as the conductor rattled on in German over the speakers. Then, eventually repeated himself in very polite and too the point English. It was endearing and I reflected on how I've really grown a soft place in my heart for Germany -- they're not as openly friendly as the French, walking just this of cold, but curtoiusly so.

I didn't fall directly in love with Berlin at large and Germans as Lauren did. The duck out of water feeling is always a bit unsettling for me. I abhor not being able to understand the ambient noise around me: random snatchs of conversation, automatically responding with the proper common curtisies, and the like. The most bizzare and unexpected little thing that I soon missed was compulsively reading everything.

I'm a compulsive reader. I read the book of "Soaptoothpasteointmenthaircolorfloss" whenever I'm in the bathroom. I read the book of "Ingredientsdirectionsrecipesservingspromotions" on food packaging. I love reading the advertisement, street signs, flyers, graffiti, ticket stubs, napkins, wrappers. Anything. If I can see text, I'm going to read it.

I couldn't do that in Germany. It's not as easy as I'd like sometimes in France -- I don't understand their written humor well, yet. But Duetch? I can't even pretend to know what's going on. I was happy to be returning to a place with readable ambivalent, text.

After settling in we decide to explore the train. I grab stuff to work on my paper with -- namely my Bag O' Life. I hope to one day complete the turtle hippie-kit, but this one pretty damn nifty, and above all sturdy and good for carrying around Europe.

We forged through sleeper cars. We trommped through suits, me secretly hoping to one day take one. We traversed the smoking are and emerged in -- low and behold! -- the bar.

Right on. We obtain some drinks, and chill out for a while, smoking too many cigarettes. It was rather rude: when Lauren wen to the restroom these two Germans leaned across her vacated space and made fun of us. I don't speak German, so I didn't know exactly what they said, but it seemed not overly friendly, mildly condescending. and involved several hand gestures specifically in our direction, but whatev.

Finishing our refreshing beverages, we festivused onward. Eventually we reach the end of the train and settle on going two cars back to the bike storage room.

Why? We could sprawl out on the floor, take naps if needed, and talk without waking up our delightful cabin companions. More importantly, a power plug. I only had two hours of charge on my computer. Hooray!

We settle and Lauren decides to journey back to the hither homeland to get more supplies: her computer, coffee, maybe a pillow, my jacket, etc. It was about 11:20 and it was going to be a long night. We had a paper to write.

Lauren leaves, I get started. After a little while a young German approaches and said something like:

"Germangerman gERMangerm. German geman german GERMAN GERMAN?
"Ich spreche kein Deutsch."
"Can I use the?" as he gestures to what must obviously be the only exposed, random plug in the train. Perfect for charging computers, one of which he carried


"What do the french say for camera?"
"Appariel photo."
"That's ridiculous. They litterally say photo device. That's likes saying, oh that photo doohickie," as she gestures disdainfully towards the chair. Very french, I must say. She looks the word up in the dictionary, attempts to pronounce it, disdaining my pronounciation, proceeds to ask me about shoes. Most of her music seems fleetingly sad, a tad meloncholy, but beautiful sung. At least the Sufjan Steven. I change the music.

Young German sits down, plugs in his computer, and low and behold, speaks English. We explain random bits of our lives to each other, the random trading of facts people tend to make in situations where you're sitting a little closer then personal bubbles like. Still an island in space, yet politiness demands that we interact in some fashion. So, huddled around the power source, separated by powercords, we swap idle chit chat. We were overly polite, carefully choosing our words, crossing the language barrier hesitantly. Luckily, his English is better then my French.

"Yea, I was in Berlin for the weekend, but I study in Paris."
"You were on Holiday?"
"Yes,my friend is here too, she should be coming back. Hence the stuff everywhere." I'm moderately embarassed so encamped without Lauren.
"She's coming back?"
"Yes, we have a sleeper car. She just went to get her computer, we have to be back in Paris tomorrow for class."
"How was Berlin?"
"It was great. But I don't speak German," as I make a face to show the difficulty of this. I think it looked kinda like I was unsure, and possibly nauseaus. I think he got the point. We type for a while.
"But where are you going now?"
"Oh,Paris. Lauren should be . . ." Young German just looks at me for a moment through the bars of a bike rack dividing line.
"No. No, you're not. This train is going to Zurick."

My heart stops.
"Seriously?"
"Yes, um, I'm pretty sure they split at Hannover."
"SPLIT?"
"Um. . .yes. . .I. . "

I'm not listening as I cram our camp in to my Life, scrambling to my feet. Young German yells good luck, as I flee the way I came.

I haul ass through the cars, passing the dinning hall, then the train, just stops.

No couchettes.
No suites.
No Lauren.

I force the panic attack to resceed, at least momentairely and approach the nearest conductor. Hands shaking, I pull out a cigarette.

"Ich spreche kein Deutsch." as I point to Paris. I try French, it fails. I hand him my ticket, light a cigarette, grabbing the information booth to save me from dropping through the hole of the world. How did this happen? More importantly, why does this happen to me? Shit. I have a paper due in less then 12 hours. Shit.

No, I will not have a nutty for the entertainment of my fellow passengers. I excuse myself, deciding to let the nice Germans decide my fate and high tail it to the nearest bathroom, which proves just big enough me for me, my bag (barely), and the pieces that I soon become.

I emerge 20 minutes later, face washed, hair pulled back, hands shaking, go straight to the smoking car, get a cup of coffee and let my mind reel. I've become quite Zooey -esque: cigarettes providing much ballast.

I've also not slept properly in going on three days.

Not only do I not know where I'm going, I have no idea where I am. If you handed me a map, I'd be at a loss.

"Umm, I think I'm somewhere. . . well, maybe . . . " as I swirl my finger in even broadening circles in the general vicinity of Europe.

To distract my mind I "read" French poetry. Not really concentrating, all it gives off is profound insight, but so coupled with much despairing sadness that soon I can't deal. Back to task one: smoking cigarettes hoping someone will eventually tell me where THE HELL ON THE FUCKING EUROPEAN CONTINENT I'M CURRENTLY SPEEDING TO?!?

And while I'm at it WHERE THE FUCK WERE THE SIGNS? TRAINS SHOULD JUST SPLIT. THEY SHOULD NOT DO THAT.

After mentally yelling for a while, a conductor comes and offers several ways for me to make it back to Paris - Oh! Paris! -- all with the magic of a small handheld miracle worker.

Plan A: Current train makes emergency stop. I take a taxi ride to GermangermanGERMangermanGERMAN. Do I have €40? GErmaNGerman.

I look confused, so we move on to Plan 2.

Plan 2 means I can sleep in coach for 2 hours, after which they're wake me. Then I get off the train, wait three hours to catch another 5 hours train to Paris. Hopefully.

The conductor checks his pocket sized magic machine, write some things in German on the back of my ticket, then sends me to bed. There, I sit up for another hour convinced that their not really going to wake me up, afraid to go to sleep and wake up in Australia. Obviously, I'm not writing a paper.


5:00 AM: Mannheim, Germany.

I'm not German, and I may be a little prejudiced by my less-then awesome evening. Mannhiem is about the equivalent of early-fuck nowhere. Only German. And it's cold. Canada cold -- they're pretty equivalent on latitude. At least I was wearing my favorite jeans and tee-shirt. And birks. I longingly thought of my favorite Texas hoodie.

Then! The young German who told me about the whole SNAFU gets of the trains and heads my direction. Keep in mind that in order to not freeze to death, I'm huddled with a peach pashimina thing wrapped around me in a hilarious (come on, say it with the British accent) fashion.

He matter of factly, offers me his coat, finds out when exactly me next train leaves, speaks lots of German, and invites me to spend the three hours at his house, which is conviently five minutes away from the station. He's my age, a computer scientist with long hair. I figure that since he's from Dussledorf, he's not likely to murder/rape/eat me.

So, off we go. His name is Mattieu. Then comes the nice part of the story: there was not romantic fling, no soul searching discoveries.

No, I sat on his futon, wrote my paper, emailed my husband! and was warm. Mattieu was a super guy, and we got along, but it was more of a human to human connection then anything.

Here is a person, having a problem, and I can help, so I shall.

At 8:00 am, he walks me to the train station, after buying me the most AMAZING GERMAN PASTRY THING EEEVVVVEEERRR. I get on the train, back off into the world. Mattieu showed me where Mannheim is on a map. I felt much more capable on this train.



After that, there was lots of sleeping akwardly for hour stints until my neck said NO. I meet a nice Texan who who traded playing cards -- since his had Texas flags -- with the most adorable French kids imaginable. They were brother and sister, going somewhere exciting. I wanted to go too.

I of course tell my fellow Texan of my origin, and we have a perfectly Southern conversation where I tell him about my heritage, upbringing, and what I plan to do with it in the span of 6.23 minutes. The generic display of pedigree, so to speak.

I stumble into Paris at 1:00 pm, tearing up as I get body slammed by gratitude at being able to speak the language, and happiness at my return. It was glorious.

On the way to the RER B, I bought some shoes. Then I found five Euros.

One More Important Point

The U of C Center
Not looking at the Keyboard or my Head Will Explode
4:20
Wednesday, October 19, 2005

One More Important Point

The crucial point of that lovely story I told in the previous point, which I conviently forgot to mention is that that nice Tylerite man called me a heretic. To. My. Face.

So, hence the soul searching.

Another point: when I say I'll never take meds again, I'm being a bit overdramatic. I will never take anti-depressants again as a way to deal with my head, but if it comes down to it -- which it already has before -- I wouldn't be opposed to something else. Lithium anyone?

Shine On, You Crazy Diamond

Started Writing: 3:30 am, yesterday
Smoking with Lauren
Rearranging My Room


Posted/Edited: 17:32, today.
In Class

"She's the Balance Beam, and I keep, falling all around her fairy tale. I want to sing to you." Sounds like my life.

Shine On, You Crazy Diamond

In class we've been traveling through time, focusing on medieval ideas of religion at the time, through the dramatic change of the rise of individuality. Incidentally, I'm writing my paper on heretics. Specifically, what it meant to be a heretic and therefore against God, the then all encompassing soul/sole purpose of a world without personal choice. And, it somehow seems fitting.

Why mince words? I've stopped taking my meds, and I doubt I'll ever start again.

In some ways I feel as if I'm making yet another heretical decision, in a long stream of paganism. But not paganism is the consumer capitalistic sense it's come to embody but in its true historical sense: someone who purposefully goes against the sociopolitical, moral way of life in the most direct, fundamental way. It was just easier to label then as all aspects of life were summarily contained in the catholic Catholic Church.

I've had some realization lately as I've scoured my mind for pros and cons, do and don't, seeking moral, philosophic, personal justification for either or. I've been struggling with the vastness of the world, and my place therein, how I feel about divinity, and Why, God Why is my brain different.

As always, when looking for answers, I take refuge in books: "Franny and Zooey," "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," and Portable Nietzsche my constant companions, sorely missing "Awakening the Buddha Within." (Hint Alii, hint HINT!) I'm still pondering the same questions I always have.

Where is all this coming from? Let's take a short trip down memory lane, shall we? My junior year of high school, I worked at a local gym, K and H Fitness. I've known Kelly, the propriater for a long long time. I worked out with my dad there, and they're good biking buddies. My job basically consisted of answering the phone, being personable, in shape, and knowledgable about how all the equipment worked. Generally secretary stuff, minor cleaning, and all my dad's teachings about the correct way to persue personal fitness. Oh, and making sure to clean the machines every thirty minutes, and doing all three local crosswords, secretly craving fast food.

I generally worked the afternoon shift since I finished with school at 1:00. It was easy, and I knew most of the clients after a while. It was easy and convient to get in 20 hours a week. Eventually I picked up a couple of night shifts for other people, which I learned to be bad and good. No one there, so I could read without recompense from Kelley but I also had to clean the entire place before I left. I also didn't know the evening crowd

So, here I am in my fashionable athletic gear, already having had cheerleading practice, and probably running that day or meeting my dad to work out, 16, and reading a book. "Awakening the Buddah Within," mostly bought on a whim, but quickly proving otherwise. My life is being quickly changed as I discover another way to say what I already believe when your typical middle-aged Tylerite approaches. He asks what I'm reading, making general happy, Southern conversation as he waits for his wife. I show him, and tell him I find it very interesting. He then begins to rant about how unfortunate it is that when kids go to college they start to think for themselves, and oh no! possibly stop being the world most perfect Christain, at least by Tyler standards. He tells me that my parents need to take me to Church.

Let's all take a moment and imagine my face. Like, woah. Out of nowhere, this man I don't know begins to undermine my entire being, making sure to bring in my upbringing and family while he's at it. I'm a tad pissed, to say the least, and as always, a bit punchy.

I flip through the book, answer the phone as it rings, answer a question, hang up, still flipping. Then I find it: "The Kingdom of Heaven is Within." (Luke 17:20-21). Right there in the Bible, quoted in the introduction of the my new book. (Already highlighted to be sure.) I read it aloud, telling him that it's the same idea as Buddhism, at least in one respect.

The divine is within us all.

I've been thinking about that moment lately. It seems to be a turning point in my life -- the point when I decided, yet again only more forcefully to go against the norm in what ever way necessary. Okay, so I'm not Christian, but more specifically deciding to live my life in whatever way I see fit -- in the way that is most true to my divine nature.

We are all Seymore's Fat Lady. So, maybe the divine within me shines a bit too bright on times. Maybe for me, Hippie Church is everywhere. I see that even if others don't, and the overwhelming presence of it all can at times, be overwhelming. It's too much sometime -- such as when I throw myself against walls. But in general, I wouldn't want it any other way.

Shine on you crazy diamond.
Or in the parlence of the time, to quote Bryan. "Bling on. Don't cash yourself."

Things You Should Know

I stole this idea from Lauren who can do this in a much more abreviated fashion. 20 Things You Should Say to 20 Differnt People. These are things that I should say to people, have said to people, things they should know. Some of them already know, some don't. Some I haven't had the opportunity to express myself and never will. For some, I just don't have the heart.

Is one of them for you?


20 things I should say

1. You never deserved me, and I thought I deserved you. We were both wrong. But you’ll have that tattoo forever, bitch. That’s my revenge.

2. You’re stronger then you think you are. I wish you could see that. But as always, you’re welcome to lean on me. If you hurt yourself, I’d have to hurt myself as well.

3. You are amaze and inspire me, but I worry that you’ll abandon me and I’ll go crazy and they’re be no one to chase away the madness. I don’t like needing someone that much, but if that’s they way it’s going to be, at least it’s you.

4. Sometimes I love you to death, sometime you drive me crazy. Sometimes I wish I could crawl in you lap and stay there awhile, fall in love with being surrounded by your fortitude.

5. You were supposed to be the true one, but then you changed your mind. And that’s lame. You say you’re not strong enough, but that’s just you giving up. I’m disappointed in you for that. That is what I won’t forgive.

6. You are the most amazing man I know, and I’m secretly in love with you. I harbor secret dreams of marrying you, but I know it’s not meant to be.

7. I was a little unfair to you, and for that I apologize. Sometimes I think it was for the best, but then I wake up and want you near me and wonder what could of happened, will happen?

8. Maybe one day I’ll forgive you for the horribleness that you inflicted on me. Maybe. That day is not today, though we’re slowly moving in that direction.

9. I love you more then anyone else I’ve ever loved. Ever. I worry about you and sometimes think that I have my life is more in control then yours. Now you need me more then I need you. Sorry I’m never going to really come home.

10. You are an amazing, fantastic strong women who keeps inspiring me. Thanks for realizing that I was all alone and doing something about it. Sorry we don’t get to spend enough time together. Perhaps one day. Don’t ever think I take your friendship for granted.

11. I know your secret. You don’t think I do. I’m hurt that you didn’t tell me, but also touched that you don’t want to burden me. At the same time, I’d like to be there emotionally for you, but for that you’d have to let me in. I mourn for you.

12. I’m so happy to have you in my life. You’re so warm, caring, open. I want to be more like you. I feel like you haven’t really let me all the way in, that we’re not a close as we could be but there’s time. There’s time.

13. You are sketchy. Deep down, I don’t really like you. I say I do, but when you get down to it, you kinda suck, but I know you can’t help it.

14. Oh you! You are the light of my life, the joy of my heart and the breathe of my soul! If you weren’t you, and I wasn’t me, we’d have to have a torrid love affair. I try many days to be more like you.

15. Why are you such a condescending punk? I want to be you friend, but you make it rather difficult. I promise hun, you’re not that fantastic.

16. I didn’t mean when I said I liked you, which I know you know because of gossip. I was drunk, okay? So can we get over it and be friends?

17. You should have called. It could have been nice.

18. I love the fact that I have nothing to say to you that I couldn’t, wouldn’t, haven’t said to your face. I may be closer to you then to anyone else.

19. I wish I could save you from your self-destructive self, but I can’t. And neither can he.

20. I miss you in more ways then one. You used to be such a rock for me, until you put your head up her ass so far you can’t see the light of day. I’m glad your happy with her, but why does that mean that you can’t be your own person? You used to be amazing, now you’re both kinda lame.

Where's My Money?

U of C Center
13:41
October 10, 2005

Where's My Money?

Okay, so before I left the States, I went to the Financial Aid Office and checked to see what kind of refund check I was going to get. We did some math and it seemed like I was going to get $10,000. I was like, Sweet!

She totally lied to me. In fact, I owe the University $2,000.

So now I'm trying to do exactly what I hoped wouldn't happen: secure a loan from across the pond. Goddamn. I don't care that I have to get a loan: I'd already accustomed myself to that fact, it's just annoying. If I had known, I would have taken care of it before I left.

I heart Buraucracy, but shit son, this is ridiculous. I mean, this is that chicks job. How many other people has she misinformed? She wasn't just a little off, she WAY OFF. Damn. This is annoying. I wonder if this is going to get her karmetically. Ahh this is annoying

So, now I'm doing loan shit online, and Citibank is being a bit stupid. It says I've been approved, but won't tell me what to do next to get my money. I signed it electronically, etc, etc. GIVE ME MY MONEY CITIBANK OR I WILL KILL.

Paris is expensive, and I'm so broke.
Dude, where's my money?

Oh, and just a side note: I totally bedded a really hot French dude. Yea, I win life. Here's to my first one-night stand?

I Itch All Over

My Room
Smoking a Cig
Not Reading
About to go to Bed
0:37 ( I sware to you -- I will learn 24 h time)
Wednesday, October 5, 2005

I Itch All Over

I've developed a pretty horrible rash. Itchy welts on my upper thighs, spreading to my abdomn. I went to the pharmacy (where they can prescribe you meds here) and got some drugs today, so all I have to do is wait.

But until then: I ITCH LIKE A MUTHER FUCKER.

I'm talking huge welts all over my thighs. Huge itchy welts that are making nasty, white-head looking things. 'Tis pretty gross, I won't lie.

Now that that's out of the way I can tell you about how I'm doing.

** insert 5 minute break while I smoke a cig, instead of letting it burn

I emailed my physciatrist today to report on my head. It's not good.

I've lost my ability to be truly happy.
I'm not compulsive in the way I like to be.
It's a problem
I want to stay in bed all day, not meet people, not go out and explore Paris.

What the hell is wrong with me? Oh, wait, I know.

I'm going to see someone on Friday, so there is hope.

More tomorrow. I'm a bit drunk, and sleepy, and I have to be somewhere for a tour at 9h15 tomorrow, while being responsible for waking several people up tomorrow.

I can't even begin to digest all that's happened either in actuality or in my head. I'll give it my best shot a demain. Je promette.

Here's some random quotes I found in a file appropriatly titled, "I'd Drunk." I found it entertaining, so I put it here for you enjoyment. If I remember correctly, this is from this summer when Lauren was getting fucked around by a douche bag.

“I’m drunk. Damn, I have to go the library.” Me
“I have to go to work still.” Alii
“I have to go eat a lot of meat.” Lauren Frosty


“I mean, it’s the perfect time for Krazy Bitches Coming Out of the Woodwork Day.” Me
“It’s Krazy Bitch breeding season.” Alii
“Which is why she calls you at shit o’clock saying she’s fucking your boyfriend, which is obviously false.” Katherine

Ridiculous Shit:

Good ideas:

lighting a fire in a raminkin, to set a pencil on fire, so that you can light the highlighter pipe to . . .wait for it, wait for it . . . smoke some resin.


Before that fantastic idea, it was also the best plan ever to attempt to light the bowl with inscense. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it. Just so you know: it doesn’t work.

Taking two lunch breaks, as to have a liquid lunch, for four hours. Then go to the library to do research. Yea right.

Randoming sleeping with people, then hoping. Forgetting how I don’t do casual sex.

“Even the gnomes are lonely.”
“But you and the gnomes have each other at least.” Alii
“Great. That’s comforting: if all else fails, I’ll could just be crazy with myself.” Me