I once was a writer...

My situation this morning is what people make movies from.  Scary movies, that is.  Dude, if you don't find a new blog by next Monday, or if you don't notice me on Twitter or Facebook or LinkedIn or BBM, it might very well be because I got murdered in the lecture hall. Olsenhauserstraße 75.  And my bet is, it was the janitor lady who murdered me.  I was the ONLY ONE  at the bus stop at 7:27 a.m., and there are always more than 20 people waiting with me. There were less than  10 people (including me and the driver) on the bus, when I generally cannot find a free seat. I was the only one who got out on my stop at 7:32, which is one of the three main stops for a university catering to over 23,000 students.  The bus driver asked me, "Why so lonely?", which of course creeped me out even more, making me for the first time realize, OMFG, I'm actually alone...   I smiled, managed some sort of answer (which I later realized was wrong, because I shoul...

I'm not the God-fearing person I'm supposed to be. And I'm alright with that. Having gone to university in the US Bible Belt, though, I had my fair share of people trying to "save" me, which I appreciated. I mean, you have to really care about a person to want to save them from going to hell, right? I was lucky (blessed?) to have all those people around me, and am still lucky (blessed?) to have them put up with me and my agnostic ways after 10 years. The thing is, I don't believe in blaming nor accrediting God with everything. If something good happens (something over which you had some kind of control, like a good job offer or a raise or that your self-made dinner tasted delicious), then why should you claim that God did that? I mean, God surely gave you the talent to be the best you could be, and He (She?) even "blessed" you with strength and courage and whatnot. But there are certain things that YOU do for yourself. No one does them for you. At ...

I really enjoy being at home. I have no problem at all staying home all day - I actually rather enjoy it. Especially when it is cold and gray and rainy outside (which in northern Germany could very well be every single day). But a few days ago, I have to admit it was actually pretty beautiful outside. So beautiful, in fact, that I made it a point to find an excuse to leave the house (because I clearly need an excuse to leave the house, right?). And so, I left. But I only made it to the door. As soon as I opened the door to my apartment, a cute little tiny baby cat ran inside. My first reaction was, "OMG! I have a wild animal in my home. I should call the Animal Control Center so that they may handle this ferocious creature!" The poor ferocious creature was running all around like crazy, looking for something that he couldn't find. He ran into the living room, he ran into the bedroom, he ran into the kitchen - he ran everywhere , except outside. This is the ferociou...

I've been privileged, I can openly admit that. I have been free and independent and, yes, even a little crazy and wild at times. But I have been free and independent and crazy and wild because I've always known that I have a "pillow" to fall upon, should I ever need such a thing. Let's say, for the sake of simplicity, that I have a secret Swiss bank account. This is not a bottomless bank account that I access at any time; this is, rather, my safety net. I have only used it twice. Well, three times, really. The most recent time was earlier this year when I had an insurance "situation". This situation shall be another post... In any case, it was good to know that my secret Swiss bank account was there, ready to help at any moment, ready to be used. Since it's in Switzerland I pay no taxes, regardless of where I live or regardless of how much I withdraw. It is set up in such a way that it requires no deposits to be kept active, only a sporadic online ch...

When a conversation begins with, "Do you have a fear of heights?", you should already know that whatever comes next is not going to be good. Unless you have the opposite , some kind of acrophilia. Neither are my case. My answer was, "I have fear in general , but not specifically of heights..." --and I should have left it there, but I proceeded to ask, "Why?" I was then invited on a climbing trip  to a Kletternpark, or Hochseilgarten. Of course I said yes, because I was sure Honey would say no; it was to be on a weekday, and Honey works. In my mind, it was a perfect plan. Only that Honey took the day off and, before I realized what the heck was happening, a couple of days later a young, handsome man was asking my name while attaching my harness, my rope and my carabiners. "You do speak German, right?", he asked, because I was not answering any of his questions (which were, "How are you?" and "What's your name?"). ...