Luimneach

I've been living in Ireland since late August and I have finally come to the point where my mind is in such an ease I am able to write something down. Today the school nurse told me I have mumps, what makes me feel like a contaminated zombie since I am obliged to stay home for five days. Can't go to school, meet people, and the worst thing is I had a trip this weekend where I was really looking forward to.

But that's life I guess, and here I am now, alone in my extremely messy room, in the shitehole Castletroy in Limerick, listening to music that fascilitates thinking and trying to clear my thoughts.

Which is not an easy thing to do. As the lyrics of one of my favourite Puscifer songs so well describes:

changes come, the storm will blow up your horizon

 and as a storm it feels indeed.

I have always been a person who looks at the future. Long-term planning, proper thinking of what I want in life, looking for good and sensible opportunities. At least, I thought I was such a person.

But things are changing, altough it is hard to describe what exactly. My always well-structured prefrontal cortex starts to let me down a bit. Or is it just the amygdala reclaiming its place? Oh dear, hear the psychologist-to-be rambling about brain structures. This ever-dominating rationality starts to annoy me. 

Ireland is a good place for dreaming. I need my daily amount of dreaming. People who know me are familiar with this trait of mine. I have become quite skilled in it, I am able to stop my eyes from watching, I can get them in their staring position on command. Time has made it easy to regulate the dreaming. No, I take that back. Regulating is not the correct description. I am able to start dreaming, but finishing is harder, and anything that happens in between I cannot regulate at all. 

I think the world does not like me grim. It likes me melancholic, but not miserable.

I have found myself a couple of times now sitting in the easy chairs in the library, my feet on the heater, some beloved ambient on my headphones and staring at the raindrops sliding down the giant window. I have always loved to watch raindrops on the glass. Gravity makes it into a race where they run down eachothers earlier formed paths, catch up with eachother, two drops become one big drop. The big drops are heavier, faster. The big ones always win. Its a simple rule of gravity, a simple rule of life.

I feel far from a big heavy raindrop winning the race of gravity. More like a tiny drop who is not following the former made paths of water, but struggling its way down the parts of the glass which are still dry. Those drops usually seem to tremble a bit.

I am perfectly fine with being a tiny raindrop, having the knowledge I will probably not win this contest. I enjoy watching the tiny drops while sitting at the library window.

I enjoy watching the grass and the trees outside too. There's lots of green at this University. 

The view distracts me from everything. Reading, studying or whatever what I was planning on doing. It is a good thing I'm writing this down right now. If I wouldn't, tomorrow would be the same: a day of dreaming.

It is not the case that I dislike dreaming. It is more of a habit, a need, like breathing, eating and drinking. The thing that bothers me these days it that my thoughts seem to go nowhere. Normally I'm just thinking about weird of pointless things, but these days, everything is cloudy. I even don't know what I would like to dream about anymore.

My mum told me to get some proper sleep, rest, be kind to myself. I know, I know. I stay up too late. Sometimes without a purpose. I should not do that tonight. Tomorrow I will buy groceries for the upcoming five days of quarantine: bread, milk, something nice to drink, loads of chocolate, crisps, and ofcourse things for dinner. Tomorrow I will clean up my room. Get all the loose paper together, take my clothes of the floor, sort out my laundry. Tomorrow I will write a postcard to my grandparents. 

Tomorrow I will study, do the things I should do. Tomorrow, my thought might be a little less cloudy.

But tomorrow will be another day of dreaming, again.