I lack enthusiasm. I don't think one can ever have too much of it. Enthusiasm is contagious, makes everything easier, more beautiful and fills it with meaning. I need to change again. The tides flew that way for a long time, now, but I had to search for the direction, really hard, too. Paris helped to answer some last questions. Interestingly, my flist did so, too. 'I lost my way', it says. 'I forgot who I am, because I listened too much to the overly negative opinions of others.' And of course 'I need to do what I love most.'
I had a long entry, last week, when LJ didn't let me post. I even saved it, but I can't post it now, when it's so obsolete, now.
There are different ways to live this life, and two of those always appealed most to me: The safest and the wildest way. I can't seem to find a decent compromise. I want to earn money, preferably much, preferably now. Do the decent, respectable thing. And I want to do what I love most, preferably all the time, preferably right now, and fuck their petty opinions.

I missed the third floor of Shakespeare & Co. How *stupid* can you get? I should have staid just a few moments longer. I should go back there, write there, read there, live there for a month or two. I guess it's a moot point, because it's probably even more important to live like that *whereever* I am. Carry the bookshop in your heart.


It's not really about money. It's not about time or easy opportunities. It's not even about the people surrounding me, helping me, hindering me. It's just about love and enthusiasm, which are kind of the same anyway.
I once loved books. Any books. Even boring ones.
I loved learning and running free and swimming for two hours straight, letting my thoughts drift away.
I loved playing, talking, laughing with guys, without even really thinking about that they were guys, not girls.
I loved myself, unconditionally. And I loved earth and humanity and everything in between. I was a child, once. And I don't think everything I learned and changed since then was for the better.
They are not out to get me, not even to laugh at me, and if someone does anyway, they are to be pitied and instantly forgotten.
There is no perfectly right way to behave, ever. You can make any honest mistake up with an true smile, an apology and a good explanation.
Nobody should expect the worst from other humans. Even if they do steal your thousand francs, like they did with George.
I do believe in this. I do, I do.
And maybe I'm surrounded by the wrong things again. (and no, of course it's generally not about things, but some things grow to be a part of ones self, or self image, which can be interchangeable) Like always, I'll start at the outmost layer: my rooms. Books I never read and never intend to read. Hateful letters by deceased relatives (bodily or just in their hearts, doesn't matter). Souvernirs of old humiliations and twisted friendships (as if one ever forgets those).
I don't think I'll change the middle layer again, at least not the hair colour or the glasses, I love those. Maybe a haircut. Definitely more weight loss, that's inevitable. Probably other clothes, resulting by the former.
And two new goals for the innermost layer:
Hard work and enthusiasm.

And yes I said, yes I will, yes.