The Third toothbrush

Or: How I have only 4 and a half months left in Paris

Spring starts and I'm in love with Paris. Now that I reached the last quarter of my year abroad, I feel the ineffable urge to enjoy every moment here. And not freaking out about how annoying work can be. Whenever people joke about it or say "OMG these kids are so cute! It's like all-day fun!" or "you "work" with children, don't you?" I'm like: "Yes, and I'm gonna punch you in the face if you don't appreciate that it actually IS work that I'm doing. 

Maybe they should introduce work experience in all different fields of jobs in school just for children/young people/people in general to see what work is like. Maybe they find their dream jobs on the way. But just to see: Hey, garbage collectors have a really tough job, too. Or social workers. Or cashiers. Bearing f*cking impolite assholes all day who complain about 2 cents change that's missing or don't even wish you a nice day. 

As you may notice, this is not going to be a post in which I cover a particular topic, it's more like a "thought storage" (I stole that word-idea) of mine, where I leave the things that just come to my mind in this very moment, at 11 pm in Paris, in my bed. 

Like that I didn't read the last entry of my friend's blog because I was to busy satisfying my youtube addiction tonight (and that I have to do it later because I hate myself for the fact that I forgot about it and I'm filled with tension to read his philosophical outpour - hey, that sounded poetic). À propos "poetic", I love the idea of putting poésie (= poetry) in the Parisian metro. It makes me smile everytime when I see a new poem. :) And sometimes they make me think. Like the quote:

Le poète est le fou le plus proche de la vérité - Claude Nougaro

 (= The poet is the fool who is the closest to the truth). Just think about it. 

Sometimes I miss the old days. I miss how easy my childhood was. Or how it seems to me now. Because in reality, I knew I had a lot of worries. Because I'm a worrier. I'm hoping to get rid of that (as you could read in the last few posts). My memories are like strings that all connect and mess up in a big clutter, a ball of wool that losts its form. Endless games we tried out, bike rides to the meadows where we used to have great picnics, where we played "jacks and UNO cards" (Fergie quote) and sung lyrics of our favorite songs, being at my grandma's house, memories of having the greatest birthday parties in the world (because my family is huuuge), how we crawled in the garret and made us a home there with apple juice and magazines. I remember holidays, huge sand castles with moats for the waves to bathe the castle with beautiful shell decorations on it. I think of the nights in my bed when I couldn't get to sleep because I had to cry about the fact that my mum tossed our old living room cupboard (that I loved) in the trash and about how everything in life has to change and that change is inevitable and cruel, but neccessary. And the fact that everybody is going to die anyway, my family and me included. And the fact that I wasn't able to understand the universe. 

Oh yeah, change. I'm not done with that theme, not yet, I think. Even though I know, we need change in our lives, I'm still basking here in nostalgy and melancholy about the "good old times". I don't want to just leave it behind like that annoying facebook girl on the internet would do with a quote nobody remembers the person who said it first, like: "remember the past, live in the now, think about the future". So maybe I will whine about it in a upcoming blog post. 

I have this urge to write. To write things down. To get them out of my head on paper (the pages of my diary - yes, I'm old-fashioned) and my in Internet diary, this special blogger-site you're at. Some people say words mean nothing. Others say they mean everything. I can't decide. I am just able to say that I can't live without writing. Whenever I stop - and there were many times, I stopped, believe me, I start over new again. At any time, sooner or later. 

I am afraid, that there will never be any "outcome" of my writing. But what if I don't need one? What if I'm just satisfied with the actuality (and the story of my life) that only three people actually read my blog? What if it just means the world to me that you, and just you, read these words? That I reached you - fuck the others. And if you're not existant, because I have zero readers then you equals my future-me. But: who cares?

Hey future-Lotta, what's up? I wonder how ashamed you will be while reading this, maybe laughing about how pathetic you were, back then in your teen years, pouring your inner feelings out to the world like this... 

For those who still brood over the headline of this post, for those who only read this long just to understand it: When march started, I threw away my old blue toothbrush to use a new, green one. (I have already mentioned that I'm old-fashioned: No, I don't own an electric toothbrush) Now you start to think: WTF is she now totally freaking out? Yes, I am. I found a symbolic meaning in my toothbrushes. At the beginning of the year, in September, I bought a pack of 4 (orange, blue, green, purple) because I'm Swabian and it was cheaper this way. Now I figured out that it was very practical, too, because I read somwhere you should change your toothbrush every 3 months. For those who are good at math it's clear, that now, that I reached the third toothbrush, my year in Paris is almost over.

And that's why. Now you can ease yourself and go to sleep. And I can, too (finally). I hope you forgive me all the typos I may have made in my "writing flow" and that I'm too lazy to correct now, because it's late and (to make a nice circle around this post) I have to work tomorrow.

I see you around and (like Tyler Oakley likes to put it:) have a good life! :)