so let me tell you a thing or two about how to survive when there's a me and a you

Gleich gehts Bowlen und ich war schon lange nicht mehr bowlen.
Bowlen heißt aber auch Geld ausgebe, das ich lieber sparen würde... naja man muss sich ja mal was gönnen...

Anderes Thema.
Ich denke, dass es gewaltige Nachteile hat, wenn man etwas kann, oder wenn andere Leute denken, dass man etwas kann UND wenn man nett ist. Denn dann hat man Arbeit. Ich leide unter Schlafmangel und ich bin in Zeitverzug. Eigentlich nicht, aber ich denke, dass ich das bin. Denn die Zeitung muss ja fertig werden. Also setze und layoute ich. Die Eintrittskarten müssen designed werden. Also photoshoppe ich. Drei Lieder müssen zusammengeschnitten werden. Also schneide ich.

ABER
Ich brauche auch eine Pause. Also gehe ich bowlen.
Ich brauche Schlaf. Aber das ist überbewertet.

ZUDEM
ist endlich wieder Karneval! Also wird gefeiert.

There's no good way to say I'm leaving you.
Ich denke, dass ich erkannt habe, was das Problem ist. Du bist wie ein Bruder für mich.
Herzlichen Glückwunsch.

(Mein Schreibstil geht mir grade selber auf die Nerven, aber der L.K. steht gleich vor der Tür, also ist mir das schnuppe)

bin daheim und will dich küssen

Wieso schreibst du mir ein Meer von SMS und stehst dann einfach so vor der Tür?
Das ist nicht fair. Nicht dir gegenüber, nicht mir gegenüber und nicht gegenüber J.H..

Und diese drei Wörter hättest du nie in meiner Gegenwart aussprechen sollen. Nie.
Danke ._.

frühlingsblauer Pulli und schwere Nacht

Der Pulli von S. bringt seine Augen sehr gut raus, vielleicht ein wenig zu gut.
Deshalb wird er mir jetzt jedes Mal bescheid sagen, wenn er auf den Trimmdich-Pfad geht.
Und damit ich fit werde. Hoffentlich.

A. und G. sind besoffen und tanzen auf der Bühne - ich gehe derweil ins Bett und versuche nicht zu ersticken.

Ich frage mich, warum du dich nicht verabschiedet hast - C.M.

7+6

Den nächsten Freitag den 13ten sollte ich mir im Kalendar markieren.

Dann gehe ich spontan in ein Tattoostudio und lass mir auch ein bad luck oder #13 tattoo machen.

Vielleicht.

Wer kommt mit?

Birne oder Ananas? Lieber ein neuer Erste-Hilfe-Kasten

Ich mag nicht mehr.
Mein Bett wird einfach so ohne mein Einverstaendnis an andere vergeben und ich bekomme das Sofa.
Zudem wird erwartet, dass mein Zimmer tip top ordentlich ist und ich jetzt Fenster wische.
Ich bin halt chaotisch und brauche lange bis Ordnung ist.
Ausserdem will ich nicht auf dem Sofa schlafen.
Ich mag nicht mehr und finde mein Leben unfair.
Leute in meinem Alter haben eine 40-Stunden-Woche und beklagen sich nicht.
Ja Mutter, rechne mal nach, wieviele Stunden ich pro Woche in der Schule bin, beziehungsweise lernen muss. Da kommt man locker auf 40 Stunden und verdient noch nicht mal was dabei.

Ich wuerde gerne zeichnen koennen.
und in Ruhe lesen und nicht aufraeumen muessen.

Now go stand in the corner and think about what you did.

Aber sags keinem weiter!

Versprochen.

Und auf einmal klopfts um halb 12 ans Fenster und man unterhält sich bis zwei und wandert durch die Straßen bis zum nächsten Zigarettenautomaten.
Und wir wissen beide nicht, was wir glauben sollen.
Aber es kann ruhig öfter nachts an mein Fenster klopfen.

Imagine that'd be true O.o

The Egg Theory

By: Andy Weir

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup,” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be all right?”

“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”

“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.

“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where you come from?” You said.

“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human being who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

You thought for a long time.

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”

“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way.