So, it feels like nothing special, but all-consuming-me at the same time. What I dream for is to sleep, sleep long and dreamless; or, even better, to hide in a hole, close eyes and hope that it will all adjust in a spontaneous and better way. But it doesn't happen like this. It happens that every morning at 6:55 the alarm rings, kids wake up hungry and grumpy, breakfast, teeth-brushing and putting winter-clothes on, and we leave all in a hurry to catch the train at 8:09. Moreover, there are things to be done, and urgently at that, dissertations to be written, urgently, and brilliantly at that, and, somehow, some family comfort, peace and joy needs to be kept up.
It is way too exhausting.
In the frame of this decay, comparable maybe only with the end-scenes of The Great Hopes by Dickens, known in more modern terms as The Global Whining, I am trying to stay down to earth and practical. To keep my mind focused instead of floating away, or to concentrate on my improved ability to converse in German instead of to my worsening English, or maybe to find out dishes that are minute-made AND healthy AND kids-friendly, i.e., I am hoping for miracles. But I am a realistic believer, and I am really hoping for small-scale miracles, maybe if both kids could sleep all night through for several nights. Or if I find five (for each day of the week) magical non-pasta and fast to cook recipes for the kids.
I guess, ultimately, I just lack energy, and hence creativity. And what I am really trying to do is, in small steps, every day, to get something done, a little step in the organization of the housekeeping, a big step in the organizing of the self. Because, I know it, losing hope can be just as dangerous as having great hopes. I just need to follow the little, tiresome and sometimes boring path in the middle, the path or real life leading to real happiness.