Good Girl Anni

This morning Anni from next door felt the need to make some points clear. First of all she stated that it was a really bad fancy to get up so early (“Ich will in mein Bett !” / I want in my bed !), and that getting dressed to go out into the cold darkness was also not the brightest idea this morning (“Ich will mich nicht anziehen !” / I do not want to get dressed !). Also the impending visit to the kindergarten was not to her taste (“Ich will nicht in den Kindergarten !” / I do not want to go to the kindergarten !).
Apropos taste, what her father had presented her with for breakfast was seemingly not what her mother would usually put on the table (“Ich will das nicht essen !” / I do not eat this !).
Her father is a physicist at the uni labs here, he is slim and looks healthy, perhaps he gave her a carrot or something, surely not chocolate-coated-sugar-bombs – not that she needed additional energy, all natural and already taking off.
Ahja her mother, (“Ich will Mamma !” / I want my mother !), she’s with Anni’s younger brother away on some family gathering or such, just a few days.
When her father called from another room to get ready and dress (he seldom raises his voice), because it was time to leave, she switched to a fake crying that was not convincing. She clearly felt no bodily payne, and her father, despite his carrot-obsession, never hits his children – the “crying” really needs a bit of effort & training from her.
Anni was simply terribly infuriated (“echt angefressen” – I guess one could translate this with “seriously pissed off”).
She did not only tell her father, me – the next door neighbour -, the people on our floor, but I guess the inhabitants of the whole village what she felt about this early morning situation. She kept on her stark communication while I heard either the table or a chair being dragged over the floor – she seemingly clung to a table leg despite her father’s repeated requests to release it (“Lass’ endlich los !” / Take yer hands off now !) – and she kept her protest up until the elevator doors shut (“Ich will net!” / I do not want !), incorruptible.
I like Anni. She has character (& good lungs) and gets her priorities right. It’s better to stay in the warm bed until daylight than being dragged into the kindergarten through cold drizzle in the damn-dark-morning, the last extension of a long, cold night. And I like that a five-year-old clearly says what she wants and what not.
It is sad to know that Anni has no chance to break this stupid rule that kindergarten, pre-school. school and work has to start at eight o’clock in the morning, and that there is no chance to switch to a civilised time, at least one hour later would help. I really sympathise with her, because I hated to sit in the classroom at 07:55, the first two hours were mostly lost. I think this rule is a leftover from the times of the Kaiser. I wished her the best, and slept until 10:30.

Nothing Special … bah …

Sorry. Sometimes one wants to run away. Just so. For no “special” reason, just “so”.
Like, things became a bit heavier than usual, or something else popped up, opening another front line.  The causes may vary as the appraisals do, the impulse stays.
Ideas … throw anything (what ?) in a car and drive off. Walk out – simply as that: Turn around, walk away. Very Americaine – in German it’s the picture of the man who “just goes for cigarettes” (“Ich geh’ mal Zigaretten holen!”). He never comes back.
Others may fake their death, orchestrate their demise – vanishing is (not that) easy. People who deal with this professionally, mostly detectives, say that things are not that easy: The important thing is not what you do before you “die”, but afterwards. It needs and means a total rupture – few are ready to make that.
And of course there are things you can not run away from.
Your own body. Or relations you can not cut off, that run to deep in your personality, your own being; they will not change or end when you just go to another place, change your name – change something else of this outer persona. I very much like the word and idea of “per-sona~”, the “sounding through” – the thing one holds before the real face and sounds through, the mask if you will, that what is shown, and sound.
Exactly what we do here on the interwebs, as Donnn once called it.
My ideas of running away are totally conform and traditional. It’s less about going to another place, travelling away and in such hiding – it’s more about throwing all in the faces of those who want something; more a kind of stuffing things down the throats of people or personified circumstances; to finally get rid of  obligations, to finally reach  a feeling, a state of being un-bonded, un-obligated, un-obliged [ all words contain the Latin ligare, what means nothing else but verbinden, to connect: So I finally want to be un-connected ]. And of course the usual images come up, like cars, horses, running … I hate to run. I like horses, in as much as I like other large animals like cows or Hirsche, but I feel not connected to them in a special way. Wolves are different.
What’s it all about – running away ? Getting rid of ?
And I can’t.
My father took care for his dying wife, my beloved mother, for years, and we did not run away. Maybe it’s “protestant”; or simply “grown up”; you do not back out, run away, ignore – especially when death is in your living room.
So, where does this blab lead to ? Nowhere of course, it’s just Gelapper. I am tired. I feel fear. And from a certain age onwards you realize that wine does not “solve problems” – don’t be silly, gettin’ hammered solves nothing and never did – but from one point in time onward it even does not “make things light”, lighter, simpler, more bearable; simply because death, cancer and slipping into the big nothing are not tolerable, acceptable or “light” – at least from my actual point of view.
It comes nearer. Is life from a certain point onward only an exercise in dying ? Learning to embrace the bone man ?
I hate to see people die from cancer, suffer from cancer, I hate cancer. I have to look at it, and I do. And Silvaner does not help anymore. The more you see, the more it hurts, the more you die with them.

There IS no place to run to, nowhere to hide …

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