Not much is so much more than nothing

Thank you all for your replies to my last post. Especially Hails, who is so much more eloquent than me, and hit the nail right on the head. You said exactly what I was trying to, in less words and without sounding bitter/whiney/insert other adjective here.

Apologies for the lack of individual replies. Despite having a four-day weekend (thank you Easter!) I failed to find the time to return to my blog. And now another week has gone by, it’s Friday again and I still haven’t found the time to reply to your comments, or to catch up on all the blogs I actually do want to read, or even to do the dishes. Although, perhaps that’s not strictly true. There are four hours between when I arrive back in Karlsruhe after work and the time I go to bed, and to be honest I have no idea what I do withhose hours. Yes, I have to do the shopping and cook the tea, but surely those things don’t take up 4 whole hours? And so my life moves on, with week days spent at work, and the evenings being used to get nothing done, and the weekend being the time for catching up on the housework and the washing and all the other things that have been on my to-do list since the previous weekend. And suddenly another week has gone by. The next time I look up it’s a month. I’m afraid if I blink too often it will be Christmas! Surely there must be more to life than this? Work, work, work then rush to catch up on the cleaning.

The other day a Facebook friend (a relative, actually) was complaining that she’s going to be turning 29 soon. I wanted to write back “Yes, but you’re almost 29 with a husband and a daughter”. I’m almost 28 and presumably never going to be a wife or mother. Other people my age have been travelled. There was a phase a couple of years ago where everyone was off on “world trips”. Australia, New Zealand, Thailand… all the exotic far away places. My sister went to South Africa for six months, met a guy out there who then moved to England and became a British citizen for her. I only made it as far as Germany. While other people are either settling down or enjoying their freedom, I’m busy just existing. But then I look at some of the people I went to school with. Still living in the small town where they were born, with two or three kids, living only for the weekend when they can find a babysitter and go and get drunk again. And I think maybe I have achieved something after all. Germany is further than nowhere. I have a job I love and that I’m actually good at. That’s something to be proud of. And then I feel guilty because I have so much. So why can’t it just be enough? What will it take for me to accept that I can’t have everything I want? (And we’re back to self pity, which is just one of the many things about me that I really need to change. Get over yourself Bev!!!)

(Title of this post shamelessly stolen from the Tina Dico song One, because it fit so well.)