City Of Dreams

I am discovering, all over again, why I fell in love with Vienna in the first place. After a few broody days (everything sucks... I suck... I'll end up under a bridge chewing on my own clothes for breakfast...), my spirit is recovering. Where I yesterday only could make out a grey depressing haze of a town, today I am seeing with crystal clarity why this city is the city of my dreams.

Vienna is nothing if not inspiring. You get such terrific visual pleasure as these here bonbons, for example. Little chocolate masterpieces of human creativity. I mean, who would not want to suck on a pair of pink marzipan breasts with tiny, but oh so hard, little nipples? Or dig your teeth into a sweet marzipan baked potato with white sauce and let out a bark of satisfaction?

On the opposite side of the street, for another sort of pleasure, you get this to get you going.

Who could pass this exquisite painting without stopping as if hit by lightning? A bad bad girl, getting hit by a bad bad nun. There is a letter on the floor. I wonder what was in the letter that was sinful enough to get the girl a spanking like that? There seems to be a drawing too, and one can only begin to imagine the perverted things that were going on between the girl and her lover.

And that's then how stories are born. Through a walk in the city and looking. I am ashamed of all the time I spend inside feeling like shit, thinking I am shit, doing shit - i.e. nothing, when I could put on my boots and walk. No more wii fit, I guess. But Vienna, my love, here I come.

Tailbone quest

So, the tailbone pain is getting better, thanks to my die-hard attitude towards my wii fit training. I am getting a little confused though, as I started another program to increase my health and attractivity and reach my goal of over-all LIFE balance.

YOUR SHAPE. I realized that I was getting old when I had to gasp for air reading about this thing. Your Shape comes with a camera that scans your body and presents you with a transparent picture of yourself on screen! One of those blue ones with thin lines all over it! Sooo Matrix. Analyzing that picture, Your Shape will suggest a training regime of aerobic exercises. I remember my dad telling me about how he felt when those guys landed on the moon for the first time, like, If this is possible, anything is possible. That's how I feel now. The camera keeps watch over me as I unskillfully try to mirror the fit trainer-character on screen, Eva. Watch those arms! Eva keeps shouting at me. And then, the very next second, Perfect! You are getting so into this! Eva is sending me contradictory messages and I am getting increasingly insecure in which information I should choose to believe.

Watch those arms!

Perfect!

More energy!

You are getting so into this!

Hey, I can't do this by myself!

Of course I am the sort of person that almost unfailingly only listen to negative feedback about myself. So I desperately try harder to impress Eva, not really knowing what it is that I am doing wrong. The thought strikes me then, that maybe life is like this. Life might be a faulty software (not an original thought, I know...) that keep insisting that one is doing everything wrong, when, IN FACT, one is doing everything right. My epiphany for the day: All is well. Just keep on doing what you have to do. Be careful in believing what you think others think of you, or say to you. Be guided, dead friend, by your own wisdom only.

Unbalance

The christmas time is officially over and I am trying to find my way back to being someone who actually does something for a living. One part of me wanting only to plant tomatoes and take in stray cats, and the other wanting to actually move to LA and be all Ari Gold about my career.

As Ari Gold I would storm into Lasse Hallström's office, shouting and waving my hands.

'Lasse, you HAVE to read my script! You have to make my film! You used to be the best director ever, but you haven't done anything wonderful in AGES! Make my script and you'll be on top again!'

Of course, I don't really believe this, and of course Lasse would answer:

What do YOU have to show for yourself? At least I have made the GREATEST movie of all times.

To this, I can only nod my head in agreement and walk away with my tail between my legs. Which is funny, because that bone right at the end of the spine (and the top of the butt-crack too) has been seriously hurting for a week now. According to the german english translator it is, conveniently, called the tailbone. So, what does that mean?

I have flipped through all my Disease as Symbol books, and none of them seem to offer any spiritual clue to the tailbone problem. Conventional medicine only offers heavy pain medication, something I am not a fan of. So what to do?

At first I retreated to my old habit of creative visualization. I lit a candle, laid down flat on the floor and closed my eyes. Then, in my imagination, I stepped into my body as sort of an avatar of myself, and started visualizing drilling a hole in the bone where it hurt. I saw all the pressure burst out like a flood breaking through a crack in a dam. After that, I just sat down and sang to the pain. Which made me feel like a wonderful spiritual creature and I was sure this would heal me in no time. In fact, I was so excited about the healing singing that I had to stop singing in order to go tell my partner about it.

But the pain didn't go away, and I felt like a failed healer. So, what to do when spiritual singing in a visualization doesn't help?

I'll try anything.

My solution: Wii Fit. I have become such a fan. While swaying heavily to the left and right on this thing called a Balance Board, skiing and ski-jumping and head-butting footballs (as documented in previous post) I am trying to find my center of gravity. And finding this bodily center of gravity, I am planning to find my spiritual center of gravity. My hunch is that when the center of both have aligned (through the head-butting of footballs and avoidance of panda heads) the tailbone pain will go away as an award.

But, more importantly, I will finally find my balance of LIFE. Everything I do will magically turn to gold (success, obviously). All my talents will be used productively in whatever I choose to focus on. All my handicapped babies (unfinished work in drawers) will raise and stand proudly on perfect limbs. Men will love me, women envy me and Alan Ball will want to be my best friend.

Well, that's the plan.

Unless I decide to start taking in stray cats.

No More Soup

I have to finally admit that I won't be able to continue this soup-blog. I just can't cook anymore. It's like if some inner threshold has been activated and I am utterly unable to chop, slice, grate, fry and boil. I have no more cooking inside me.

But I don't want to bury the thing altogether, so I thought about just doing the writing bit. In this time of crossroads, it might be a good idea to throw a few sentences together every couple of days just to keep the writing ability on at least a low flame. And I just can't seem to get anything down on paper. Paper just ends up in a drawer. I have completely stacked drawers at the moment, and I refuse to put even ONE single sheet in one of them.

Therefore.

The NEW Amateur Soup Cook: Meaning, Soup - as in: Something (different words) in a pot (blog).

Spastic Mental Patient

So, it has been weeks since I have had what it takes to even write a proper email, much less anything creative or slightly 'professional', as this here blog. I have exactly 350 Euro to my name and approximately 55 000 Euro in debt from my six years of studying in the past fifteen years. My limbs are locked in constant tension from not having moved in about two years and I stopped my healthy food diet four weeks before completion. I am thinking that I might not ever write again. EVER. I just can't see myself ever having an idea, the right amount of motivational energy or creative flow again. Instead I have been resting in a fantasy about selling books in a large bookstore, one where I can fortunately disappear behind large shelves of thick travel books (or the tenth 350 page volume of Twilight) when a customer approaches.

Massive snowfall seems to follow me faithfully wherever I go.

I restent the cold.

So I hardly go outside.

This is why I got a wii, complete with a balance board and a game called wii fit.

Here is the product of two university educations. One in arts and one in writing. One therapy coaching education and several semester long courses in anything from chinese ink-painting to shamanic healing journeying.

A spastic mental patient dressed in a MJ T-shirt.

Dead Until Fried Buckwheat Paddies

I wandered around Waterstone's today pretending to just aimlessly look for nothing special, holding securely in my hand some Tolstoy, just to prove my literary superiority. Then, thinking someone might think I hadn't read Anna Karenina before (which I of course have), I decided to exchange it to something by Iris Murdoch.

In fact, I was on a determined search for the True Blood books by Charlaine Harris. It was almost as if I was pretending even to myself that I was actually there to get something by, let's say, Iris Murdoch, and then, oh, just by accident, sort of slipping in a Dead Until Dark just for some silly fun on the side.

I can only remember doing something similar when buying condoms those first times, and sort of hiding them between a toothbrush, some news magazine and a chocolate bar. When buying condoms, I remember being achingly aware to not get at the same time anything that would create a story. Like I could not get condoms and lipstick. Or condoms and tampons. Or condoms and even things like hair spray. I didn't want the person at the cashier to think Oh, what a slut! She must really want it, buying condoms and lipstick and hairspray and all...

I was not going to ask for those books. That would be too embarrassing. So I walked around with this la-la-la-lala face for some time, just hoping to stumble upon those guilty pleasure books somewhere. But even when I carefully went over the fiction A-Z/H section for the third time, I could not detect Charlaine anywhere. It dawned on me then, that they might not be under fiction at all, but under Horror. I sighed in relief. And so I sailed, slowly, unsuspiciously, along the long cashier counter where three handsome young men were working, hoping they wouldn't notice me, and if they did, that they would please see the Murdoch books in my hand.

But, weirdly, there were no Charlaine to be found in the horror section either. I sat down then and opened instead Murdoch's The Sea, The Sea. I couldn't manage to read even one sentence without wanting to strangle myself rather than to continue reading. And so I ran up to the cashier and pleaded for someone to please show me where the hell they were hiding the True Blood books. He pointed me in the direction of Horror repeating (sensing my urgency) To the left, the Left...

And, finally, there they were. All glossy and shiny and lined up one after the other. I couldn't believe I had missed them before. And so I had to put down The Sea, The Sea in order to stack my seven True Blood books. Ahum. And then I sort of just forgot it there, among Lovecraft and Stephen King...

Dead Until Fried Buckwheat paddies with basil yoghurt

3 dl cooked buckwheat

handful of basil leaves

a few capers

sun-dried tomatoes

a pile of grated parmesan

samlal oelek

vegan stock

pinch of salt

Mix (with a handmixer) in a bowl the buckwheat, basil leaves, capers, sliced sun-dried tomatoes and sambal oelek, a minute until roughly 'chopped'. Then add the rest (the parmesan, a teaspoon of stock and salt) and mix to a nice dough.

Make nice paddies and cover them in a mix of black and white sesame seeds and poppy seeds. Fry in a pan until hard on both sides.

Yoghurt: Mix together goats yoghurt with a 2 cm piece of ginger, 1 clove of garlic, basil leaves, and a pinch of salt. Make some avocado dip too so you have some range...

Non-Robotic Lamb Meatballs

I haven't spoken to a single person today. Not in person, anyway. Even at Sainsbury's, as I desperately wanted to pay at the human cashier, a tired looking man just shook his head and pointed to the robot cashier on the other side.

At least, the thing had a voice. Please, take your bags! Please. The metallic voice might as well have shouted Hurry up you lousy good-for-nothing, you are yesterdays news! Take your shit and move along! Please! We are trying to work here.

I was strangely depressed walking home with my two orange plastic bags, feeling a little guilty. I had, once again, forgot my canvas bag and so used the worlds resources shamefully and selfishly. And was I, on top of all, a part of the worlds economic down-fall, as I am just too slow to pick up my bags, slowing the cash-flow down in a way that someone could calculate to the precise percentage... I'll stop here.

To my great joy the phone rang the moment I stepped in the door. Oh hurrah! I basically threw the bags on the floor (not caring about my dad's voice in my head Caroline, for God's sake! Never pack the eggs lowest in a bag! You must put them on top! Why? Why can't you ever learn this?) and shoot like a rocket, grabbing the phone on my way, to the sofa.

Hello? I answered excitedly. For all I knew, it might be Alan Ball or A Friend or at least my mother. After a moments hesitation, a strange woman's voice talked back.

V: Have you considered changing bank...

No, I said back, but she didn't stop to hear me out. I realized then, that I was trying to communicate with a robot, again. And that's how it went the hole day.

Hello? Friendly me.

Have you considered The Kitchen Specialists Special Christmas...

NO.

Ring-ring.

C: Hello? A little less friendly, but hey, how many such calls can a girl get in a day?

V: Have you considered changing your cars tires...

C: NO. NO AND NO!

Ring-ring.

C: Yes?

V: Have you considered paying your bills...

C: NEVER.

Ring-ring.

V: Have you considered the home service of...

V: Have you considered renting a car within the...

V: Have you considered joining the worlds largest...

C: Have you considered to shut the fuck up?

Man does it feel good to shout at the top of ones lungs. Even if only to a robot.

Non-Robotic Lamb Meatballs

500g minced lamb

1 egg

a spoon of breadcrumbs

a cup of water

the rind of two lemons (grated)

parsley, finely chopped

2 big cloves of garlic, finely chopped

salt and pepper

Mix all the above in a bowl.

Sauce

1 yellow onion, finely chopped

1 can chopped tomatoes

a little sugar or molasses

salt and pepper

Let the onion fry for some minutes before adding the rest, then let it simmer for about 10 min. Make nice, big balls with the meat and pop into the pan (must be a large pan!). Cook for about 15-20 minutes. Serve with red or black rice. Sprinkle over fresh herbs, like basil or thyme...

Yum. Thanks Anna for recipe!

Hangover

I was set. I was not going to give in to temptation. I was not going to let the triggers push me so far as to start again with the bad bad stuff. I was determined. You know I was. In my rage I even devoured a couple of innocent chorizos. I knew, that way, I would stay away from pasta, ginger breads and those darling little chocolate cakes they push in your face in the que at Marks & Spencer. But there will always be someone evil to lure you away from your path.

Unsuspecting where my night was heading, I took the bus to my preggie friend, who, in-between, has successfully had a, you know, baby. I was expecting a night of tuna salad and a cup of tea. But at her house, a friend of hers sat on the sofa munching chocolate, a man introduced as 'oh, Caroline, I think you guys have the same thing'. Of course that set up for a long discussion about food, doctors and poo-tests. The man finished with the words 'I was on the diet for two years, but it didn't work, so now I eat everything'. He took another piece of chocolate and purred as it melted in his mouth. I sat silent, stunned. He went up to the stove, poured a pack of spaghetti in a bowl of cooking water, simultaneously stirring some weep-inducingly, well-smelling, buttery, creamy, saucy thingie. He piled the pasta high on a plate, practically throwing a whole grated parmesan on top, and poured the buttery sauce in a glittering, gleaming stream of goodness over that magical tower.

I stared at the golden spaghettis hanging out of his mouth, shining moist with butter... I heard every bite as if magnified by a thousand and the sound kept echoing in my ears, each sound overlaying the other into a symphony of complex structure. Noticing my staring, trance-like stare, he asked if maybe I wanted some? I swallowed, my throat dry. No, no I couldn't. My diet, I had to keep to my diet. I forced myself into the bathroom where I sat hyperventilating until I heard the man slam the door shut behind him. Only when he was gone, did I dare to peak my head into the kitchen again.

The room was empty. My gaze was magically drawn to the stove. One single pan stood shining spookily in the otherwise quite dark kitchen. I floated up to it and as if sleepwalking, I lifted the lid and discovered a small heap of the remaining pasta. Without thinking I just grabbed it and shoved it into my mouth. The poison was working its way to my blood and it felt gooood. It was as if some spirit demon took possession of me, I threw all cupboards open, pulled out all bread I could find, including a pizza, and just started eating my way through like a mad person.

OMG. How many weeks of wheat/butter/sugar celibacy had I just destroyed? I didn't care. I left as if walking on sunshine. I fell asleep as if on ecstasy. I slept blissfully. And then I woke up. My head spinning, my stomach turning, nausea spreading through my entire body. I had my first wheat hangover.

Instinct Oven Veggies

After my decision to never eat again, some primal animal instinct took control over my body and led it into the kitchen. There it opened the fridge, completely without my consent, and grabbed a few old chorizo sausages laying way back in the darkness next to a few rotting beet-roots. The animal devoured the sausages beast-like, finding great pleasure in diving its teeth into the meat and pull the sausage apart as if it was a small, dead animal. Which I guess is more or less what a chorizo is.

After eight hours of coma, I woke up to myself again. And I couldn't wait to have some zucchini for lunch.

Instinct Oven Veggies

1 parsnip

1 red onion

1 zucchini

some cloves of garlic

red rice

some spinach leaves

Place the chopped up veggies on an oven-tray and sprinkle with olive oil, garlic salt and pepper. Heat the oven to about 180º, then leave the veggies in there for ca. 30 minutes.

Boil the red rice.

for dip:

1 small avocado

2 cloves of garlic

a handful walnuts

2 table spoons olive oil

a little lemonjuice

some salt

Mix together the ingredients with a hand mixer.

Mix the rice, the veggies and the spinach in a bowl, then add a spoon of dip.

Absolute Abstinence

I am going mad. The pressure in my head is inhuman. I might have to hit it against a wall just to relieve the pain. I need a baguette. I need truffle brie. I need whipped cream, blueberry muffins, cheesecakes, chocolate fondue, ciabatta with melted appenzeller. I need tagliatelle with saffron-lemon cream sauce. I need a Pret Italian Artisan Prosciutto Baguette. I can't take the absence of this food any longer. I want to bath in whipped cream, lick butter of my fingers, dig my head into a super-sized heap of spaghetti carbonara and grunt.

I am an addict on the verge of giving in. So I looked up how to deal with it:

Recognizing the medical and psychological aspects of drug withdrawal.
Identifying triggers to drug use and developing techniques for avoiding these triggers.

Learning how to handle drug craving without relapsing.

First, the counselor should help the patient to identify the people, places, and things that will trigger or lead to a craving or urge. Then the counselor should point out that the patient must avoid the people, places, and things that trigger craving and have the patient discuss how he or she can avoid the triggers.

Ahhhh... Ok. I will just have to stay indoors for the rest of my life. No, that won't help. I'll just have to lay still on my bed with closed eyes and wait to die. Because I am refusing to eat another piece of zucchini again! I refuse to set my eyes on another asparagus, tomato or eggplant. No bean, leek or pepper will ever enter the dark cave of my mouth. Ever. Not. A. Chance. My hands refuse to chop another onion. My stomach repulses at the thought of another avocado.

I'd rather just starve to death. Yepp. That's right. See you on the other side brothers and sisters.

Twilight Toast

I have just started the book Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. It's about teenagers and stuff and, ahum... vampires. I am also, simultaneously, watching True Blood for the gazillionths time. Also with vampires. Since when do I read or watch anything as silly as something with vampires?

Where is Dostojevski? The Upanishads? Healing Hands For Beginners? The Gnostic Gospels? New Perspectives on Austrians and WW2? Where is Lajos Egri, C. G. Jung and Eckhard Tolle?

I have a suspicion.

I think...

Oh boy.

I think I might have...

Maybe...

I am just saying maybe, it might not be the case at all...

I mean, I don't want to jinx it...

I might have started to learn how to...

How to...

How to enjoy myself.

This is scary stuff. Will this mean that I am just going to spend the rest of my life doing nothing but having a good time? Does this mean that I won't ever be ambitious again, you know, since I am having a perfectly good time anyway, in the very comfortable position of laying under a pink blanket on the sofa in my comfy-pants?

Relaxing and actually enjoying myself might prove to be the most dangerous thing I have ever done in my entire life! Gone my chances of becoming a successful writer. Blown away any chance I had of at least becoming enlightened and telling others all they do wrong in their life. Erased my chance of proving my... my... my Abilities, my Genius, my Inner Beauty and Sense Of Life And All Its Madness... you know...

Oh well. At least I have another fifty sequels to Twilight to look forward too.

Twilight Toast

3 pieces of quinoa bread

toast it

put avocado on it

soak it in olive oil

place a chunk of alfalfa sprouts on top

pour over herb salt

Scholarship Salmon

So, I have exactly one more month, and then I am out of school. Shiat. What to do after that? Should I panic? Should I run around the house madly pulling at my hair and dream up all the bad things that could happen when school is over? Like: I won't get an agent! I'll never write again! I'm gonna be stuck in Vienna and die of depression and repressed creativity!

But I have learned a little something from all the years spent meditating and practicing astral travel; I am not the control freak I used to be. What happens happens and one just has to deal with it. And the more one just lets life has its way, the more fun it gets. Living out of the empty space, I call it. Letting go. For example, I had an appointment with dear Dr. Pajamas again yesterday, and as he told me to get out of my stockings, I realized I hadn't shaved my legs for, hmmm, weeks. There was a moment I was about to panic and on the verge of feeling deeply embarrassed, but, thanks to all my spiritual practices, I just inhaled and accepted the fact that my poor doctor was going to have to deal with my long body hair.

That's all fine and good, and a little bit brain washed too, which I happily admit to. Not wanting anything, I thought I had actually mastered the art. That is, until I discovered that I am TWO people away from Alan Ball (and one from Berlusconi... hmmm). And now I have set my greedy spirit on something else too. Frida sent me a link to a screenwriters scholarship, and oh boy, do I want it. One year of just writing and here it comes... getting payed for it (I am sighing deeply here)! OMG. OMG. How I want it! How I long for it! Could something splendid like that actually happen to me? Send me your blessings folks, I want them.

Take Bad Back Stir Fry and use Salmon instead.

Food Spy Quinoa Stir Fry

I am still just fascinated by this whole food question. Ok. So certain food-stuffs are not good for you. One should maybe try to eat less meat, a little less sugar, processed stuff and so on. Eat healthily. Eat vegetables. But it doesn't stop there does it? Then you have no idea what the hell someone has been spraying on those spanish tomatoes... I read this on a package of Sainsbury's organic dried apricots today: Of the ingredients that could be organic, 100% are organic. Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha! That really cracks me up!

Quite manipulative. That says absolutely nothing. Of course, crazy shit like chemical preservatives could never be organic. And there was no other indication of what was actually in the product. It just wasn't clear what was in the bag. Which reminds me of an article in der Spiegel. There was some fuss about Calf's-liver-sausage. In the product, which was called Calf's liver Sausage, there wasn't actually any Calf's liver. There was some calf meat mixed together with some pork liver. But the company were allowed to keep the name for some unintelligible reason. On one hand that is just hilarious. On the other, so sad. One has to be a sly spy these days, when it comes to food. Don't trust anyone.

I heard of a company the other day, that changed the sugar content in their yoghurts to fruit-sugar some time ago, after having made research on what the main concern parents had on the food for their children. But as soon as the parents were convinced of the naturalness of the product (after extensive advertising communicating the change from sugar to fruit-sugar), they swapped right back. Because industrial sugar is cheaper, of course.

Food Spy Quinoa Stir Fry

Everything that can be good in this recipe, is good.

Quinoa

zucchini

pointed red pepper

scallion

handful young spinach

sambal oelek

fennel, coriander

fresh basil leaves

vegan stock

avocado

garlic

lemon

(I actually have no idea what was in that meal, it was like a week ago I cooked it, but since I ate out today, I'll have to try to remember... this page is just not the same when there is no food photo.)

For two, cook a small cup of Quinoa about 15 minutes. Fry the veggies, add sambal and vegan stock. Add the quinoa when ready, together with spinach leaves and whatever fresh herbs you have handy.

Make an avocado dip to that.

OMG Soup

It dawned on me, about two days ago, that I am two people away from Alan Ball. Holy MOSES!

I was laying awake at night wishing that Mr. Ball was my mentor, my slave-driver, my God. But how is a little girl like me ever going to come into contact with a Mighty Important Person like that? He is practically living in another galaxy than I am. There is always away, my pal Frida said. But I didn't believe her. In my world, I never get a chance. In my world, there is no way I will ever get anywhere. In my world, unless I am drunk or under hypnosis, I just don't stand a chance.

It was then I remembered that I actually know I guy, who knows Alexander Skarsgård (who plays in True Blood), who therefore knows...... ALAN BALL! I mean! OMG!

I seriously could not sleep the entire night. Just the thought that I was just TWO people away (I love that x people away theory) from A BALL (funny) made me high with rushes of ecstatic energy. Still now, I am under a sort of OMG spell.

So, after working up quite some courage, I wrote the guy, and asked him if there is any chance that he could and so on... and he replied YES, HE WOULD DO HIS BEST! How lovely is that? In my world the chance is about 98% I won't hear another word about it, but you know, it COULD be 50% or even 85% that I will.

OMG Soup

2 parsnips

1 onion

2 cm piece of ginger

2 tomatoes

vegan stock

a pinch of...

...turmeric

...galgant root

...yellow mustard seeds (freshly ground)

...star anise

Peeled and cut the obvious things.

heat up some olive oil in a pan, let the onion and ginger fry for a few minutes. Add the parsnips. Add the spices (except for the star anise) and the stock (about a table spoon) and let the oil and veggies soak it all up. Add the tomatoes. Add a little less that a liter of boiling water. Taste the soup and if needed, add another spoon of vegan stock. If you like it hot, add some harissa paste or sambal oelek. Add two whole star anise to the soup and let cook about ten minutes. Mix with hand mixer.

It has sort of a warm, christmasy feeling to it. Not bad.

Spiritual Spinach

One, my back is fucked. Two, we have to stop eating meat.

There is quite some discourse here in England about the topic of climate change and cows gases, all thanks to this dude Lord Stern (Is that his real name? Why could I not have been called Lady Stern? Which is star, obviously, in german. Life is so unfair.) According to some article in The Guardian: A kilo of beef is responsible for more greenhouse gases than a three-hour car journey while leaving all the lights on in your home.

That is fucked up.

There are two things that come to my mind reading this. One, wow - I hardly eat any meat or milk products or processed food. Does this mean I can take my long showers in the mornings with a clear conscience from now on? Finally.

Two, maybe my body, which hates wheat, sugar, meat and diary products, is in fact A HIGHLY EVOLVED SPIRITUAL THING. Maybe aliens or god or someone, or our collective unconscious, is evolving our bodies to NOT being able to eat that stuff any more - as a solution to climate change?

Spiritual Spinach Red Rice Salmon Salad with Walnut Dressing

some smoked salmon

a bag of young spinach

two small cups of red rice

alfalfa sprouts

half a cup of walnuts

a handful of basil leaves

some olive oil

lemon juice

2 cloves of garlic

salt and pepper

Cook the red rice with double water for about 2o minutes. Put spinach in salad bowl. Cut the salmon in nice long stripes. Add the sprouts and the walnut dressing. Mix in the rice when ready.

Dressing: Place the walnuts, basil, garlic in a bowl with salt and pepper. Pour over 4 tablespoons with olive oil and squeeze over some lemon juice. Mix with hand mixer.

Sooooooo good.

Bad Back Stir Fry

Sport is dangerous, booze is healthy.

I always knew this, but sometimes you forget what you know, and it has to be proved again. I have been trying to motivate myself to do some sport recently, at which I have failed completely. Getting out of bed is enough activity for me on most days. But my back has felt tense and the bad conscience has been weighing heavy. So, yesterday, I finally fought through resistance, carried my violet natural rubber yoga-mad (!) mat into the living room, and lowered the curtains for some privacy. My plan was to start doing the 'Five Tibetans' again, and continue doing them every morning for the rest of my life.

And so I started stretching out the left side of my body and the right... and the left and the... SHIT. What was that? A ball of intense pain shot out from my lower spine. Oh well, I thought, I'll just carry on. You can't give up on the first threshold, not if you have read story theory by Joseph Campbell. So I continued with the First Rite.

Stand erect with arms outstretched, horizontal with the shoulders. Now spin around until you become slightly dizzy. There is only one caution: you must turn from left to right.

My back felt a little better. So I started the Second Rite.

Lie full length on rug or bed. Place the hands flat down alongside of the hips. Fingers should be kept close together with the finger-tips of each hand turned slightly toward one another. Raise the feet until the legs are straight up. If possible, let the feet extend back a bit over the body toward the head, but do not let the knees bend. Hold this position for a moment or two and then slowly lower the feet to the floor, and for the next several moments allow all of the muscles in the entire body to relax completely. Then perform the Rite all over again.

As I got through all five of them, I was laying of the floor feeling quite pleased with myself, thinking I might really get into this yoga stuff again. That lasted for about five seconds, until I tried to stand up. Aouch! Shit! My back!

I had to walk bend over with one hand on my lower back like a witch for the rest of the day. But luckily there was a free bar after the masterclass yesterday evening. And, of course, after a glass of wine, I could stand straight as a lamppost again. Nope, no more yoga for moi. Ever. It is far too dangerous.

Bad Back Stir Fry

2 chicken filets

1 zucchini

1 red onion

half a eggplant

half long pointed red pepper

1 big tomato

piece of ginger

2 cloves of garlic

little finely chopped lemon grass

rose harissa (or any chili paste)

handful of young spinach

fresh basil and coriander

half a lime

tamari sauce

vegan stock without added yeast

ground whole coriander, fennel and cumin in a coffee grinder (or with a pestle and mortar).

Saute (new word!) the finely chopped garlic, onion, lemongrass and ginger for a few minutes. Add the ground spices. Add the veggies and fry for a few minutes. Make space for the chicken filets and place them in the pan too.

Pour over a spoon of the stock. Add a knifes edge of harissa on each piece of chicken and some on the veggies. After a few minutes, when the whole thing looks a bit dry, add half a cup of water and some lime. Turn the chicken. Sprinkle some tamari sauce (wheat free soy sauce) over all of it. At this point the veggies should be soon ready, so I usually take out the chicken and slice it in one or two smaller bits to make the whole thing faster. So put the thinner slices back in the pan, and you might want to add another half cup of water.

Tear over the spinach, basil and coriander and some more lime. This is truly the yummiest.

For the inner Glutton

You present somewhat of a challenge, said Dr. PJ in his wonderful french accent. Tell me about it, I thought. I have to deal with myself EVERY day.

He ripped the paper off a needle, rolled up my leggings a little higher and stuck it in my leg. You don't have candida. You don't have irritable bowel syndrome. I don't know what you have.

I have been trying to figure myself out for thirty something years. I have payed hundreds of people to help me in my quest. Doctors, hand-readers, healers, shamans, therapists, gurus and masseuses. To name but a few. So what is WRONG with me? I am getting pretty tired of having to fix myself.

But on the other hand, maybe nothing is wrong with me right now because I can't eat baguettes and chocolate muffins and creme brulee. Maybe, I am thinking, something is Right with me. Maybe, maybe maybe, my body is a pretty clever thing. Cleverer and wiser than my inner demon Glutton. This inner Glutton of mine is insatiable. It will eat bad stuff till it just can't take it anymore. This bad bad Glutton stares at candy with red bloodshot eyed and an evil whizzing sort of breathing, ready to eat anything it can till its gone. I am always amazed when I am with people who sit in front of a bag of crisps, have one or two, then stop. What? How? How is that possible? I will keep on going until the seams of the bag are licked clean of salt. Maybe my body is just plain simply saying: Dude, just don't eat that crap, ok? It's not GOOD for you.

And all those years suffering from fibromyalgia, maybe my body was saying something similar. Maybe my body had a message. Dude, I am not moving until you quit that shit job of yours! Duuuuhude, I am not moving until you learn to love me. Girl, don't you try to force me to do stuff I don't want to do!

An Easy Meal For the Inner Glutton:

1 pack of organic smoked salmon

a few potatoes

1 onion

2 cloves of garlic

some fresh parsley

salt and pepper

half avocado

Peel the potatoes and grate them. Place in bowl with chopped onion, garlic and parsley. Add some salt and a tiny wee bit of olive oil. Stir. Fry in pan with a little vegetable oil. If you want round cakes, just pour in a soupspoon of the taters and flatten carefully. Change side after a few minutes, flatten some more.

Serve with some salmon and mashed avocado. Lovely.

True Addiction

I can't decide if I am for the vampire cause or not. I might have to call Sam. No. Wait. I can't. He is just a fictional character. Damn. He is a shapeshifter though, too. What is worse? Being a fictional character or being a shapeshifter? Hm. Tough one. What animal would I be if I was a shapeshifter? Is it immoral to have fantasies about sexy vampire men? Hahahahaha! My t-shirt has vampire blood on it. Oh wait! It's just beetroot juice, I forgot. The juicer broke and showered me with the red fluid. Quite like a scene from True Blood. Alan Ball. You are true fab.

Lazy Hungry Short Cut Meal For True Blood Addicts

2 chorizo sausages

1 pack of M&S 'Super Whole food'

1 pack of M&S 'Edamame Soy Bean Salad'

fresh coriander

Chop up the sausages and fry them in a tiny wee bit of oil. Add the M&S stuff, stir, add the coriander. Eat.

Shut the fuck up

After having heroin watched True Blood for hours, I really needed some sleep. I cuddled down under the duvet and snuggled my nose deep into my new super smooth pillow. Ahhhhh. Sleep. That most divine healer of everything. I could feel the ecstasy of drowsiness decent upon me when...

Shut up! Shuuuuuuuut up! Shuuuut the FUCK up!

It was the crazy lady from opposite sticking her head out the window, shouting at the top of her lungs. Again. She does this a few times a week. This week she had done it twice already, so I was mighty frustrated that another nights sleep was gonna be interrupted by her hysteric fits. Usually she is set of by someone having a little party. A drift of a giggle. A bit of music. Some clinking of glasses. Nothing much, sounds belonging to the life in a city. I can sleep to that, I can sleep to some girls giggling. I can sleep to some people dancing to music. It is constant sound, you get used to it. And then the bitch starts to howl. Her voice is high-pitched and witch-like. It scares the shit out of me every time she starts.

I have told you to shuuuuut up! Show some respect!

I tip-toed up to the window and lifted the curtain slightly. There she was. A shadow figure leaning half out the window. She moved as if she could see me. I let the curtain fall back, afraid that she'd see me and turn her hate on me. Back in bed, all quiet. Ahhhh. Sleep. That divine...

Shut up! Shuuuuut the fuck up! I will call the police!

Her mad loudness echoed between the brick walls of the courtyard. I started to bang my fists against the mattress. You shut the fuck up lady! You shuuuuuuuut the fuck up! My imaginary self went up to my window, opened it and leaned out. YOU are the one keeping everyone awake! You are the one that disturbs everyones peace! YOU are CRAZY! But not only am I to coward to to this, my window doesn't actually open.

I hope you are happy shouting like that!

A man's voice. Chinese accent. Ohhhhhh! Someone finally shows some courage around here! How exciting.

Oh, why don't you shut up.

She spits it out with disgust.

-

Chicken filets with figs.

Fry the chicken with cherry tomatoes and quite a lot of garlic. Put a handful of fresh basil leaves on there for the last minute and a dash of lemon. Serve with rocket salad and ginger yoghurt (put chopped up rocket and ginger in a bowl with some salt and stir) and two figs, each cut into four pieces. Yum.

Double Up

I have a new doctor. His name is: Dr. PJ.

Hahahahaha! Isn't that great? I had to love him before even meeting him. Doctor Pajamas! That just cracks me up. Anyway, the acupuncturist Dr. Pajamas told me I most likely do not have candida. That's good news, I thought, still not understanding the magnitude of the information and what that would mean.

I don't think you have candida, Dr. PJ said. You look far too healthy. Tongue.

I stretched out my tongue.

Uhu, I said.

So I don't want you to be on that strict diet, Dr PJ said.

Ok, I said, so what do you want me to do?

He stuck another needle in my stomach.

I want you to just avoid dairy and grain products for six weeks, he said.

I can do that, I said. Could you please take the heavy towel off the needle on my hand, it hurts, I said then.

And then it dawned on me. Scheisse. Coffee.

Sooooooo... I started, is coffee a possibility on this diet of yours?

I had to hold my breath in anticipation.

How's your breathing? he asked then, noticing my lack of oxygen intake. Is it always this bad?

Very shallow, I said, finally taking a breath. Not a sporty person.

Coffee? He said. Sure, a cup a day. Without milk, obviously.

You know when something really really good happens to you, something so good you never thought it would happen to you, but it does, and you are left speechless, in a sort of silent reverie, a humble appreciation of the magic of life and all its gifts. That's how I felt.

Miss Bruckner? Miss Bruckner! he shouted.

Oh, what? Yes? I said drunkenly.

You will have to do some sport. Your body produces too much adrenalin at the moment. Very important. Sport.

Shit.

***

My first real coffee in four weeks:

A double espresso from Monmouth Coffee.