Very Interesting meaning you are boring me to death

June has been such a fascinating month. I've learned a lot traveling, flying over to Berlin to mark my 40th. I was looking at the infrastructures but mostly observing the people. Going to museums cost money but as we walk along the streets, take the trains from west to east, listening to the language that I should at least know a bit, opened up a whole new meaning to fascinating. Our minds are broadened by embarking on journeys and discovering new places.

Since my psyche was occupied with a lot of stuff prior to our flight, I didn't prepare an itinerary. We were able to wing it, this is my trip (World Cup or not), my husband is quite brilliant with direction whilst my spatial awareness needs work. Our hotel was walking distance to the Berlin Wall and that in itself tick the box. The roads are wide and spacious and has spaces allotted mainly for bicycles.

It's expensive in Berlin. But it's an efficient, organised city, an aspiration for the wannabes.

turning of the pox

I'm in another box, almost old age box. Age is maybe a number. But what one accumulates through the passage of time is so-called wisdom. The kind of wisdom that can only be acquired through experiences.
Aargh! Ya di ya ya.

Gripes.

I had chicken pox recently and I still have the scars on my face. Scars that will never fade nor vanish. I hate it when people who had childhood chicken pox don't even attempt to feign concern. It's absurd to emphatise when one feels a void of nothing.

Polin meanwhile, (big shot Polin) who I just bumped through the corridors at work related her own adult chicken pox experience. She had rigours, chills, pain. She felt what I felt. In just one minute, she made me feel better.

Then my nuclear family went to Berlin for a couple of days, just to see for myself how a leading country of the EU maintains its lifestyle. From what I could gather staring at the the deluge of modern art and architecture encapsulating the city, affluence clearly looks great, capitalism at its best.

the things in June

When I developed adult chicken pox two weeks ago, I felt my world collapsing. My mucus membranes developed spots and my pain score was three. I was shivering. I had rigours. I was in tears.

I missed my mom, who saved my existence when I had the measles at eight (which ruined second grade for me). Here, with no mother and no friends, it's a vacuum of melancholia. I have my husband but he works and he'd rather be with his friends on the eve of his birthday. And do we really have friends in adulthood? Everybody has children or live far away. So I cried and forgot my paracetamol.

When my mom had a stroke in 1998 at 52, her friends visited but to help her with personal care? They considered it too intimate an undertaking for someone who's just a friend. It's the daughter or a sister that assist in carrying the load when we're sick, that is the norm. It all depends on one's relationship dynamics.

My husband and a colleague asked, why didn't I try to acquire chicken pox in childhood? I just didn't get it, people. The younger brothers had them but I was not inflicted. I could have a vaccine, but I wasn't organise enough to schedule an injection in the last decade. You're lucky if you had them when you were young, it means you didn't have to suffer.
Whilst I had to experience meanness from the hands of those with no souls.