Zustand

The first blog post from someone who never "blogs." I almost want to keep it a secret, like the little boy who says he hates reading, gets sick, comes across a good novel, and secretly reads it under the covers, embarrassed, hoping his mom won't catch him reading and make a big deal over it.
Or like the kid in Green Eggs and Ham.
Anyway.

I'm Anna and I live in Germany as an exchange student. I first attended language school in Cologne, then moved to Erfurt for university and will start an internship here in my field (Journalism, International Studies) in February. I'm here on a scholarship called Congress-Bundestag Youth Exchange, which I received after having interned for the Arts section of the alternative newsweekly New Times in California, where I grew up.

Slowing down a bit.

It is 3:04 in Erfurt and as it is Saturday and Winter, I have yet to go outside. It will be dark soon anyway. Right now the snow looks pretty from here. The Knife is playing softly. My hair still smells vaguely of cigarettes from last night, despite this morning's washing. More empty water glasses than necessary are within an arm's reach, a weird habit I couldn't seem to leave behind in California.

Blogs are awkward things. Public diaries. I always insisted I wasn't the blogging type. I'm an editor, a reviser, a proofreader (not, like, for money). I don't just press a button and subject my innermost thoughts to the criticism of the world.

Public bathrooms are often public diaries too.

But back to criticism. Criticism is really not as bad as the overwhelming sea of indifference. Some people really couldn't care less. At least criticism means someone looked closely enough to find a fault.
Plus, there are so many blogs out there. Everyone's out baring their souls, some more eloquently than others. Do I really want to join the pretentiathon (sound it out; it makes sense!)?

Yes, and yes.

I came across the rather unwieldy title for this blog in 2005 at breakfast in the Swiss Alps. I was working at the Ecole d'Humanite, an international boarding school. In the Esssaal, as we called it, I was (doing probably a rather bad job of) supervising my assigned table. The teacher in charge of the table next to me was trying to engage his breakfasting students by posing questions about human existence. The students only grunted with vague thoughtfulness through mouthfuls of muesli.

Suddenly he stood up and went, "Listen children, I do not philosophize every morning!" As if they were missing a lunar eclipse, shooting star, volcanic eruption or other natural phenomena. Something about his outburst appealed to me, and I saved it in my brain. I think it is called remembering. Then when I was setting up this blog I somehow couldn't get around this statement. The idea that an inspired thought should not be missed or wasted or taken for granted.

I began to think thusly:

It's not pretension to think one's ideas need attention, as the inspiree is not 100% in control of his or her inspirations. Sometimes they just show up at the breakfast table asking to be channeled, packaged in words and shared. I began to think that inspired thoughts do not belong to us, we merely bundle them up against the chill of indifference and misunderstanding and send them along.

But I digress. It's getting dark now. I'm starting a blog and I don't care who doesn't care.


Notes:
1. Zustand: status, condition, situation
2. The author used "thusly" on purpose and is aware of stuffy it sounds.
3. Photo: Cologne, looking over the Rhine from atop the Dom.
A foggy morning.