Good news: M is feeling better. She is still tied to her hospital bed but might be dismissed at end of next week. I have a small present for her. It's the latest novel of Dimitri Verhulst "De helaasheid der dingen". I hope she'll like it. I would - by the way - recommend it to anyone who reads Flemish.


Today is the last day of my 30th year. I've said goodbye to it as to a friend that moves to a far away land.

It's knowing that your door is always open and your path is free to walk ...
.. through cupped hands 'round a tin can
I pretend to hold you to my breast and find
that you're waving from the backroads
by the rivers of my memory
ever smiling, ever gentle on my mind

- Glen Campbell

Turning 30 is pure horror for most of the people I know who are my age. But they've got it all wrong. What a bliss to be 30, free and healthy! Admittedly not all my choises in life were ideal. But at least they were mine and if they hurt I found a cure. This first year in my 30-ies I chose a new job, invested in a mini place for myself and learned to hit a tennisbal. I dated one guy for longer than a night though I did not get involved emotionally. I hope it won't turn out to be the cure I found for burning love : a cold, cold heart.

My boss told me I should stop holding off chances. She's wrong. I've used lots of them and they sent me from Italy to Germany, from the US back to my beloved homebase.
But when we're talking men, she's close to a thing called truth. I'm the kind of girl that is only active when anonymous. I don't commit to anything that is male, in between 25&45 and looking for a stable household. Now, that's holding off chances allright.

Why didn't I go back to the bar where last Sunday je tappais ce monsieur dans l'oeil?
Why didn't I kiss my colleague when I had the chance?
Why don't I cry over all this spilled milk?

Because I feel I'm not missing out on anything.
Welcome 31. We're gonna have a good time tonight. Let's celebrate. It's allright.

Friday after work I visited M in hospital. My weekend started with a shock. How can life be so cruel to so young a lady? I couldn't stay longer than half an hour because she was too tired and short of breath. It struck me that I live without a sense of mortality of the young.

That might not be a bad thing.
M might still get well.

C19H28O2

Today I felt like a man. I thought about sex every three minutes. What a buzz!

What's going on? The production of the magic hormon C19H28O2 must be at a peak. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, it's the hormone that protects you from cellulite, that stimulates your immune system and helps women produce oestrogen. O yes. Testosteron. Give it to my baby.

The life of modern times verile men must be living hell. What happens when you think 480 times about sex a day? Now I know. You can't concentrate during meetings. I'm looking at my colleagues and thinking what they'd be like in private. They talk and I'm not listening. I'm staring. Thinking, think-ing, th-ink-ing. Whoops. You were saying? ... You don't even care if the object of your lust is goodlooking or tall. I swear to God, if you are thinking about sex every three minutes of the day, they can wear white socks, be bald or have no taste for humour whatsoever, you'd still give it a try.

But then there's the men that really interest you. The ones you imagine actually having a conversation with when the veil of lust is lifted and you find yourselves a bit maladroit with all your wanting. I can think of 4 men that I would want to sleep with right now and talk to in the morning - or whenever I would be able to open my eyes once I get some decent sleep. Three of them I know from work and the other one I met yesterday. Like that. He came over to talk to me and I couldn't stop talking back. When I left he asked me whether he would see me back and I said: "yes, probably" - I am full of words and my action well is running dry. Still, big chance that he will trace me down. I looked like a million bucks yesterday. It's all that testosteron, I tell you. Mamma mia.