Verträumt, träumerisch

As usual so much stuff to write, but those thoughts once past don't come back to let one write them down, they just fade in and out of one's mind.

Ich bin ein Tagträumer, so kann man sagen auf Deutsch. I like to write things down, all manner of things, as I might have mentioned before, I keep a neat little notebook of all the important things. Then I write random private thoughts in my diary. And when I want to own up to no one in particular, no one I know, I write here. So I am a daydreamer. I write stuff. My thoughts.

Can I say perhaps, that my life is going well, the real life and not the life that floats around like clouds in my daydreams? I hold on to my writings and my notebooks and my little things like they are markers of my existence, in the real life and in the life of daydreams. All that stuff that I wrote down is already there, but I am afraid to lost the writings and with that the stuff and perhaps one of my lives. I flip them open often and maybe I do so obsessively, just to see the stuff and the writings, and to assure myself that they're still there. So the real life goes on well perhaps, but the life of daydreams goes on floating forever.

My life of daydreams lets me know that I am forever a wannabe. I wanna be all the stuff that I write down, but I may never get there. I wonder about Dan and the paper guys and girls I see on this flatness and I dream up full-bodied lives for them, based on what I wanna be and not so much what they really are, for I don't know that, don't know that at all. I wanna be in Buffalo, in some place, in all places except in no place. I click through link after link on Dan, his friends, dreaming up romantic lives and runaway stories. And I wonder and wonder, blurring reality and dreams. And I wanna be loving my friends too, like all that I imagine.

Today is Sunday, if I'm not at tennis, I spend it with my thoughts - in this way as a friend of mine would say I am a self-centred person. I went through some old books today and I came across a map of Malaysia. I realize whenever I see such a map, I recall the little days wending up the old highways, those days when I was but little.

I read an issue of The Economist recently, they write well and they had a obituary for Christopher Nolan, will see if I can transcribe it here sometime. Also the New York Times Magazine writers do brilliantly too.