i've finally started progressing with my novel again. i am not sure i'll manage the 50.000; too far am i away from any goals i should have reached already. but well, i'll still try somehow. it's too interesting so far. a bizarre thing, this fast food novel writing, my brain has picked up all these bits and pieces from people around me, places i have been and melted them together into these characters and places that have taken on a life of their own, quite strange.

it's not biographical, at all, thankfully, because i'd just suck at that and wouldn't manage to read it, ever again. yet these characters i have come up with are just so familiar, behaving in familiar ways, yet also resolving matters never resolved in real life. i notice revenge, too. it's been satisfying, almost, finally resolving that break-up scene i've been wanting to do unto one of my characters. i wonder what his real life blueprints (all three of them, in fact) were to think if they read about him. would they recognize themselves?

i remember stumbling over thorsten's published stories early this year, worrying, for a milisecond, that i might be in them (yes, how narcistic of me), but of course, i wasn't. but what would i have done if i had been?

i have been travelling down memory lane a little as a result of this writing and thinking, and it's been strange, these google searches that came up with new things, reading what i've chronicled about past events, longing for my old paper journals to see whether i do remember correctly.

again, as often this time of the year, my thoughts go to frank quite a bit (& inevitably thorsten, too, so intertwined is it all) - this time around 8 years ago, i met frank for the first time, and it's been 6 years since i last heard of him, saw him. no "sort of" resolution as with thorsten 2 years ago, and that just makes me wonder, from time to time, whether i ever left an imprint in his life, whether he ever thinks of me, whether he still has that tape i gave him, the letters we sent, whether he remembers the discussions we had, whether he remembers that wednesday afternoon in may. i wonder whether whoever runs their website checks their stats, notices these regular searches for his full name and tells him about it.

i am sure if i knew he did ocassionally remember me, in a friendly way, my obsessive thoughts would return less frequently. but i don't know, and really do not feel like checking whether he does...
*it is* all i want, really, not to be forgotten by someone who used to be important for me. wondering about it hurts far less than realising that he does not remember me.

something woke me up
must have been the rain
and for no good reason here you are
inside my head again

i know i won't go back to sleep now
i'm in a mood
must be the midnight rain, the midnight rain

so i get up and wander around
in my dressing gown
put the kettle on, some music too
but not too loud 'cause the neighbours complain
so i keep it soft and low just about the sound
of the midnight rain, midnight rain

what coast are you on? what country?
is it raining there? is it morning or midnight?
are you walking barefoot or have you got your shoes on?
is there somebody there with you?
are you talking soft and low underneath the sound
of the midnight rain, midnight rain?
i just want you to know where ever you are
where ever you go
i hope you're under a lucky star
where ever you are

"midnight rain" ~paul kelly~