How I managed to make…out of a dozen bitter sweet oranges….metaphorically speaking…carrot juice today, I do not know. I don’t even drink vegetable juice.
Probably only one of the many talents I posses, to balance my flaws.
At least, some people have the guts to lie me in the face…it is better than telling the truth over the phone, or not at all.
Job interview on Friday…my second…kinda.
When I told my mother the good news, she was well reserved, listening to everything I had to say – the German way hmmm -…just for this one moment near the end of our conversation:
She then mentioned that my dead grandfather’s sister died on Saturday. Truth must be said: the news haven’t had me in tears…still it struck a chord when I heard my mother’s voice breaking…that we are not even invited to the funeral – ”only close relatives and family”…my mother always used to send cards to her…she phoned in good and bad…..and yet….we are very obviously not close to the family enough.
However, it hit me somehow…not on the surface in the post office….I never liked this old lady anyway but found her house ever so peculiar….you had to walk up fifty stairs along a narrow corridor to get to their main door…most fascinating in a child’s eyes. It hurt me because my mother was hurt, it hurt me because my mother took it so hard to be shut out of the little social happenings in our family: funerals.
Late bus home.