My grandmother died at the age of 65. Every morning she did exercises in front of the tv that was always on. After her funeral, it was on a Saturday, I bought my first classical lp’s in a thrift store: Dvorcak, The new world, and Arthur Rubinstein playing Chopin. I do not remember it as a sad day. Last week there was a post on social media. It contained like twelve pictures of happily smiling celebrities with the text: this is how depression looks like. They all had committed suicide. I am reading ‘Een zee van Ruimte. Notities van een tussenmens’ by Lara Billie Rense. It’s like about me.
So we are here now. Starting our holidays at my sister-in-law’s place. Where my sister-in-law is, and my niece. They are nice people and they talk a lot. I decided to be kind as well ( unless I will be called miss or a lady ) and try to do my thing, or thang when I may speak slang. I can eavesdrop like crazy or wear my headphones.
We hebben onszelf overtroffen. We have outdone ourselves. It’s like imploding by cause of success. Which it wasn't. My existence seems to get a little bit more real. It sounds somewhat cheesy, sorry for that. It’s in the word existence. This morning I suddenly had the thought that I should be the first person to not be taken for granted, by myself, being sixty and just getting started. Don’t want to be too dramatic. I bought a Charlie Parker record with salted peanuts and big foot, and per accident my sister in law is giving me her old Technics SL-QD33 recordplayer. She wants to buy a far better one. I like this very much. It feels like being rich.
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