A slightly older fragment, but I still quite like it:

I kill my dreams. I tell them to run and never come back.
Why would I want to smell the roses? Their scent only confuses me, riddles me into submission.
Wherever I go, they pound on my door, but never come back out into the light. I walk the night alone. Dreams are for dreamers.

One day into the work week, and already I'm desperate for some me-time and a good night's rest...

But at least the tropical temperatures are over!

Oh well, good or bad, it's time to head out and earn my (rapidly dispearing) income... I swear, there's a hole in my bank account!

Have a good Wednesday!

Don't touch me. I know you're there, but you do not own me, not yet. You cannot take my mind and turn it into a waiting room for the inevitable. You used to try and hide, behind a corner when I was walking or behind the window when I was at home. Now you stand there looking at me, saying nothing except tick tock. I fight you, throw sticks and stones at you. But what use is it fighting the emptiness from which we came and which will reclaim us. I cannot win, I can only hide in distraction. The sun is black, the sky empty and yet it rains in my head. I am tormented. Won't you let me forget? Rebuild that wall that kept me sane and protected from the flood. It's hard to see the void and not be swept away. We run and hide and run again, into the storm, never escaping the unavoidable. The sky will fall on our heads. The darkness behind my smile, it's in my eyes but no one sees.

Lost son

Shuffling of heavy limbs
Eyes exuding a weary light
They guide me to the window
They point across the meadow

The third stone from the left
A white cross
Between two bent oak trees

Well-worn binoculars on the window sill
Echo the story of their knotted hands

The leaning sentinels bow their heads to the wind
Green leaves shivering

Opposing worlds bound
By an unseen looking glass

On each side of the window
They stand
Rooted in their grief

Arms reaching out
A familiar silhouette flickers between them

Sometimes it's about the simple pleasures:

- bath room renovation: finally having a toilet that flushes properly

- a day off work: sleeping in and enjoying some quality time alone

Yup, to quote Nina Simone: it's a new dawn, it's a new day, and I'm feeling good

I'm usually quite self sufficient where computers are concerned: troubleshooting problems myself, installing programs myself, etc. My colleagues even turn to me when they have problems. Not because I necessarily know what the problem is, I'm simply very proficient at testing every possible option, opening every menu,...
But when my computer at home started rebooting itself continuously, I knew it was beyond my skills.

My BF (electronics engineer) puzzled for a long time, but couldn't find a solution, except formatting my computer and reinstalling everything. Luckily I have back-ups of my data.

Being the ungrateful being that I am I managed to:
- hassle him instead of thank him
- blow a fuse when I had to print out a document first thing in the morning (he was still sleeping) and discovered he had forgotten to install the necessary driver

It's not easy living with me

But when I discovered this morning that he had stolen my computer mouse, my only option was REVENGE. Not finding my own mouse, I just walked over to his computer and stole his mouse

Tonight, for the second time, I took a bath in our new bathroom. Well, that's what I was imagining at least as I closed my eyes. The bathroom renovation started three weeks ago, but we still only have partly tiled walls and a bath tub. No taps, no sink, no toilet, no cupboard. But after three years in an ugly bathroom with only a shower, we're going in the right direction! I love soaking till my fingers are wrinkly

Another Monday morning, another start of the work week... And once again I really don't want to... It's against my principles to live from weekend to weekend, life passes too rapidly already, yet I keep feeling that I'm wasting my life.

Yup, Mondays are great for existential questions. Anyway, my tooth brush awaits, so 'till next time!

I've always been interested in antiques, ever since I started watching the BBC Antiques Roadshow with my parents as a child. So when there was an antiques fair nearby and I received free tickets, it was a no brainer to go there and torture myself: looking at beautiful things I couldn't buy.

Upon entering the fair, I immediately noticed a beautiful, early art nouveau, plant stand. Being shy by nature, I admired it from afar. But after having done the tour of the art fair, I was drawn back to this beautiful piece of furniture. BF took pity on me and approached the vendor and asked the price. The vendor didn't want to say at first, because he already had a likely buyer for it, but eventually said: "around 30000 euro".

No, that's not a typo, a three and four zeros... I was shocked, obviously. But BF's reaction was priceless: with a straight face, he went "ah yes, it's a lovely piece". Crazy, just crazy.

A few weeks later, I was walking around Bruges with my parents, a Sunday walk, when we came across an antiques market. Where I promptly fell in love with a peculiar little art deco table. Apprehensive considering the previous experience, I hardly dared ask the price. My mom came to the rescue, and I ended up buying the table for 43 euros. Pretty doesn't always mean expensive

With a little polish, it now fits nicely in our living room:

Writing is my survival.

One year ago, I decided to do something with my dream of becoming a writer. After all, what good is dreaming about it if I don't actually write? So I enrolled myself in a creative writing course.

One year later: I've followed two creative writing courses, I always have a notebook with me in case I feel inspired or if I need to take notes of certain observations which strike me. I'm starting to look out for literary competitions, knowing that I have more 'drive' when there are deadlines, and even literary scholarships. But most importantly, even if I don't always write regularly, I find that writing soothes my (very sensitive) nerves and calms me down in difficult times. I can spend hours looking for exactly the right word, it gives me focus and purpose.

Whether or not I have enough talent (and luck) to become a published artist, time will tell, but at least writing is the only road of sanity for me.