There's a book series called City-lit, where a city is explored through excerpts from various other books to chart the feeling of a particular space at different times. I just finished reading the book on Berlin, and together with watching 24h Berlin, and my father totalling his car in Berlin, well, the city is coming to me although I am very far removed physically from it.
This waiting around for something, anything, to happen is making me feel like an animal trapped in a cage that it could pimp out and make super comfortable but now cannot leave until a freaking earthquake comes and shatters the bars. Slightly over exaggerated, sure, but waiting for things to happen is not programmed into me. Fuck all the chilling and cleaning and baking and cooking and planning Taaltandem (which takes 3 minutes) because I'd rather be busy.
On the other hand, I know this is the moment to be patient. Pro-active, yes, but patient. Wait to hear from Japan, wait to hear from Goethe, wait to hear from Germany, wait to hear from Sandton, wait to hear. WAIT. WAIT. Ugh. Wait.
Enjoy the chilling, who knows when you can chill again and won't have to get up before 10 AM on a weekday. Enjoy the possibility of nothing. Tell yourself stupid things like this to somehow infuse your life with the tiniest level of importance.
Ja. And in the meantime be thankful for friends like K who keep you in the loop and organise jobs for you and drink wine with you in the cinema because otherwise Lincoln would be unbearably boring and give you Macadamia-nut-butter and help you make a gift for your grandmother and are really great.
So great they make you bake cookies with hearts, from this recipe, which fails a bit but remains tasty.