Yes I know, this is old news, getting organized did not make me happy. I thought it would, but I was wrong. Now I’m both unfit for society and at the same time creatively challenged. Creatively challenged, and I do mean that. There does seem to be a certain state of mind that “Adi is a creative person”, but really, I haven’t really created anything.

It’s also to do with not being able to sit down still. I should probably be taking ritalin, but apparently it was never prescribed to me for other reasons. Maybe to do with my Tourettes Syndrome, as my mom once said or otherwise. I do certainly believe that it should have been.

My attention span is very short even when it comes tasks I otherwise enjoy doing. Getting myself away from stimulants doesn’t seem to help much as I just get bored and start thinking all sorts of stuff.

It’s horrible. I come up with amazing hypotheses about human nature, the universe, etc. and yet they all boil down to just being plain dangerous. Dangerous thoughts.

When I sit down to write about those things however, I end up, again, losing concentration, disinterested, unmotivated or otherwise just at a general lack of things to say after some point.

Trying to sit down and force myself to write this post is in itself a challenge.

Last night I found myself wandering around town for about two hours. I was trying to make myself walking into gay bars, to no avail. If there’s nobody pushing me, it’s not going to be done, period. Even if I want it, need it, or otherwise - if there’s no person to directly tell me what to do - I just won’t be able to make myself do it.

I guess to some extent it was also for my own sake, going to gay bars (or trying for that matter) but the main idea was to try to complete my social anthropology paper, which requires me to do fieldwork.

Maybe it was a poor choice of subject, but I couldn’t think of anything else. I ended up choosing something which:

• I know I should have done
• Which I don’t do on a regular basis

or otherwise

• which I’ve never done
• and which I wish to do

The problem is, I walk up there, and the moment I see the door, I do a 180 and retrace my steps.

That’s when it occurred to me, that I really have a serious problem. An emotional block. A fear of crowded places. Something about them, and I wish I knew what it is, makes me feel subconsciously incompatible and neglected, and in turn I will resort to confining myself somewhere away from “real live people.”

I had a vague notion that I can’t walk into those places on my own and therefor tried to ask a friend for help. She accepted, and so we were supposed to meet with two others at Nørreport station, 20:00. Terribly early, even for me. But then again, they just wanted to check the place out. As long as I walk through the door, fine by me. I can make a few notes, write some paragraph and come up with something to fit the data like a good Pith-Helmet wearing anthropologist.

I practically ran to Nørreport, and surprisingly enough, arrived on time.

Funny thing is, the moment the little yellow LEDs around the door opening button, I received a message saying: “I’ll be late.”

Be late, I don’t mind.

Another person came at that point. He was actually on time. He told me, in these very words, “when [she] says she’ll be there at 8, she means she’ll be out of the house at 8.” And there’s your problem. While I’m rushing to get my things together, make sure I catch the bus on time and so on, she simply did not care.

That was not the time to get angry, not yet. The rest came, 20 minutes late, and we started walking towards “Dunkel.” On our way there, we saw Jailhouse and Masken. Unfortunately, Dunkel was closed.

Now, instead of being - excuse me for using this word in the same sentence with those irresponsible children - practical; they went back to Nørreport station to see “the others.” The others were of course more irresponsible teenagers with alcohol problems.

I couldn’t stand it any longer, and at Gammel Torv I simply made the decision to just go on my own and try to do some fieldwork somewhere.

And that’s how I ended up on the streets for two hours.

I eventually gave up and decided to just start walking aimlessly, ending up on Kultorvet, as that friend who originally wanted me to go out finally managed to get in contact with me. I took the plunge and laid the cards on the table - which I don’t do very often. I said that I have a problem, that if I don’t get pushed to do things I just won’t do them, and that I need help. Quite literally, I asked for help. To be perfectly honest, it doesn’t happen very often that I actually ask for help and not imply it or otherwise.

“Just come to the Austrian Bar.” She explained me how to get there, and I went.

Of course, they won’t let me get in, having only my diplomat ID and not much besides. Not much I was willing to show at any rate. I tried calling her, to no avail. 15 minutes later, she walks out voluntarily without me being reaching her phone (not because I wasn’t trying).

The next 30 minutes we spent switching between arbitrary modes, goals and targets:

• “Where’s Person X?”
• “Where should we go?” (my opinion was of course not taken into account)
• My pleas to have someone push me around
• Dealing with the bouncer over at Retro

The resolution about where to go after long sessions of argument was of course: No resolution.

This whole absolute failure in management, organization and fucking common sense made me think. I would have been doing just that had it not been for the fact that I now knew how to organize myself. I could no longer fit in the group because I simply could not stand the lack of authority and structure as well as the general mood of indecision.

I don’t actually belong with them, I figured. Will I ever go out again? I might as well, but probably not with these guys, and most certainly not with a group of more than 3 people including myself.

It’s not that much fun unless you drink. Problem is, I can drink at home and get 3 times more work done than by hanging out with these guys. I genuinely hate society.

Ridiculous how I managed to write this thing. Problem is I’m supposed to do about five other things at the moment.

I really like to have control over who I’m actually around. There are certain people I dislike, and simply don’t want around me. This definition somehow comes to include pretty much all of the people I know with the exception of suppose 3-5 people.

I need a holiday, I need the company of certain people (one in particular), I need to get away from those I don’t like.

I know I can’t lock myself up in some wrench down in Jylland with all the people I want to be around, and that’s exactly what bothers me. When it so happens that I ask for help, nothing happens. It’s all the same whether or not I take part in it. I’m not committing suicide just yet, I still have a book to write, whenever I get down to doing it, and there’s maybe one person out there whom I promised I won’t do just that, and I, unlike some people, do keep promises.

Tagged as: annoying, emotional, experiment, friends, life, party, productivity, society, sociology, story, waste-of-time

A rumor found its way to me, that my neighbor is using the house this weekend for a party. Now of course I’m interested in coming. Who wouldn’t mind, when your neighbor is a blond in the earlier years of her life, and a couple of centimeters shorter than you.

In the past I was pretty mean to my neighbors. I had mentioned earlier that I do not regret it, and yet, now I feel as if I might be regretting doing so, and yet, I still don’t regret it.

Why? Well, at the time, it was a perfectly valid judgement. My logic had no apparent, perceivable flaws, no apparent design faults. It was a smooth elegant plan, justified for its purpose and cause. True. It might have been somewhat stirring, and possibly immoral, but it worked. It worked and fulfilled its purpose down to the last goal. It was, in the scope of the problem in itself, reasonable.

Why might I be regretting it? Possibly due to, first of all, ruining the fun. She probably had a good talk with her mother, evidently - no parties in months. Every now and then, some friends might come over, but there was no more smoking in the hallway, no more yelling and no more doors opening and closing for every group of four noisy teens wanting to get a few puffs of their cigarettes. But then again, she was now being restricted. Who am I to tell her what to do, that’s one thing, but I don’t want to chop her wings off.

I was informed at around 6:00 PM that day, the party had started about three hours afterwards. During those three hours, I went around the house in a daze considering whether I should go or not.

She sure didn’t like me, I thought. After what I’ve done to her, putting the gag on her parties. Trying would be superfluous, unneeded, and unwelcome

My social transformation. I can’t stop it, just yet. I’m filling out the percentages slowly, but with great certainty, and might just reach the (mostly undefinable) goal of gaining a “place within the social structure.” Stopping now would be pointless. It was just the beginning. It’s like a pet. Even if you do feel like killing it, you’re not going to be able to get yourself to, instead, you’ll just wait for it to die on its own, so you don’t have to feel guilty for terminating the poor creature. Not making an attempt was in fact, not an option.

Just to be sure, I put about eight Bacardi Breezer, my favorite “alcohol soft-drink” (I guess you could put it that way) as of today, inside a supermarket bag. It would be harder to refuse when you’re brining something over.

I put on my newly baught cologne which I’d realized after a while that I simply put too much of, since my eyes began to sore slightly, but I sure did smell good. I got out o the house, and went towards the next door.

For a minute, I was just standing in front of the door, considering, until I heard, all of a sudden, the bell ringing.

Similarly to apartment where I live, you can’t tell the front door from the apartment’s door. It’s the same ring. Same sound. No difference.

She heard the doorbell. So did I, which meant that I could do one of two things, either I’ll just get a sudden burst of sheepishness and run away, or, just use it as a sort of a way to combat that problem - a catalyst analogous to someone putting a hand on your shoulder when you’re about to do something stupid enough to get you in prison. I chose the latter.

She ran to the door in heavy steps in those loud shoes that she wore, and opened the door. I didn’t recognize her, mostly because I never had a good look at her face.. There I was, standing in front of her.

“Hi. Would it be alright if I joined, I’m your next door neighbor,” I started, “I brought some drinks too, and got some more at home, I mean..”

She wore a black dress of some interesting semi-formal design, of some material resambling velvet, and at the same time simple cotton. Smooth hair, unnatural blond as far as I could tell, perfectly combed with a little white line, revealing her scalp, on the left side of her head. Interestingly revealing the dress was, and more interesting was why she wore it, but it sure wasn’t because her breast was exceptionally interesting - below average, nothing interesting enough to show in a display case. Not a work of art, but she just had it. Imperfect in a good old human way.

“Well, you see. It’s only for close friends.” Her accent was unmistakably foreign, but she was exceptionally good for a second language. It was that common universal American-like accent.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s just for my close friends…”

She knew how to come up with excuses on the fly. But she was good at it, good enough to make me understand that she just won’t let me join, and pressure won’t help. The least I could do, was be nice to her. “By the way, happy birthday. October 23rd, right?”

“Right. You too,” she smiled, “I heard you had yours not so long ago too.” And indeed, my birthday was two weeks ago, four days before hers. She didn’t hate me.

“The next time you’re having a party or something don’t hesitate to invite me over, I’m really bored out of my mind on weekends, usually, and I’d be happy if you had invited me to one of your parties, you know.” Squeezing the last couple of drops before you throw something in the bin is always a good idea.

She gave me a general interjection, as if to agree, substituting a nod.

“Goodbye, then.” I said and started going towards my door, keys in one hand, supermarket bag in the other.

“Bye.” She said and slammed the door, exactly the way I was used to hear in my bedroom.

Rejection.

I believed her, and at the same time didn’t want to believe her. I’d much rather to think of her as a bitch than to think of myself as a loser.

Even if she did do it on purpose, I can’t blame her, you know what.

The only question is what excuse to use next.

Tagged as: analysis, life, neighbor, party, story