Diary of stable, responsible and wholesome lifestyle choices


A few days later my S.O. and I made out a plan about how to turn this horrible grandma aesthetics moodboard into an actual living space.
Meanwhile, the old landlady would spam me randomly with mails (I once asked her via mail how the cleaning lady is doing and if we could start to move our stuff in). I bet some of you guys have at least one old person in their family who uses glittery bad executed and corny E cards for whatever occasion? Or those really bad made E-stickers inside their mails? (she actually used this website https://www.witchtree-grusskarten.de/. Don’t click it unless you want to die from eye cancer)
I was creeped out beyond compare not only because of her bad taste but also about the nature of her mails in which she would ask me if I was lucky with my husband or if I got the message she channeled to me via Angel, etc.

My S.O. and I just moved in all our personal belongings in boxes to that appartment when I received a not so good call from my mother. You know, those calls that you would receive either in the middle of the night or very early in the morning…never good calls. I knew that something bad must’ve happened before I picked up the call. My grandma had passed away only two days after I officially moved out. I felt bad because I was her caregiver the last couple of months (my dad and his brothers worked far away from home and they couldn’t be present when her health declined so it was me who visited her several times a day in the hospital and talked with the doctors about what would be possible and what not) and I left her with the words “Next time I visit you you’ll be out of here again.” I was not THAT wrong, because the next time I saw her she was already cremated…
My parents wanted me to not throw myself right into a car and taking a turn towards home since it wouldn’t change anything. They promised me to take care of the burial preparations (which was kind of another story, haha). So we continued to drive back and forth between his parents house and our new home until nothing was left to move.
The cleaning lady must have been terribly impaired in vision AND her movements because when we inspected our new appartment further we came to the conclusion that everything was as dusty and stale as we left it the last time.


for some weird reason it came to me that I’ve always felt a certain kind of fondness towards wounds. Their colouring, state, depth and “execution” always had something rather poetical and alluring to me,like patterns or painted lines. I don’t know why I think about it right now but for some reason I wanted to write it down


Back to our little storytime with a question attached:
How many carpets do you think can a house have?

Things that we noticed before and shortly after we moved in:
everything is really old and bad cared for and dusty.

Things that we noticed after we moved in:
the carpets are smelling disgusting. And we had a fucking lot of carpets in that appartment.
Picture this: one bedroom, two living rooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, a toilet room and a hallway. The only rooms without a load of persian carpets had been the bathroom and the toilet room. Each and every other crevice of this appartment was FLOODED with persian carpets. OLD and STINKY persian carpets. Layered, like you have a normal carpet, a huge persian carpet and on top of that several small persian carpets.
In every fucking room, even in the kitchen. And no, they weren’t restricted to live on the floor alone. They also hanged on the fucking walls, inside some cabinets and on shelfs (for example you had a shelf, a tiny carpet on that shelf, a little bowl on that carpet and INSIDE the bowl another even tinier carpet!!!).
It was nuts. Fucking carpet-ception. And I bet my ass to this very day that none of these carpets had ever received a proper cleansing since they were bought.

Guys, I’m not allergic to dust. But staying inside this appartment for longer than a hour turned my S.O. and me into ruby-eyed, coughing and sneezing zombies. Instead of unboxing our belongings we ravaged trough the house with a vacuum cleaner to get rid of all that decade old dust, to no avail.
We must get rid of those fucking carpets, but of course we weren’t allowed to simply bring them down into the cellar. Because those persian carpets were legit and authentic handmade pieces, priceless (BS, that shit was made out of synthetic - my parents once owned such atrocities, too and they weren’t rich).
We noticed, that little critters made themselves at home in these handmade masterpieces. Carpet moths and smaller black insects who would actually bite (my guess: those carpets had fucking fleas).
It took us several hours to roll up these persian tick mats, putting them into huge trash bags and stuffing them into some really nasty wooden trunks that we found in our winter garden. I remember that we had little insect bites all over our bodies after this. The old landlady told us that we can pay a professional cleaning for the carpets if we would complain about the general dirtyness.


On the very same day we decided to just cleanse the shit out of the carpets that were solid glued to the floor. We also removed the heavy and dusty corduroy curtains (brown…) and the 70’s blinds that had been installed to every window (spoiler: somehow the appartment just didn’t got more light).
We bought cans and cans of carpet cleanser. My grandma was dead, the appartment dirty and our bodies insect bitten: at least, I thought, I want to be able to walk on that fucking floor without getting myself a nasty infection today.
As we srubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed the landlady knocked on our door. We wouldn’t answer becaue we hadn’t the nerve to talk to her again (she was one of those persons you have to shove out of your house because she would just stand there and talk without making a move towards the door on herself). Everytime she would knock we would lay down our work and waiting in silence until she left.
After the fourth or fifth time (I’m not really sure anymore) she would simply let herself in: that bitch had a key without us knowing!
We couldn’t let her see what we have done to her persian preciousness so my S.O. jolted to the hallway and did his best to keep her out of the other areas. She almost had a heart attack because
1.: my S.O. and I changed to disposable overalls and anti pollution masks because of the tons of carpet cleanser
2.: her beloved ratchet curtains were gone.

My S.O. was way too polite to simply shoo her away so she made attempts to make her way through the rest of the appartment. I told her that we were short on time and that we had to leave soon. She asked us why this would be. My S.O. then simply stated :“She had a death in the family.”
“Oh no, my dear”, the old lady replied, “who died?”
“My grandma”, I answered, “It was this morning”
“How old was she, dear?” “79”, I replied.
“Ohhh”, the old lady looked somewhat…relieved? “Well, if that’s so…you know, when young people die…THAT’S something REAL to grieve for. I was happy, when my parents died. They were old, too. You must feel happy for your grandma! I had a friend, she died with 39 because of cancer, THAT was sad!”
She petted my fucking head like I was a dog or something during the last sentence.
I was totally speechless. I just stood there, waiting for her old ass to shove itself out of the door again. But it didn’t. She looked at me, with a smile and said: “Dear, you look so strained. You should relax your shoulders a little bit. Here, let me show you!” and then she continued to wiggle at my shoulders.
I was furious. In my mind I could see myself getting jailed for yeeting an old lady down the stairs. RIP.
My S.O. who was kinda dazed by this bizarre spectacle in front of his eyes, snapped back into reality and saved my ass from prison via shoving her gently out of the appartment, telling her that we seriously had to go now.


But think of what a joyous occasion it would have been for her. Being old and dead and all that.


Yeah, I was on the brink of “Oh, your grandchild will be so happy one day” but I pressed my jaws really hard together :sweat_smile:


So, after successfully avoiding a life behind bars we continued to clean up the appartment as good as we could.
We had a lot of armchairs. No one wanted to really sit in them because they were also dusty AF. We decided to cover up everything chair related (why would someone need 14 chairs?) and to reassemble the furniture to open up the space a little bit.
And, oh boy, did we rued this decision.


I’m really enjoying this story. When you mention armchairs I’m thinking what are all those armchairs for? Armchair magicians of course. LOL (sorry it is late)


Walk just behind me, in my shadow
Walk just behind me, never stray


Be right back, you cuties.


Storytime continues

Before I answer the question: “What did Oddnan found inside a drawer?”…

So, there was that. Our nuts landlady had a key to our appartment (it is forbidden via german tenant law for landlords to keep “emergency keys” to your appartment for whatever reason they make up).

I had a bad experience with landlords and keys, once: when I rented a room for my mortician training I could only have a really really small appartment with a lot of blood stains on the carpet (I bet we all lived in something like this at some time in our lives). The landlady ALSO kept the keys because she was arranging a cleaning service for my appartment. I thought “Aw that’s nice”. For exactly 14 days. Then I discovered that not only the appartment wasn’t cleaned at all but also that the landlady crept her fingers into my personal belongings AND that she took all of my precious returnable bottles (all hail the german Pfandflaschensystem) to cash them in herself (she was driving a fucking Bentley SUV!!!). On another time I would come home, opening my appartment door only to find some arabian dude in my room, visibly scared that I could enter the door so easily. The landlady interfered our little staring contest by explaining that she “only switched the rooms” since he would need less space and I more. And she told me (proudly) that she even already moved my stuff into the other appartment…

Since then I only allowed a small circle of people access to my living space via keys. And the nuts old landlady wouldn’t be one of them!

I wanted to talk to her about handing out the keys to us, maybe she just forgot or something.
She didn’t. She didn’t understand why it would be a problem for us to let her enter the appartment, because good people wouldn’t have a problem since they would have nothing to hide and…
I confronted her about the law in force and gave her time to hand us out the keys until the next day.
A few hours later she would show up again, not with keys but with a cut-out article from some magazine.
She shoved me that article in my face, telling me to better freshen up my law knowledge.
The article just said the same thing I told her. It literally said that she couldn’t keep the keys.
I then read the article aloud, in front of her.
She just looked at me, befuddled.
She then stated: “You know… I had a lot of young and nice college boys who rented this appartment. I mean, they were all much brighter than you, naturally…they never made any problems. Maybe you should learn how to read.”

Again, my S.O. saved me from a life behind bars. My beloved straightjacket.


Where is my spiritual progress?
Am I still on it?
Am I cooking something up?
Am I just dicking around lazily like the piece of golden trash I am?
Who knows?
I don’t.


Yesterday I wondered if I would be back on track with my duties after a longer period of off days and illness.

Slept roughly 2 hours. Got up like I slept a full eight.
38 missed calls. Piece of cake. 5 hours would suffice.
Yup. I would say, that I’m back.


The city dumps fill

The junkyards fill

The madhouses fill

The hospitals fill

The graveyards fill

Nothing else fills.


I was born a destroyer


German lesson part 3
grinsen wie ein Honigkuchenpferd
lit.: to grin like a honey pie horse

the face my personnel manager made when I told her that I wanted to make an appointment with her because she thinks that I want to prolong my obnoxious status quo that is my career atm


Don’t let the dress trick you
I love you less now that I know you


German lesson part 4
The german opposite of “umfahren” (running something over) is “umfahren” (drive around something).
Good luck mastering this language.



I noticed that I would see very clearly silvery lines when I would lay myself to rest. They often move and transform themselves and I like to watch them for a while before I go to sleep.