Back to weekly journals. I'll dedicate some time on sundays to this. Yes, I will be boring you with things of my life.
First of all, thanks a lot for the many happy messages in the previous journal. I meant something to read that people have in fact missed me and my work in this virtual environment. Except for one note which I found stuck up and not worth replying to. Seems I'm not the only one who can't let things go. But bygones for that.

It's been a rather interesting weekend. I started with wandering around in town on friday afternoon. from one bar to another. A coffee here, a coke there. Somehow just didn't feel right in any place. The wandering feeling, you know it perhaps. Just going around and never feeling comfortable where ever the road takes you. Though I had good laughs and nice talks with people in each place I went, it just never felt right. It's an enourmous freedom, to go where you want to go. The cats are patient, they know I'll get back eventually, and they don't really care when. It hit me that it's just that which disturbs me. My freedom. This absolute freedom to do whatever I please. I didn't even shop for food, because who cares? I can always go eat somewhere if I'm hungry. Sure, it's expensive, but it's just money anyway. What do I need it for? Later that night I had a few drinks with my brother in law. I had been wanting to do that for a long time. just him and me. We had a good time, chatting and laughing. But something just didn't feel right. Eventually he went home, because he did have someone waiting for him. Couldn't be too late, could he? Sure, no problem.
When I came home that night, I left a light on while I slept. Hoping that an angel would see it and send me a message again. But she didn't. No sleeping angel tonight.

Saturday was just the same. Wandering around, but nowhere to go. Played some fun games at the club, had a few beers. Went to visit my sister again. Got some food late at night, went to the gaming club again. But then I knew where I had to go. To that bench under the cathedral where I used to sit a lot. Just sitting there and wait. So I took my notebook and went there.

I'm sitting on the bench underneath the cathedral. It's already a new day, but the city isn't interested in that. People walk past me, from one bar to another. Now and then a car. From the corner comes the sound of dampened music, sometimes louder when the door opens. It's the night from saturday to sunday, but I'm not interested in it. I sit here, and wait. Even though I don't know for what, or who. I do know I'm wasting my time, because nothing will happen. Never has something happened, which was worth mentioning. Then why do I sit here? The dampened music grows loiuder again, because the door of the bar opens again. To let my memories from there come out, who then sit besides me and start talking. Remember that night, when you took her out to there? When you opened the door yourself? Sure you do. You'd never forget it. But the only thing she wanted to do together, was have a drink, nothing more.
I look to my left, but see nothing. The talking just keeps on going. You were so happy at the start of that evening. At the end you weren't, but you kept smiling. She left, and moved on. So did you, but you're still ehre. Stubbornly you're still in the feeling of that night.
Enough. I get up and look at the clock on the tower. It tells me I've been sitting here for almost nine years. I leave while I know I can't get out of there. Next week I'll be sitting here again. Or still.


I wrote that in a blurr, actually. Hardly realising what I was writing down. After that I went back to the club, not reading what I wrote. Some more fun, a few beers, and then home again. Slept with the light on. No one saw it.

Sunday, things got interesting. I wandered around a bit too, after getting up really late at three in the afternoon. But when I was in "Het Borrelhuis" I read what I had written the night before. It was just right. That's why I sit there. Reliving that night. Hoping things would change, but they won't. They can't, it's in the past. If things went different that night, I wouldn't have been wandering this weekend. I wouldn't have to wait for an angel. I would come home to one everynight. Or come home with that angel. But my life is blessed with devil's presence in everything do. Some people say god has a plan with everybody. So does the devil, and he's winning in today's world.
Shortly after I thought of that, a friend came in. We talked, and somehow, he mentioned a quote he read somewhere.
"To have, is the end of longing." Simple, but true. Longing. That's what I've been doing all weekend. Longing for change in the past, and in the presence, so the future won't be the same. And then I just knew what never felt correct. I was tired of longing.

Once I had a dream. That in a previous life, I led a legion of Angels. They perished in a huge battle between good and evil, because we didn't expect one thing. That evil worked it's way into the mind's of man. They told them this battle wouldn't do any good to them, whatever the outcome would be. And they came, and man fought both sides. They killed both Angels and Demons. Eventually the good side won, with heavy casualties. Four angels survived. The rest was dead, two were petrified after being slain by man. The field was filled with blood.
I woke up with tears from that dream. I often think back about that dream. And it feels, as if that legion if alive again. A legion of Angels. That have forgiven the mistakes made in the battle. We couldn't see it coming. And it feels as if they're telling me, they believe me. That evil isn't playing by the rules anymore. It started in that battle. That we should fight back. If good is white, and evil is black, fighting back would make them grey. A shade of grey that can never turn white again. And they're willing to do so. A legion of Angels with grey tears. I think the oddest things about my dreams.

But what if dreams are part of a higher reality? What would happen, if my longing is a curse from the devil? Because he prevents the end of it.
Somehow, I long to write this dream and the idea about longing into a story. Interesting weekend. Even if nothing happened.