I smoked [cigarettes] in those days because, like everyone else in the world who smokes, I wanted to die at least as much as I wanted to live.

— Gregory D. Roberts (Shantaram, 2004)

There is a poster in the living room. The lady subletting me the flat has put it on the wall, together with a portrait of Osho, a dreamcatcher and a multitude of abstract so-called artistic paintings.

I just cooked a couple of eggs in an iron pan, which gets rusty after every time I used it. Teflon would be better, but teflon wouldn’t fit the environment, not the huge plant on top of my bed (which makes me sick every night), not the spiritual quotes written on Post-its and sticked on the walls. Not Osho.

Forget it. I sit on the big table to eat my breakfast and I stare at the poster. A text on top of a faded picture of the desert asks

           How do you
           feel today?

Osho likes that. Only the present counts, he says, the past exists just in ones mind, but my hangover would not agree with him.

           How do you
           feel today?

Wine, beers, tequila and god knows what else. I feel like shit, thank you poster.
And what kind of question is that? It’s so naive, so passive-aggressive. I wouldn’t loose my time staring at a damn poster if I were busy having fun.

I eat my eggs. They taste good.
Hopefully they are heavy enough to help me recover faster.

           How do you
           feel today?

Today just started, how would I know it, poster? Why don’t you ask me the real question? ’cause yours is missing a line

           How do you
           want to
           feel today?

I taste again the breakfast on my lips, catch a deep breath of the fresh air coming out of the open window.

Poster, I want to feel great today.

 
SENTENCE OF THE DAY (de): ins Fettnäpfchen treten (to make a fool of oneself, gaffe)