To Wish Impossible Things

I kept wishing my life to be at least slightly less complicated.I would clench my teeth every time things would go weird and be stressed through the roof at the slightest sign of derail from the planned trajectory. Every time something would not go as my (mild) inner control freak would imagine, I would summon the Gods and have that awkward conversation about what I keep doing wrong to deserve such intricacies. Then I would remind them that I already had my fair share of convoluted, so some monotony would be good for a change. 

Of course, derailments and delays would occur as frequently as in our beloved national railway system. And what else remained there than to stir up the drama, to pump up the blood pressure, murder some afore-happy neurons, complain tons, get on people's nerves a lot and come out as a needy brat, cry some supposedly legit tears and curse a little more whoever was making everything so complicated. Whatever this complicated meant, and measured relative to...whatever. 

Random or deep equally, everything would get to me. See, I wished I were less sensitive, both teeth wise and emotions wise, for example. I wished I would love without a 2000+ km lag, but I guess even if people and circumstances change significantly, that doesn't seem to get better. I wished I did not feel the strange need to prove I was worth it all the time. I wished I found the perfect shampoo and I wouldn't hate conditioner so much, that would have made things easier for my hair, whom I worship even if not worshiped back, despite of the literal twists and turns and breaks. I wished I were not so sickish and fearful. I wished I could get to that point when I would concede I have enough stuff and voluntarily decide to stop recurring to shopping therapy, thus putting an end to literally buying something (no matter how insignificant) every single day. I wished for more honest conversations and screamed out loud affection. I hoped I would stop eating out of boredom and get over my newly acquired weight self-consciousness. I wished I figured out where I wanted to go professionally. I wished I spoke perfect French and I didn't choose to be shy and introvert in the outmost inappropriate circumstances. I wished I lost my stupid nervous guffaw I bursted into every time I didn't know how to handle a situation. 

Less drama, more balance, more intimacy, less awkwardness, more genuine laughter, less shutting in, plane tickets bought in the right direction, nails not breaking, the right person/place/time mix, cheesiness in cheese cake only, longer and warmer days, a sense of security and a pointer to what is right,  ratless picnics on the shore of Seine, these are merely a percentile of what I would have liked to see change.

I kept wishing my life to be at least slightly less complicated, so I would cry my heart out longing for some straightforward happenings. Four weeks of wonderfully estranged being, and I dry cheekedly say that I might as well have learnt something the hard way, while fullheartedly diving into the complicated. To stop wishing for impossible things.