Being sad in Holland

Look how happy we look.

I know I've written about this sadness phenomenon maybe a smidge too often. Sorry. But, as I sleepily told Brookie on an evil Skype connection last night, "So much of life is so sad for everyone."

Anyway, when you love someone and (Coldplay is expecting me to break into song any second here) you do it so much for so long, and it happens that for various reasons you have to not do that anymore, then you spend months trying to fill up your life and your sadness with other things and other love, but they don't really work out.

So you get a prescription and you run away.

And you realize that you don't understand anything about anything and you make horrific discoveries inside your little self like vanity, fear, and need. And you feel like nothing is quite as shiney as it should be, and the universe feels a little crumbly and unstable, and suddenly you find yourself in Holland.

And here's the thing about Holland:

It is so beautiful.

Hallo, Kinderdijk. I love you.

Capelle Schollevaar, where I'm staying, is a haven of peace and quiet, canals, lily pads, and the ubiquitous bicycle. Even a thriving community of 18th century windmills! It's almost too cute. And clean. And quiet.

Beautiful Delft (not Gouda, which is also beautiful-- like the cheese). Gracie dearest is sharing her camera.

And beyond all that, we've had two (very rare here) warm, sunny days. Even the elements are trying to convince me to be happy in Holland. And, ungrateful wretch that I am, I'm being a sad, crumbly-universe-observing fool that is sad in Holland.

Some very unAnna-like behaviors have reappeared. Namely, inability to sleep, lack of appetite, blah blah blah. I just want to wear wooden shoes and smoke weed (just kidding, I don't do that... wear wooden shoes, I mean).

And here's another thing: There are baby animals everywhere. Fuzzy swans, awkward calves, prancey lambs, ecstatic puppies. I ride through the countryside (the whole country is a countryside, I've noticed) on a generously-loaned bicycle, and smile at all the baby animals and baby Dutch humans on their Dutch mommies' bikes and think about how much I miss those three little human girls that my siblings gave birth to, and then I remember that I'll never be loved enough by anyone to have babies with them.

...Brookie says this form of paranoia is quite common, but I question the normalcy of becoming devastated at the mere sight of a duckling who is minding his own Dutch business, or how possible it is to even be sad in Holland.

Wednesday Gracie and I leave for the Mother Country. Jolly Old London. Do you think I can be happy in England?

Love, stroopwaffles, and Anne Frank,

Banana