22.07.2011 – crisis

2 months and 9 days. Where am I at? I enjoy that I don’t have to worry about how I will feed myself. How I will afford my life. That I can take my time for my chores. Enjoy taking the time for collecting, drying or boiling soapworth to make detergent even though it takes so much longer to make than just to buy and it’s even a lot less potent. I enjoy driving through Berlin for two hours to get a box for carrying eggs even though it probably would have cost only Euro in a shop. I enjoy fixing a found duvet cover while watching a movie with my flatmates. I love spending a day foraging fruits. Everything takes so much time, it’s completely out of scale what hourly salary that would imply. I enjoy not having to follow this thought. I rather pick gooseberries for an hour than working a job for an hour and buy them for just a percentage of my salary. I like to cut out the money-middleman. Isn’t it basic psychology that it is more fun to work when the reward is immediate? I enjoy waking up and being able to choose what to do. Build something? Collect something? Help someone? It is so… well just good to be able to talk to people when they ask for it. Not to postpone friends for deadlines. Being able to do what the moment is asking for, not the schedule. Yet, is it sustainable? I still pay rent. My student loan runs out next year January. I only survive like this because I eat trash. Not only, but a great deal. I’d rather eat organic. What about getting old? Family? All over sudden all my fears are back. As if I hadn’t learned a thing these days. Have I not experienced that things will work out? That there is no need to deny faith? I guess I got a glimpse of the rejection of the idea of living freegan permanently. Entirely. My impression is that it is crucial to provide a terminal date for this project.
“How long do you want to do this?”
“Three months.”
It’s a ly. Three months, that’s almost done. Only three more weeks. The last two of them I will be at the Tango Safari, I will work in exchange for food and a camping spot. It would be a worthy ending. But I don’t want to stop. This is where the haunting starts. What when I can’t say “It’s an experiment” anymore? How will I be treated? Will I be stigmatized? Where is the point of no return? Is it now? It’s somehow now. I have to decide whether I will do my phd after my thesis and if I don’t, that’s the point of no return. That would mean that from next January on I would not even be able to pay my rent. Just see what comes along. Dare. It’s tempting. But I fear that it is complete madness. Society will tell me that it is complete madness. Most of my friends would see it as complete madness. My family? I wouldn’t know how to tell them. Still, I kind of want to anyway. The closer I get to jumping of the track, the more attractive it appears. It’s a really odd pull. I guess I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. I’m mad. I’m lost. I’m scared of my decision.

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