Nothing is more painful than the loss of control. This can mean a broad range of things. Often I cannot trust my faculties any more, they are no longer sending out the signal to me that more should be expected from them. The consciousness then kicks in, reminding me how I used to jeer at people for the same symptoms. A lot of work needs be done. Also a lot of work can be saved if we have made the right choice at the right time. This is the danger of freedom, of a continuum of multiple choices that I am not used to finding an optimum. (Maybe a course in stochastic process would help.) Weekends probably symbolize liberation and carousal for most people, but I am training myself to dislike it, much as a masochist abhors sensual pleasure.
Now the distrastrous reality is, in Utrecht the roles of weekdays and weekends are exactly reversed. How am I to reconcile with such preposterous situation, or is it a Godsend message saying I need to strike a change? But there are so many ways one can change; one entials another, going on like this forever. To the resigned mind, the best changes are the ones that result in fewer additional ones, but then one often likes to regret. To compose a well-balance symphony of life means you have to be a first rate composer, no revision or scratching out is allowed. I remember seeing Mozart crossing out some notes on his manuscript. How are mortals capable of such divine design? Maybe solutions lie in minimalism, but one must live on, usually in a suave manner, at least in the mind. Contradictions can only be resolved using stronger ones, and then you cannot avoid the vicious cycles, eventually blowing up in your face. Does life end then?