What am I going to write about?

I woke up this morning determined to write something in my neglected blog. I was packing this morning after having a shower and yogurt and müsli. I was thinking about whether I wanted to bring my journal with me, thinking I really should write something. But also, I've been looking forward to starting a new book, a collection of Ernest Hemingway short stories. I finished Howard's End on the train yesterday, got home and finished another book I picked up at the English Hugendubel book store. It was called "Queer Fish in God's Waiting Room." I was going to leave it in the Toilet and read it casually during a number of afternoon poos. I ended up reading it in an hour and a half right after I got home yesterday over a cup of tea and American-style chocolate chip cookies from Paris. I ended up taking both the book and the journal. Sat on the train and thumbed through the Hemingway book and put it back in my bag and started out the window. What was I going to write about? Perhaps I could write about how Luke and I started cooking dinner last night and I had the notion to drink some vodka while cooking. Luke's friend had brought some vodka back from Russia and it's been in the freezer tempting us since then. I poured two shots and we were on our way. We opened Andechser Bock Hell's and I put my iPod on shuffle. We listened to everything from the System of a Down to the Beach Boys. Every song, got us more excited about life and music. We talked about what we normally talk about. Work, music, life in Munich, he told the story about how he met Gwynneth Paltrow in Heathrow Airport and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. I told him how Dennis Hopper's son had gone to the camp where I used to work and how he had hung gone to the Gorillaz's studio when they recorded that song where Dennis Hopper tells that crazy story. We ate our dinner, drank our beers and drank more vodka. It felt normal. It felt like what poor young people in a city would do...should do on a Tuesday night. I put on Kill Bill and passed out before O-ren Ishii had her scalp sliced off. What would I write about? Maybe I could write about how the weather is getting warmer and reminds me of the last time I was here; reminds me of why I love Germany. The air is cool and fresh as I walk out onto Landwehr straße. The sun is already up and the city is stretching its arms, preparing itself for another day. Trucks stop in at bars to pick up empty beer and soda bottles and to deliver the new kegs for the day. I smell cigarette smoke of people hurrying to get that one smoke in before their day starts. I saw a group of German school children with their teachers waiting for their train. Being young and silly. It seems like every moment of every day is a chapter in a book. But there's way too much to write it all down. I wanted to write so much more while I was in Paris. Fill up an entire journal. But it was really getting in the way of me actually experiencing things to write about...sorry, about which to write. Maybe I should write about not ever knowing what to write about, or how to write it. Should I record all conversations or just the essence of it? Should I remember to write down funny jokes or stories word for word, or just fill in the details from my own imagination later? Writing is all about choices...and writing is a reflection of life. The choices we make in writing reflect our choices in life. Or maybe the other way around. I never could wrap my mind around that whole "Life is art, art is life" debate. At any rate, for now, life is divided into life and art. I work with kids all day and love it. I smile and listen to their stories which I can usually understand about half the time and hug them when they're hurt or upset and help them put on their jackets and find their shoes and correct their spelling or grammar. I take the train home and I have to face the reality of not having any money, finding food, finding cheap ways to get drunk and trying not to smoke, most times not having much success, feeling the vibrations of the city as I walk to get groceries. Feeling hungry as I make a cup of tea and eating Girl Scout cookies, or playing guitar. Drinking German beer, French wine, Russian vodka and eating Italian apples. What am I going to write about?