I think I speak for us all when I say that this has been one nasty Easter and I personally don’t know anybody who actually had a nice one. At the present, I am in Vienna, Austria going on stressful day trips from one day to the next. I planned on going to the Easter services here but didn’t make it. Somehow I even manage to miss it when it’s something special. Somewhere in the back of my mind I pictured them piping in Rock Me Amadeus for the opening. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. I guess we’ll never know now will we?
Sunday was the pits. I realized more than ever that I was starting to get that middle-aged look. More depressing lately is that every time I look into the mirror I see my mom. How the hell could that possibly happen? I’m adopted. Needless to say it’s so depressing. I may need therapy very soon but that’s a whole other story.
My gastritis flared up making my back ache all day long making it hard to walk at times. To add to it, I felt those familar body aches, the kind where you just know you’re coming down with something. However, I did manage to hobble my pitiful self into the Neue Burg where my right knee started to give out. At 39, I felt 80. I might as well have been Sophia Petrillo. Reluctantly, I left the hotel since I felt obligated to run around in the sleet/snow/rain in freezing temperatures which never seems to phase Europeans – riding around on their bikes like it aint no thang. Wolfgang should just be happy he got me out of the hotel.
The highlight of the day was going to the criminal museum and seeing a preserved head of an executed criminal. I was immediately taken with it. It’s so interesting to look at the face of a person that’s been dead for a few hundred years. His very blonde hair was perfectly preserved, his eyes were shrunken in but very much present and the teeth were still intact. His skin was now black like an Egyptian mummy, totally contrasting with the hair. I wondered about the man, what led him to such a grim fate and before my very eyes. Most likely only God will ever know.
Speaking of cruel fates, we went to see Falco’s grave today at the Zentralfriedhof because I wanted to pay my respects. He died tragically in a car crash in ’98 just a few weeks short of his turning 41. So young, so tragic. I remember just finding out I was pregnant with my son when I opened up my Entertainment Weekly only to find out he was gone. It’s funny how some things just stick in your mind. Just as my son was coming into the world, Falco was going out. I wonder if they met somehow. Ya never know. Iffin so, I would have to say I am truly jealous. My kids were so happy to be there so you never do know 
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