froekensocker

there are, it seems, a lot of long-term couples breaking up at the moment.
it started almost a year ago with one couple, one of my dearest friends and his girlfriend. when I had asked him, a year prior to the break-up, about them getting married, he answered "after we finished our studies". both my best friend and me said "but you...like, always were together". then it was long-term couple after long-term couple, we didn't feel much of a sting with most of them. we brushed it off our shoulders. no near and dear friends. it just felt weird. like a phase. we hoped for nothing worse.

then it was those two. we both love both of them, I think, in our own way. they are close to us, both as separate people and as a couple. then today I got the phone call. one of those dreaded conversations. all I could say was "I want them to be back together again". it was seeing his eyes. and the talking, or not-talking. about things that actually did happen.

I remember the two kisses, two days ago. we met in the bus back home from university. something felt off for me, then, too. but I didn't mind. when we waited for the traffic light to turn green again, in the middle of the road, in the rain, they kissed. then she told me a story about a girl she wanted to kiss on the cheek who then turned and hit her head instead. I said to her, you're too short, I would just hit you with my shoulder. she kissed my shoulder, in the rain. I want it back. her kiss on him and her kiss on my shoulder, and even him in my arms, hugging. I want them.

maybe, now in our early twenties, none of us can really grasp the concept of a long-term relationship. like the old fight between the immovable object and the unstoppable forth, to which there is no solution, just "it's a trick question, is the answer".

still,
the immovable object of our hopes
and the unstoppable force of our lives.

I love brushing my teeth. I love it so much, I learned how to brush my teeth and answer the phone at the same time.

I'm very sensitive about other people brushing their teeth, about what my mouth feels like right after I have woken up. when I'm meeting people or going out grocery shopping or this or that, I will always clean my teeth first.
my mom has bad teeth and is afraid of the dentist, so she taught me how important it is to always brush, three times a day. I've never had a single cavity all my life.

so this is hard for me, saying "fuck you" to an object I love so much.
fuck you, toothbrushes.

it's kind of a "don't think about pink elephants"-issue.
I might be in love, and  I don't know much about the person or her single/dating-status.
so I take a closer look at the things surrounding her and her roommate.
like the fact that they are two people living together who have four toothbrushes.
whatever.
me and my roommate were both single once and had, like, eight toothbrushes.
suck it up.
t. picks me up from the airport and tells me about the day she went to visit our friend, another
friends ex-boyfriend, who lives with the girl I might be in love with.
she tells me it was great, but in the evening the girl left and took a toothbrush with her.
oh, no.

now, this is no clear evidence of there being anything like a boy/girlfriend.
but I care too much. I want to care less. I want to care even more.
I want someone to care about me. I want that.
I want a woman to hit on me. I want to be taken care of.
I want someone to work for me. not the other way around.

because I want me to work for me.

I want to travel and I want Sweden.
sometimes I want sweden so much. this weekend felt right and it didn't feel like two days.
and I can't believe it had been two years. again. it's harder to write about this, because it felt so right.
because having swedish breakfast was something I hardly remembered, and the kind of frostiness, how different it is from the cold weather back home. like a heavy coat on ones shoulders, but not as cutting, not as harsh.
the sound of the language and the feeling of the words in my mouth.
this is all so right. everything will be right and in the meantime I can think about the now and here and not about pink elephants.

I started writing here and then I decided to quit to switch once again, to wordpress, and then I thought it's useless, I want to have a tumblr, but that I never find the time for.

today I have to write, I somehow have to.
I don't really now where this sudden depression came from. it's the dream, maybe, I will write about that, too.

it's just one of those days where I wonder why the hell no woman is hitting on me. maybe I look straight. maybe I don't look like someone anyone would want to flirt with, ask out, what so ever. I am shy with women and I like shy women at the moment, so that's pretty fucked up. but I wonder and wonder and wonder and then I can't cross the street without some idiot honking his horn at me.
I would wish the idiot to be a woman, just once.

it didn't help that I had to take some verbal shit from a friend who I don't want to call a friend anymore this year either. the short version is "look at you, you look so straight, why do you do that, you know that noone is gonna hit on you like that?" basically it's my fault that I'm not trying to look like everyone else/ something that wouldn't fit me. that was the same woman who, last year, told me that I should stop complaining, there would seriously be SO MANY women out there who'd be pretty much into "my type".
ok then.

maybe it IS about the dream. I met the dreamgirl again, but that was almost two weeks ago.
yesterday her roommate said something. when the soccer team I am a fan of came up he said "that's why you got along so well with a." huh. got along so well. right. (it wasn't just me then)

but I dreamed again and this time the dream wasn't even nice. I have the feeling that I already know her. like the pile of shoes outside of her room, I kinda really know that. I don't forget things like that... but. (at first I thought shit, two pairs of shoes. but then I noticed there weren't four, but five shoes. haha)
so this night I dreamt that she handed me her old yearbook from school, which was rather complicated, and tried to make me find her. I didn't. I couldn't. she wouldn't help me but insisted I find her, I just had to see her, I would understand it had been easy all this time when I was searching and searching and searching.
then I moved. I moved to a flat that looked like a holiday home. nice, but nothing I'd usually move into. her roommate and she were in charge of the appartments. he gave me the first set of keys, than we all looked at another, bigger flat were some rich kid was having her birthday party.
then a., the dreamgirl, wanted me and my friend to help her with her next lesson (wtf, I'm the teacher!), so we had to cut out exercises so that she could make sheets. I thought to myself "she is even worse than me with these sheets and stuff", but I cut it all wrong. I couldn't make it right, once again.
in the end I noticed there was another room in my appartment that I hadn't gotten a key for, and she was in charge of that room. I asked her about the key and she said "oh, the keys are already there, they're in the closet"
IN THE CLOSET. get it?

oh happy day.

I have been thinking about writing in english for quite a while now.

so maybe that's that. I linked this blog on effing autostraddle and all these people get to see is something written in a weird language with weird signs.

you will never read something in german here, though. it's fascinating how I, for months and months now, haven't felt safe writing in my native language. so there's that. 

I think too much in english, and then I switch to swedish.

I have foreign languages, like this one

and I have a second language, which, coincidentally, is swedish.

it's my in-between language, I will never be a native speaker, I'll never be a foreigner to this language again.

In-betweener.

in-between languages are my favourite kind of languages, I wish everyone who knows me would speak all my languages so I wouldn't have to speak in tongues to them.

it's what we say at university, after the second year or so, we speak "scandinavian". it's the moment when you,who has been learning swedish and danish, write down a norwegian word in a test. it's the moment when you say "den eneste erdbeeren", part german obviously, but still. it's the moment when that girl who has swedish as her first language suddenly starts putting danish into her speech in swedish class.

so it's an in-between time now. 

I am not even close to where I've come from in my own thoughts,

and last night I spoke sign language with a half-deaf kid in my dreams. I signed. In my dream. 

I have been trying to come home for a week now and will write more and more about my holidays in the next days and weeks, those two weeks that felt like a month and made me cry on the bus when I had gotten back to my hometown.
this trip was thought to be a healing trip and it was, kind of. it burst me into pieces and started putting them back together right around the end.

 
So the stories will follow.

About family and pool parties with siblings and the hot hot heat. dead chameleons and red hills. 

About the end of the world as we know it and an awfully wrong played scrabble game.

About leaving on a bus and riding the metro alone for the first time without freaking out,

about climbing hills and the tram and those buildings and the seaside or riverside and bridges 

and people and french and falling in love over again with a place

and then leaving once again to another place with other people and one special person to meet, among others equally so special and then leaving again for that first place and feeling at peace and at home and that last evening when she draw me that labyrinth as a riddle and sent me to bed with one question

"which player will you move first?"

and the answer in the morning: I am not going to move any of them.

Feeling free, at last, just to find a cockroach on the toilet seat.
and then the crying on the bus and now life and work and those damn old topics in my head like "women and me and how it never works out"

and if anyone at auto-effin-straddle read this I might consider writing in english more often.

off to my friend, we are going to knit together (yes) because it feels like it's autumn here.	

det är sâna dagar man verkligen ângrar sig.

det ögonblicket du stod med mig framför min husingâng.
"sâ, det är här du bor?"
- "ja"
"hm, okej, det är ingângen alltsâ"
- "ah, precis"
"och din vän och hennes pojkvän är hemma nu med?"
- "ah"
"okej...tack för ikväll...hej"

och du följde med mig hela jävla vägen hem.
du gick ingen omväg. du gick helt fel frân början.
jag la märke till det dagen därpâ.

tvâ veckor senare är vâr vän full och berättar saker hon inte ska nämna.
det finns visst nâgon annan, ingenting jag bryr mig om i vanliga fall, jag är ingen svartsjuk människa.
men, det som gav lite säkerhet var att tjej nr 2 hade pojkvän och inte verkade göra slut med honom.
hon är singel nu.

j. säger att hon berättar för mig varför det är omöjligt att gräva i jorden idag när jag har sagt till m. att jag gillar henne. jag svarade att hon skulle hälsa sin spade.

dagens fråga är: hur löser man en konflikt med en annan person - som är så långt borta att man inte ens är säker på att den någonsin existerat på riktigt - helt för sig själv?

min tunnhyade tillvaro påminner jämt om att jag aldrig lyckades hålla saker ihop. och jag vet var alla känslorna kommer från just nu. jag vet att det börjar med familjen som spricker och skiljs åt, som förändras jämt. det innebär alltid lika mycket känslor och krångel och historia i sig för att inte kännas den här gången – det blir inte bättre om det upprepas oftare, man vänjer sig inte. man vänjer sig aldrig. ett hem har gått förlorat de sista veckorna, allas hjärtan värker, det är en ny situation igen och så mångfaldig och komplicerad att allt annan skit dyker upp igen.

så, hur löser man en konflikt med en person som har valt att dra sig tillbaka så mycket att man tvivlar på själva existensen, existensen på ett „oss“ som kanske har funnits en gång i tiden och som man har vant sid vid att prata om även fast man håller på att glömma allt kring VEM och HUR och NÄR och vad i helvete hände egentligen?

Och jag vet egentligen åt vilket håll jag borde och vill gå. Jag vill lägga plåster om plåster på denna tunna hy. Även om jag inte är helt säker på om det kan läkas utan tillräckligt mycket luft.

Jag vet att drömmen som jag hade om personen för två nätter sedan var alldeles för intensivt. Det var saker som alldrig skulle hända, men sedan dess känns det som det bara låg en membran mellan henne och mig, och om jag rör mig för mycket, om jag pratar och frågar för mycket, om det finns någon sorts kontakt alls så kommer den spricka och det finns ingen gräns längre mellan mig och alla känslorna, mig och hennes liv. Jag vill inte se det och är ändå så nära som jag inte varit på länge. Och jag vet, jag står inte ut med det. Det är inte vägen längre.

Jag ska aldrig ge upp tron på det goda i människan och aldrig bli bitter och hopplös, kall och alltför kontrollerande. Jag skulle alltid, alltid välja min tunna hy över obetydligheten igen. Jag har alltid varit en person som sa „jag skulle aldrig ignorera henne OM“, i väntan på ett om. Men jag har inte så mycket mer kvar än en olösbar konflikt som hon sprang iväg från (så varför skulle hon någonsin vara intresserad av att lösa den?), minnen på något som inte alls var färdigt och i och för sig ganska vackert, och en liten liten del av mitt hjärta. Ett mini-utrymme för dig, så att jag aldrig blir den jag inte vill vara.

Well, say it now 'cause when i'm gone 
You'll be callin' but i won't be at the phone