...
this is were I will be going
I promise. I will change blogs. I will write the other stuff I wanted to write. there is a note in our kitchen that tells us what we will do on which day. this is what's keeping me out of the internet and my head in piles of paper.
I promise. I will change blogs. I will write the other stuff I wanted to write. there is a note in our kitchen that tells us what we will do on which day. this is what's keeping me out of the internet and my head in piles of paper.
fuck yeah oral hygiene!
sometimes I love my friends simply for the things they reply to stories I tell.
my friend s. is a rather new one, but we are already very, very close. so I told her about the girl I like/ am in love with and her toothbrush. how she took that damn thing with her (which my other friend t, and me, interpreted as something like "there is someone else". which is stupid. doesn't prove a thing.)
her reaction?
"that's great! she's a great person! she takes her toothbrush with her when she leaves the house that means she cares about her oral hygiene and when she sleeps over at someones place she always has a toothbrush and it means that she likes to clean her teeth."
uhm. simple as that. I love that girl.
my friend s. is a rather new one, but we are already very, very close. so I told her about the girl I like/ am in love with and her toothbrush. how she took that damn thing with her (which my other friend t, and me, interpreted as something like "there is someone else". which is stupid. doesn't prove a thing.)
her reaction?
"that's great! she's a great person! she takes her toothbrush with her when she leaves the house that means she cares about her oral hygiene and when she sleeps over at someones place she always has a toothbrush and it means that she likes to clean her teeth."
uhm. simple as that. I love that girl.
young folks.
I understand them now, those books in sweden teaching youg women how not to suffer from a burn-out at thirty, we understand it. it's one of the main reasons why I don't want to start working right away after my studies. I want to travel and feel free, because I know myself. I know my working self and it can be horrible.
last term of 4-5 year studies, a teaching job and a university job. both with a whole lot of responsibility. if I don't work, the children learn nothing. if I don't work, the journal won't ever get published.
If I don't, if I don't, the world will stop turning.
I want someone to tell me that the world won't stop turning, someone to stroke the shortest part of my hair in the neck where it's both soft and rough.
we've made a plan for our weeks. a schedule for working, reading, studying, grocery shopping and meeting friends.
we will make it through this winter.
last term of 4-5 year studies, a teaching job and a university job. both with a whole lot of responsibility. if I don't work, the children learn nothing. if I don't work, the journal won't ever get published.
If I don't, if I don't, the world will stop turning.
I want someone to tell me that the world won't stop turning, someone to stroke the shortest part of my hair in the neck where it's both soft and rough.
we've made a plan for our weeks. a schedule for working, reading, studying, grocery shopping and meeting friends.
we will make it through this winter.
this kiss.
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.
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 say hello.
this is a week of firsts.
and I feel like life is rushing by me, again.
before this term began, I said to my friend t. "let's not have a life together!" and she thought I would "break up" with her. that was not was I was aiming at.
but we took oh so many classes at university, she even more than me, plus I have two sorta-part-time jobs, we have our friends and other things to organzie and classes outside of university and goddamn appartments we have to take care of and we need to buy our own food.
we've made a habit out of meeting on tuesday nights, to watch football and drink beer. at this point, I am usually in my spaghatta-nadle-mode, which means that nothing serious should be expected from me.
I come home from university about 18.30 in the evening, after 90 minutes of discussions about philosophical definitions of art and such things. I really do behave like a child.
so, this week:
- for the first time, someone picked me up from the airport with A HANDMADE SIGN that read "welcome home, m." initially she wanted to come as a business woman with a business sign that read "Mrs. Mxxxx Xxxxxx", and the name of the company: "cucumber salad"
- I flirted with the woman who outed me in sign language class. Ok, maybe it wasn't the first time. But it was the first time that I wanted and had to and did and felt better afterwards. because she looked right back into my eyes. and when my hand went through my hair, hers would, too.
- I went to Lucia choir practice. after years and years of waiting, I will finally have sparkly silver lametta in my hair and round my waist and oh, this is a frickin' life goal for me. I will admit it. when I unpack my presents on christmas eve, and there are ribbons around them, these ribbons magically still make their way into my hair. somehow. everytime. for the rest of the night.
- I played, as in activally acted, in a postmodern drama. no, not on a stage or anything, it was in a class. but I thought I had taken on a reading part. like, read this and that aloud, what does the class think about it? it always takes such a long time to find people who read aloud, because aaaah, reading in swedish and in class, omg. I don't care, really. so I thought I'd read. turns out, for the next 45 minutes, h. and me would have to run through the room, scream at each other, and I had to knee down on a desk (so that everyone could see me), smoke a cigarette (aka our professor's pen) and feed an imaginary dove.
this week was awesome. there is a huge chance that I will be going to the faroe islands next year. In 2,5 hours someone will cut my hair, probs not as good as my beloved hairdresser, but she'll be around and maybe help and I'll have short hair again. this is all I want right now. oh, and to not feel ashamed about having worked ca 1,5 hours of my 8 hours I should have worked this week. oops.
and I feel like life is rushing by me, again.
before this term began, I said to my friend t. "let's not have a life together!" and she thought I would "break up" with her. that was not was I was aiming at.
but we took oh so many classes at university, she even more than me, plus I have two sorta-part-time jobs, we have our friends and other things to organzie and classes outside of university and goddamn appartments we have to take care of and we need to buy our own food.
we've made a habit out of meeting on tuesday nights, to watch football and drink beer. at this point, I am usually in my spaghatta-nadle-mode, which means that nothing serious should be expected from me.
I come home from university about 18.30 in the evening, after 90 minutes of discussions about philosophical definitions of art and such things. I really do behave like a child.
so, this week:
- for the first time, someone picked me up from the airport with A HANDMADE SIGN that read "welcome home, m." initially she wanted to come as a business woman with a business sign that read "Mrs. Mxxxx Xxxxxx", and the name of the company: "cucumber salad"
- I flirted with the woman who outed me in sign language class. Ok, maybe it wasn't the first time. But it was the first time that I wanted and had to and did and felt better afterwards. because she looked right back into my eyes. and when my hand went through my hair, hers would, too.
- I went to Lucia choir practice. after years and years of waiting, I will finally have sparkly silver lametta in my hair and round my waist and oh, this is a frickin' life goal for me. I will admit it. when I unpack my presents on christmas eve, and there are ribbons around them, these ribbons magically still make their way into my hair. somehow. everytime. for the rest of the night.
- I played, as in activally acted, in a postmodern drama. no, not on a stage or anything, it was in a class. but I thought I had taken on a reading part. like, read this and that aloud, what does the class think about it? it always takes such a long time to find people who read aloud, because aaaah, reading in swedish and in class, omg. I don't care, really. so I thought I'd read. turns out, for the next 45 minutes, h. and me would have to run through the room, scream at each other, and I had to knee down on a desk (so that everyone could see me), smoke a cigarette (aka our professor's pen) and feed an imaginary dove.
this week was awesome. there is a huge chance that I will be going to the faroe islands next year. In 2,5 hours someone will cut my hair, probs not as good as my beloved hairdresser, but she'll be around and maybe help and I'll have short hair again. this is all I want right now. oh, and to not feel ashamed about having worked ca 1,5 hours of my 8 hours I should have worked this week. oops.
fuck toothbrushes.
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'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.
salmon dance
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.
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.
