...
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.
yay genderform!
| Hello My name is |
| sucrette |
| I am |
| activist, admirer, ally, amorous, beautiful, bisensual, blonde, butch-fucking, butch-liking, butch-loving, chapstick lesbian, cisgender woman, crossdresser, crossgender, diesel femme, dyke, effeminate, fangirl, female-identified, feminist, femme, femme-fucking, femme-liking, femme-loving, flirt, friend, full of love, gay-friendly, gender euphoric, gender expressive, gender liberationist, gender normative, grrl, happy, high femme, LGBTQIA, lady, lesbian-identified, lipstick lesbian, lover, low femme, Mrs., passing woman, princess, pro-sex feminist, queer femme, queer liberationist, queering deafness, sex positive, soft femme, switch, tomboy femme, transfan, WTF, who cares, woman, woman-loving |
| Who are you? |
coming out smoothly...
NOT.
so, sign language class. was great again, this week. we are all concerned there won't be a fourth class. we can't imagine our lives without each other once a week anymore. we were the perfect group from day one on. the third class is a mixed one again, with people we didn't know before but who turned out great anyways.
there's this girl that I suspected to be a lesbian, too, but I didn't ask her in public, I just don't do that, it's sort of a given between us, maybe she wondered about the eye contact one or two times? (and I might fancy her, in a way. she's funny.)
yesterday we talked about our last holidays and she was the one asking me about Ireland. How long was your trip? Where did you stay? What did you see? What did you do? And then the dreaded question... Are the men in Ireland handsome? I understood the question the first time she asked. For the class it took three takes. I was already a hot red mess at that point and my head went spinning like no don't ask me about men why men don't ask me this me don't like no men. I signed "I don't care".
The whole class laughed.
She signed "Are there beautiful women in Ireland?"
I signed "Yes"
The class laughed again.
She had to sign it again for our teacher.
I signed "yes" one more time.
Our teacher laughed.
I was hot hot red and totes messed up.
SMOOTH SNEAKY GAY.
when it was time for our break I had to just talk about something else entirely and then jump up and run to the bathroom.
Thought a: A straight person wouldn't necessarily bother asking about women, amiright? I mean, there are a lot of straight people with gay friends but you always assume that a person is straight until proven otherwise, so why bother moving out of the general comfortzone if you're not a big homogay yourself?
thought b: what lesbian who is totes uninterested/hasn't noticed anything would bother finding out if I was into women, when no one else had asked question about beautiful foreigners before?
oh my.
onedayinparis
do you ever only realize how badly you wanted something when it has become impossible?
at least she says it's impossible. because the day after we decided we would do it, we would take that impossible trip, the weekend in paris in the middle of our university term, spend too much money on three days, see those two fucking amazing exhibitions she gets a call from the international office, they never received the money she was supposed to give back to them in effing may/june.
great. by this time, the money is gone.
she has to pay it back, and that's the money for our trip.
great. by this time, the money is gone.
she has to pay it back, and that's the money for our trip.
there are the perfect cheap flights.
the perfect exhibitions.
affordable hostels.
there are the thoughts about us wandering around in paris in winter.
and they are gone.
major first world problems.
and I'm still clinging to the thought...
a weekend in paris, in november. somehow.
please?
there it is.
didn't I want to find a beautiful moment yesterday?
well, how could I forget.
it is the children, always the children.
and even if I only work with them once a week I feel better afterwards.
all week long I feel the pressure to fill this hour, to be good, to be the best teacher they ever had, I want them to like me, I want the parents to like me, it's not my native language we're speaking but it should be [I'm the first non-swede to work there] and I feel the pressure to just be good enough.
then it starts. they listen. sometimes they are loud. sometimes they don't sit on their chairs like they should. I don't care, it's better for their backs anyway. when I ask a question I get answers, they do what I tell them to, they do their work and I help and correct and make notes to myself kid a has problem this and that kid b reads really fast kid c talks so well but reads slowly kid d is shy kid e has a problem with grammar they all need to learn this and that in order to learn how to write.
then I read "charlie and the chocolate factory" to them and they listen and paint and laugh. I let them design their own chocolate cakes so they write and think and discuss without even noticing. next week they will draw comics of the awful kids with the golden tickets.
and then I say goodbye and feel light. it's not only the fact that I have a weekend to look forward to and that I didn't make a fool of myself, but
they are kids. they smile. when you say the right thing their faces open up. one time a mom considered not taking her son to class the next week because she didn't want him to be pressured too much and he want "NO BUT I WANT I WANT MOM!"
it is the best thing I know at the moment. and the most beautiful.
Fun with teh translator
I mean, that thing helps me to understand at least a bit of what the girl from far away is writing on her fb page when I shouldn't be able to understand anything at all,
but for me it's particularly funny when I run my swedish texts through it and read the english it spits out.
First bit of funny times: the "poem" I promised Jon in July.
July horniness
A long time ago
saying my thoughts
His parting words
With his head left empty and alone
We are naked on the floor
At night
Not the dark cool longer
Although it is difficult for our lungs
On the days we walk through desert
In the oasis of fountains
Does not reach one's home
To our thirsty bodies
Is dried again
and I am never hungry
but the taste of salt on the skin
a glittering mustache on his upper lip
would not you taste it?
For I must confess
-In the days when pants are glued to your thighs
I want you to River of em
now, I don't really know what "river of 'em" is supposed to mean. the infinite form "riva av" is correctly translated to "tear off". but "river of 'em" is really, really poetical. I kinda like it, as the rest of the poem.
but for me it's particularly funny when I run my swedish texts through it and read the english it spits out.
First bit of funny times: the "poem" I promised Jon in July.
July horniness
A long time ago
saying my thoughts
His parting words
With his head left empty and alone
We are naked on the floor
At night
Not the dark cool longer
Although it is difficult for our lungs
On the days we walk through desert
In the oasis of fountains
Does not reach one's home
To our thirsty bodies
Is dried again
and I am never hungry
but the taste of salt on the skin
a glittering mustache on his upper lip
would not you taste it?
For I must confess
-In the days when pants are glued to your thighs
I want you to River of em
now, I don't really know what "river of 'em" is supposed to mean. the infinite form "riva av" is correctly translated to "tear off". but "river of 'em" is really, really poetical. I kinda like it, as the rest of the poem.
three years from now.
a few years ago, only two or three, I took my picture with my webcam about two times a week. I stopped doing that for no reason, and it might seem self-centered but it is just so interesting to see. yesterday I stumbled across pictures that I first thought were three years old, but they seem to be from spring 2008. however that happened.
no. it simply has to be from the summer of 2007.
I looked at the young girl's face, yesterday, and thought "who are you? your face is so clean like nothing ever happened to you, there's a smell of fresh air around it, and those collarbones, where did you hide them? what happened to your face, it is wide open". I might post pictures to compare, but is that what it feels like to grow up? to get older? you look at your own picture and think THAT'S a photograph my children will look at 15, 20 years from now and scream "MOMISTHATREALLYYOU?"
I captured a lot of important moments with that camera. the time when I was obsessively in love with my tutor. the time when my grandma got cancer (and survived, btw). and that horrible time between the winter of 2007 and spring 2008. I look so tired. a hundred years old, like a light had been switched off. and a few weeks later, the sun shines through my window and I look concerned and sleepy but you see my face waking up. but I would never look that fresh and young and clean and open again. something changed.
I will not continue to simply complain about my life. every week I have to post something particularly beautiful or funny, so that I know that I am only 23 years old and have a face like a baby compared to that other face, three years from now.
so I will find something this week. Sign language class is something that is beautiful and funny at the same time, but the jokes are hard to understand out of context, I would have to show you. but the "your mom"-jokes have become a constant in those lessons, for example.
so, what about now? we are straddling the line between being creative dreamers and wannabes incapable of taking action, as jon said. that will change. Florence sings and in the spring I shed my skin and it will be spring again.
three years from now I will find pictures and think "what the hell happened" and by that time hopefully my face will have opened up again and a lot of good thing will have happened and love will have had a good impact on me.
no. it simply has to be from the summer of 2007.
I looked at the young girl's face, yesterday, and thought "who are you? your face is so clean like nothing ever happened to you, there's a smell of fresh air around it, and those collarbones, where did you hide them? what happened to your face, it is wide open". I might post pictures to compare, but is that what it feels like to grow up? to get older? you look at your own picture and think THAT'S a photograph my children will look at 15, 20 years from now and scream "MOMISTHATREALLYYOU?"
I captured a lot of important moments with that camera. the time when I was obsessively in love with my tutor. the time when my grandma got cancer (and survived, btw). and that horrible time between the winter of 2007 and spring 2008. I look so tired. a hundred years old, like a light had been switched off. and a few weeks later, the sun shines through my window and I look concerned and sleepy but you see my face waking up. but I would never look that fresh and young and clean and open again. something changed.
I will not continue to simply complain about my life. every week I have to post something particularly beautiful or funny, so that I know that I am only 23 years old and have a face like a baby compared to that other face, three years from now.
so I will find something this week. Sign language class is something that is beautiful and funny at the same time, but the jokes are hard to understand out of context, I would have to show you. but the "your mom"-jokes have become a constant in those lessons, for example.
so, what about now? we are straddling the line between being creative dreamers and wannabes incapable of taking action, as jon said. that will change. Florence sings and in the spring I shed my skin and it will be spring again.
three years from now I will find pictures and think "what the hell happened" and by that time hopefully my face will have opened up again and a lot of good thing will have happened and love will have had a good impact on me.
grow some big feet
it is the first night back from dublin and still the last night home again, until saturday.
there is this huge wedding, my fathers cousins son (yes) is getting married to his girlfriend. who is 25. when I heard that I looked at my watch.
I don't hear any clock ticking, but it still feels weird.
this is a short interlude, a shout-out to brietta: you lucky bastards on the north american continent! why is ivan hanging out with all of you, but not with us poor, poor europeans? you have to tell. everything. it's gonna be great, I am sure.
ireland made me actually feel better. it's a small difference, but it's important. I was there with two of my best friends and my favorite travel companions. it was a couple of days of declaring our love for one another. our closet case who was only out to me came out to the other one as well.
I realized things I didn't actually want to realize before over some pints of guinness, and that was painful. it was a stinging pain that almost made me cry instantly.
the first thought was regarding a person, and how stupid things turned out - but it feels ok knowing that this feeling might come up every couple of months or so and I'm fine with it.
It'd be more scary if I wasn't able to feel at all.
the second thing coming up was a bit stupid. for years now I have been joking about how I will surely become a therapist, or couples therapist, "when I'm a grown-up". guess what, I am growing up. I don't feel stable enough just YET but I had a moment when I realized that that was a calling, I HAD to be that. it's not only the thought that I could be one, if I wanted to, but that at some point in my life I will have to be a therapist of sorts.
I almost cried because this is scaring the shit out of me.
and then, again, dreams of sorts and communication that is going on my nerves. maybe I need advice. maybe I only want to talk about it so much because it fills empty spaces.
that girl from that country far away. I am happy she's far away. sometimes I miss her, because it was so casual. I didn't care. It was that night and now I realized she is interesting, like I am always interested in the casual girls after a couple of days. I am not in love and won't ever be but still she is annoying me. facebook destroys semi-anonymous one-night-stands in foreign countries, y'all.
anywho, she communicates like I communicated with my ex when I first met her. when I was the person who, under no circumstances, wanted to be in a relationship. she likes statuses. she answers messages, she talks, a lot, even when I first met her. but she talks about herself. she interacts a bit, reacts a bit, but never quite enough, even though she seems interested. it's a weird thing, and I shouldn't care but still I am the person who cares, and have always been.
and then her. the dreamwoman, as we call her now. I met her twice, briefly. the day after the second time I realized something was wrong. the night after that I was thinking about our wedding invitations. I haven't met her in 3-4 months now but dream about her OFTEN. and it's always the same kind of dreams. I am meant to be with her. someone else wants me but it's wrong. the last time I dreamt about her, I had another girlfriend who wanted to propose to me but i was ALL wrong. she was in the background and I knew I had to marry her and break my girlfriends heart. a few weeks ago, in portugal, I dreamt I had application sheets from women, and everyone was sort of my could-be-girlfriend. and I was reading the applications over and over again, they were all good, all the same but I couldn't make up my mind. then she came to me and asked "why are you double-checking everyone?" and I answered "because I already know who I have chosen".
I woke up at 5 am creeped out as hell because I had. already. chosen. her.
now what is that supposed to be? the love of my life? I have a creepy mind and a close relationship to my dreams, and that's important to me. but I don't want to lose myself in those dreams and I don't want to just project wishes and feelings on some person who is the victim of my made-up love.
so things are still a lot worse but feeling better. I am still confused. I have very little money left but want to go to paris. and see my friends in sweden. and then, and then, and then...
there is this huge wedding, my fathers cousins son (yes) is getting married to his girlfriend. who is 25. when I heard that I looked at my watch.
I don't hear any clock ticking, but it still feels weird.
this is a short interlude, a shout-out to brietta: you lucky bastards on the north american continent! why is ivan hanging out with all of you, but not with us poor, poor europeans? you have to tell. everything. it's gonna be great, I am sure.
ireland made me actually feel better. it's a small difference, but it's important. I was there with two of my best friends and my favorite travel companions. it was a couple of days of declaring our love for one another. our closet case who was only out to me came out to the other one as well.
I realized things I didn't actually want to realize before over some pints of guinness, and that was painful. it was a stinging pain that almost made me cry instantly.
the first thought was regarding a person, and how stupid things turned out - but it feels ok knowing that this feeling might come up every couple of months or so and I'm fine with it.
It'd be more scary if I wasn't able to feel at all.
the second thing coming up was a bit stupid. for years now I have been joking about how I will surely become a therapist, or couples therapist, "when I'm a grown-up". guess what, I am growing up. I don't feel stable enough just YET but I had a moment when I realized that that was a calling, I HAD to be that. it's not only the thought that I could be one, if I wanted to, but that at some point in my life I will have to be a therapist of sorts.
I almost cried because this is scaring the shit out of me.
and then, again, dreams of sorts and communication that is going on my nerves. maybe I need advice. maybe I only want to talk about it so much because it fills empty spaces.
that girl from that country far away. I am happy she's far away. sometimes I miss her, because it was so casual. I didn't care. It was that night and now I realized she is interesting, like I am always interested in the casual girls after a couple of days. I am not in love and won't ever be but still she is annoying me. facebook destroys semi-anonymous one-night-stands in foreign countries, y'all.
anywho, she communicates like I communicated with my ex when I first met her. when I was the person who, under no circumstances, wanted to be in a relationship. she likes statuses. she answers messages, she talks, a lot, even when I first met her. but she talks about herself. she interacts a bit, reacts a bit, but never quite enough, even though she seems interested. it's a weird thing, and I shouldn't care but still I am the person who cares, and have always been.
and then her. the dreamwoman, as we call her now. I met her twice, briefly. the day after the second time I realized something was wrong. the night after that I was thinking about our wedding invitations. I haven't met her in 3-4 months now but dream about her OFTEN. and it's always the same kind of dreams. I am meant to be with her. someone else wants me but it's wrong. the last time I dreamt about her, I had another girlfriend who wanted to propose to me but i was ALL wrong. she was in the background and I knew I had to marry her and break my girlfriends heart. a few weeks ago, in portugal, I dreamt I had application sheets from women, and everyone was sort of my could-be-girlfriend. and I was reading the applications over and over again, they were all good, all the same but I couldn't make up my mind. then she came to me and asked "why are you double-checking everyone?" and I answered "because I already know who I have chosen".
I woke up at 5 am creeped out as hell because I had. already. chosen. her.
now what is that supposed to be? the love of my life? I have a creepy mind and a close relationship to my dreams, and that's important to me. but I don't want to lose myself in those dreams and I don't want to just project wishes and feelings on some person who is the victim of my made-up love.
so things are still a lot worse but feeling better. I am still confused. I have very little money left but want to go to paris. and see my friends in sweden. and then, and then, and then...
teaser 2: pool with a view
portugal.
