Insomnia.

It's in the middle of the night now, i am leaving in four hours. I just finished packing after i realized that now matter how many different ways you put your shoes into your suitcase it's still not going to weigh any less.
So two kilos overweight, it shouldn't be too much to pay. Mehopes..

I would love to entertain you with a witty, sharp and wise entry, but that's just not going to happen tonight. I am going to eat chocolate, watch a film (not Mamma mia it was horrible) and try to nap for an hour maybe.

It's raining and soon i'll be on a bus for five hours, going to the airport.

My time in England is over for now, but i shall return.

I had a good time and will miss people. And English. And Eastenders.

Bah humbug.

How to kill a wife.

The post title this time comes from yesterdays late night pondering. I had, for some unexplainable reason, the song 'How to save a life' on my brain, in my brain, in my head, seriously it was everywhere except for maybe in the fridge (cold places are often silent places, i don't know why). But instead of hearing the original lyrics i heard... well, the post title. So i didn't get much sleep last night as i was slightly worried about the morbid way my head works.

Me blogging now is just an excuse really, i should pack. I should prepare, i should, i should. But i don't want to! I mean, i want to go to Africa, don't get me wrong, but why does it have to be so much preparation involved? The cleaning I'm alright with, i don't mind making things look nice and tidy. But the sorting out what to keep and what to throw away or give to charity is hell on earth for a sentimental person.
Everytime i pick something up from the ridiculously huge pile of things i own, i get these vivid flashbacks of summers past and old dreams, and i just want to keep it all. But i shan't (is that a word? It is now), i shall throw it all away never to see it again. How dramatic.

The only sentimental treasures i allow myself to keep are my diaries and notebooks, and the jewelry given to me by old friends, lovers and relatives. One of those pieces is a homemade sheep tooth necklace given to me by a friend just to mock my vegetarianism, i feel like Luna Lovegood everytime i wear it, but i refuse to depart from it.

I have 17 notebooks, some of them over ten years old, and i love them all to bits. Reading all the bad poetry and silly short story ideas is like watching my imagination and creativity growing up, like i am two people at once. My diaries tells a completely different story, they tell about boyfriends, arguments, alienation, all the regular teenage rants. I do have some disturbing 'what's so bad about suicide' pages in there, but i guess that's just part of the whole diary thing.
I mean, who haven't thought about suicide at least once while growing up? Or thinking that they might be gay or religious? Or both? I even went through a period where i refused to step on grass, convinced that it must be excruciatingly painful to be stepped on all the time.

I must say thank the birds for Neil Gaiman (just a stray thought really) if it weren't for him my favourite author would be a dead, gay man. And if you do not know who i am referring to, you are not worthy of reading my blog. So there.

Merry christmas?

OK, this is the first post ever written while drunk. By me anyway, i don't know about anyone else, but my keyboard tends to look a bit like brain surgery after i've had a couple of drinks. I cannot understand how some authors drink wine while they write, i can't press the right keys after one drink... I has to be a myth.

Maybe before the time of computers, when you had to write on a pieces of paper, parchment or walls. With blood. (i saw it on a film once, so it must be true).
I find it easier to write on paper when drunk, but i don't know why. Must be something with the eye/hand coordination.

A very drunk woman just licked my friends foot, apparently she spilled wine on it. I really don't want to know. I'm just sitting here in my chair, trying not to think. It's harder then it sounds. You cannot NOT think, because you just end up thinking very hard about not thinking.

I am wearing odd socks.


Ah, i really hould be get going to bed and that soon, but i just can't be bothered. And i am waiting for my brother to Skype me from Norway, i haven't spoken with him for a while now, and i actually miss him. And my sister(s). That must be the onlt good thing about going back to Norway, i get to see my family. I really love them (had to say it, i'm drunk you know).

I don't really have anyhting else to say except for that i have grown quite fond of the cobwebs in my room, so i am not going to clean it.
Someone else is taking it over soon anyway, a... Latvian girl? I can't remember, but she sounded nice on the phone.


I can't really decide if i like mince pies or not.


Anyway, HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!! (or, happy christmas people that i like, people that i don't like... bugger off).

Chocolate angst.

I am trying to watch Love Actually, but the adverts keeps on interrupting it. It is really very annoying as it is one of my favorite films. There is just something about it that makes me think that everything will be alright in the end. In life that is, not in the film. That goes without saying.

And it has Colin Firth in it.

It is that time of the year again, time to start thinking about my weight, my hair, my skin... The whole package you know. There is never a pattern, but the urge comes at least twice a year, the 'i really need to reinvent myself to be happy' thing, i'm sure you've had it yourself, don't deny it.

And i have a feeling that if i didn't get this urge i would almost certainly have been a unattractive person with a lot of too small clothes and a pile of sensible underthings. And i would definitely have been one of those round people.

So i am on a diet. Again. It is utterly boring, especially considering the festive eating mayhem that Christmas is. But i shall be a good girl so i can be skinny and fit into all my nice dresses soon.

Oh, and skinny people don't sweat so much. I therefore think it is very clever of me to lose weight before going to Africa. Africa is supposed to be quite hot, or so i've heard.

I wonder if they have nice yogurt there, i love a good yogurt.


Yesterday night i couldn't sleep, so i read through some old notebooks, six years old they are. I was a funny little fucker when i was fifteen! I actually found the predraft to the first-first draft to my book, back when it was more of an idea then an actual story. Some good stuff, some bad and some of it just stuff i will, at some point, bring out into the woods during a vaning moon on a Thursday night and burn.

And now back to watching the film, hoping that, somewhere out there...