first meeting

Through the moving darkness of drunken sleep a shrill ring tone broke through, insistant, almost desperate, panicked. Finally I tore myself from unconsciousness and stumbled into the hallway, as though familiar with this apartment, answered the door and it was her and it could have been a dream but it wasn't and I went back to bed and she was lying next to me, she was talking to me, touching me, kissing me, on my cheek and the corner of my mouth, and then I sunk into sleep again and the next thing I knew it was morning, I felt sick and she was gone.

And what have you done?

It's almost two in the morning. I was falling asleep in front of the TV a few hours ago and decided to go to bed but of course as soon as I lay down in the dark of my former bedroom I was wide awake again. So this is Christmas - I dread to face the inevitable question that follows that statement - I think I'm experiencing an assault of post-holiday gloom to my various senses, just wait until you see me around this time on New Year's Eve, must be all the fattening food and sugary sweets that have been force-fed to me by means of brainwashing and possibly red-suited telekinesis. It's so weird, I was having a staring contest with myself whilst brushing my teeth just now, yeah I'm weird too, but I barely recognize myself sometimes. Another year has gone by, still completely narcissistic. Well, almost completely. There are still some stray thoughts of interest directed at certain someones that are not part of the population of my own mind and on that note I think I am most definitely destined for a life of devoted celebacy. I'm here. The other day I was literally a wall away, when I was visiting Fredde who got an apartment in the same building, I was in the same building, and my being in said building was made known through text messages and telepathy, but nothing. I left the christmas gift with Fredde, figured you know, they're more likely to see each other first anyway...but anyway, I should get some sleep, or rest at least, or brooding even, done and yeah... wow, odd thought processes, i just thought of Lucy in the sky with diamonds and then on auto-pilot thought of an acronym for myself and came up with Ida in the desert with acorns, acorns of all things, I ask you,

yeah, the holidays are evil - but at least I got some nice pretty things, my family is still in one piece and I have not morphed into blue whale just yet...

The second letter

When I was eleven or so and I had one friend I remember telling her about my dream boyfriend. He had brown hair and green eyes. His favourite band was Metallica. I guess I still thought maybe there was a smidge of a hope for me to turn out normal, desiring the house and the lab and the 2,5 children and the valium, not just desiring to have the desire. Instead, here I am. I'm not perfect, in fact I'm quite fucked up. I'm in no position to be making any promises. What you see is what you get, if even. But I can tell you one thing, amidst the quirks and the phobias that fit into that one term "fucked up", including fear of intimacy, commitment and even conversations at times, an unhealthy view of sex and a cynical outlook on life, and the emotional capacity of the twelve-year-old I was when things went wrong, I have felt something akin to normal, healthy, sweet infatuation that could quite possibly lead to the real thing, once, for one person, and I don't mean to scare you but that's you, baby. That's what I have to offer. Take it or leave it. A piece of advice would be, leave it. Run for the hills. Because this girl's got a ton of baggage.

That's it.

Taking a breath in the capital

It's another world, not another corner in the one world, but another one altogether. It's familiar but foreign at the same time; it's familiar, it's home, but I'm foreign, an alien on a visit, I come in peace. Some times I have to think of something to say, and I come up with the most mundane pleasantries, or I come up with nothing at all. It's all about adjustment periods. You get used to anything given enough time, even things you used to know and then forgot along the way. It's all about time and presence. I try to be where I am now, I try not to drift off anymore, but that too takes practise I guess.

There's no snow in Stockholm. A bit of a disappointment but not much of a surprise. Spend enough time away from Sweden and you start to believe the universal stereotypes: we're all long-legged, blue-eyed blondes who live in igloos and ride on reindeer as we go hunting for whales and polar bears. It's nice here. I look at my brother's family, their little everyday rituals, their language, their love and I can't help but to wonder why I'm not cut out for it, it seems perfect, why doesn't it fit me, or rather why don't I fit into it, the picture, this way of life, this world, why do I stand out at all the wrong angles?

Well. As you might have guessed, the aeroplane did not crash. It ate up my suitcase somewhere between Chicago and Stockholm, but other than that the flight and the aftermath of it was somewhat painfree after that initial first impression in Vancouver. I've just fed my seven-month-old nephew Theo and showed my soon-to-be-two-year-old niece Milou "Gnomes and trolls" that I have downloaded onto my laptop. I like children, but just like normal-sized people they make me vary in the beginning, but we're all warming up to the idea of each other fairly quickly. Plus, no-one speaks your name like a child who has recently learned how to form words...

the travels begin

Vancouver International airport. Waiting at my gate, aptly located at the far end of the entire airport, having already gone through Purgatory I am now awaiting the jaws of Hell to open up and swallow me and then board me onto a solid steel vessel posing as a bird to take me to Chicago of all place, Chicago I ask you, who wants to go there? I have every intention of getting on the first available flight out of there as soon as I land, I assured the sour-faced border official as she took my fingerprints, I am going to Stockholm, to Stockholm, SWEDEN, yes, thank you, happy christmas.

And then of course there were metal detectors to pass through after I'd checked my suitcase, without any jackets, hoodies or shoes or metal objects on my person, and of course, having completely miscalculated the size of aforte-mentioned suitcase I was wearing two hoodies, a jean jacket and a winter coat, plus almost-too-tight leather boots straining between my calves and the narrow-cut jeans that I carefully had to peel off in order to get the fuckers off my legs, and then there was this laptop to be removed from its laptop bag and a forgotten belt with metal buckle that caused the detector to beep at me and as a punishment I was molested with an equally beeping piece of plastic. Yes. It was all very lovely. As usual. It is now a quarter to eight. I've been here since six. I managed to fish enough coins outs of my pockets to buy a coffee but have not had as much as a sip of it yet since like everything else in Hades it's scorchingly hot and have only managed to spill half of it over my hand walking to, yes, the very far end of the bloody place. I have not slept for two nights. I bloody hate airports. In fact, the only thing I hate more than airports are aeroplanes.

I was quite anxious about this trip, in fact I was panicking all night, but now I am merely pissed off.

Happy Christmas.