Time Is An Illusion

'Cause otherwise I wouldn't have believed it when I saw it has been 5 months since last post. 5 months!!! Remember, I used to erupt here twice a week on average. So what's the occasion, why this sudden reappearance?

An easy answer to why I have been absent, is of course the fact that my days are so much different now, not being a student anymore. Working full days, regular hours, certainly is different from the somewhat unstructured student life I had before. Back then I could stay up all night writing, and I often did. But that's only part of the truth, 'cause my night habits are not that much different these days. Still stay up too late, too many nights - just not writing.

The main reason for me writing is motivation, an urge to express myself, to communicate. I want to tell something. And it wasn't that I didn't have any stories, there has been maybe too many things I could write about. But another important factor, which I only realized just now, is that I usually write when I think I see a connection of some kind. A reason or understanding. In short, one way or the other, writing is for me a philosophical exercise. And I've just been too confused lately.

Today I feel I'm regaining consciousness again, a little revived. Feels good.

Communicare Necesse Est!

Had such great plans for writing this weekend, with so much clogged up in my heart and mind that I needed to let go of. But here I am, Sunday evening, and no words to show for. Somehow though, it doesn't feel that important. You see, the writing was supposed to help me clear my thoughts, but they're actually not that obscure after all. Good for me, but it also means I have to find other purposes for my scribblings.

But I'll tell you this, it has been one bumpy ride these last few weeks. Not that I haven't been on those before; on the contrary, it seems I'm jumping from one to another all the time. But it's not always I find them quite as accelerated. First there was a week with an insane mix of wild anticipation for something extraordinary that might happen and also an excruciating worry for potentially being without income from next month on. Extreme emotions rushed through me, which then culminated in a most bizarre weekend. Sunday afternoon I was kinda shattered, but fortunately I've got a very trusting friend who picked up what was left of me. As always.

Monday and Tuesday went by in a haze, while trying not to let the tears show too much at work. The other candidates applying for "my" job came for their interviews, and while being showed around the library I smiled as nothing was wrong. Neither with me personally, nor with the absurd situation of greeting someone who doesn't know I'm a competitor for the position. Wednesday afternoon it was my turn to be interviewed. Last in line, and then I could only wait.

While I was doing all this crying, silent at work and out loud at home, I was also thinking. I knew that it all had some real significance, even if things hadn't evolved the way I'd hoped for. My work as a therapist was an issue as well as my personal life, inevitably intertwined as they are. So when I left work on Wednesday I had more or less regained my confidence, in some ways even increased it. After that it was one "victory" after another. The course I'm attending to become a volunteer worker at the crisis chat gave me such a boost, I'd apparently done a splendid job last time in one of my conversations. Pleasing for me obviously, but even better for the ones who will use this service. But I must admit that it was actually very important for me that day, to know that my communication skills hadn't been just an illusion. 'Cause it sure felt like that on Saturday...

Thursday came next positive surprise - I was ahead of the others, and if everyone agrees at the Directorate I'll soon have a permanent position where I am right now. Now, that's a relief. And I really look forward to be even more involved in their plans and visions.

Last piece of redemption was accomplished Friday evening as I was holding the first meeting for our newly formed association for Angelos therapists. The meeting went very well, and I think we're on to something really inventive and rewarding.

Once again it's late and I need to get to bed, but I'll give you a quote from my Thinkexist-account before I go. Richard Bach said it well:

“There are no mistakes. The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go.”

Ein Bißchen Verrückt

"I can do it!" I said, and went behind the counter. One of the ladies wanted an Irish Coffee, and as it wasn't on the menu and no one knew how to make it, I volunteered. To my question where the whiskey was the owner of the restaurant pointed to the Jack Daniels on the shelf above. "No, no, no. That's wrong. We need Irish." Luckily they had a bottle of Jameson too, and soon I was mixing away. Next challenge was the coffee, 'cause seconds earlier someone else almost emptied the thermos and I was left with only half a cup. Amazing how quickly ones mind works when slightly intoxicated! In a jiffy I had Rebecca (the owners daughter) making an espresso to fill up the Irish Coffee with. Last there was the issue of cream. First they thought there was only a can of spray cream. Not good for a perfect Irish, but sadly it's what you often get at bars. Then it turned out that there wasn't a can after all. I was happy, and they told me they where preparing the cream in the kitchen. When I tried to explain how I needed the cream to be whipped just enough to to be able to float on top, they simply told me to run upstairs and instruct the chef my self. So I did. The cream was perfect - for some dessert that is, sweet, thick and creamy! 'Cause first I rambled about in Norwegian, which didn't work. Italian restaurant, Italian chef. Obviously. By the time we fully understood each other it was too late, and there was no chance of pouring the cream in to the glass over the back of a spoon as I had intended. (Had this been in a country where the cream is richer, it would've been floating without whipping it first...) I finished the drink and handed it over. The lady was pleased, but I realized she would have been just as happy with the spray cream. She grabbed a spoon and stirred the cream in to the coffee/whiskey!

There was music as well. Lena, who was in charge of this event, had more or less pulled in the musicians from the street. But boy, does she has a nose for talent. This young lad sang in Spanish as if he was born in Mexico, and he played his guitar with great inspiration. (By the way, I'll tell you more about Lena in a couple of weeks I guess, as I'm about to start up with her agency these days. Exciting and a bit scary at the same time.)

In all this slightly chaotic festiveness, there was still a business to run. In the restaurant there were four generations represented. Old great-grandfather sat on a chair in a corner, grinning toothlessly. Next was grandpa, the chef. Father, and owner, was for the night being nothing but all Italian, loving every minute of this openhearted familiarity. But giving away free wine simply won't work in Norway, and the lovely young daughter made her best to take care of her fathers interests. The mother was there as well, but confused as I was by the owners obvious flirting with me, I had to ask her how everything was connected. They were divorced, she told me. Not that it made any difference to me, I wasn't interested really, but it showed me that getting along with your ex can work fine.

The place was filled with regular customers as well, some more at home than others. The four Canadian ladies looked a bit reserved, but took photos of the joyous people around. The Canadians were replaced by a whole bunch from Rome, and they certainly enjoyed the atmosphere. The German couple though, I think might have looked forward to a more quiet evening. I sat down next to the woman and told her it was a somewhat unusual setting that night. Even found a reminiscence of my old German vocabulary in the back of my mind. "Heute abend - ein bißchen verrückt" I said with the biggest smile.

Working Week

I'm now well into the habits of a single, working woman. Leaving home early in the morning, and not seeing the house again until late in the evening. After work there's a lot going on as well, and this week has been "crazy". Monday to Thursday all had after work activities - dinners, birthday celebrations, courses. And a super finish on Friday with a nigh out with my super buddy. Friday even became Saturday before I saw my own bed again, and the rest of that day I was pretty washed out. Can't drink that much without consequences. Of all kinds. On the other hand I'm no fan of blaming stuff on alcohol, and more importantly, didn't do anything wrong.

Today I've been a lot more "awake", and I even had a walk to the local shop for some lemon, cherry tomatoes and Greek yogurt, which I needed for the dinner. Made a whole roasted chicken with garlic and lemon, potatoes, and cherry tomatoes with basil. Very nice, and with the rest of yesterday's wine it was almost perfect.

Now we (my daughter and I) are rounding off the week watching Psycho. John Gavin and Vera Miles are just signing in to the hotel, trying to solve the mystery with Marions disappearance. And soon I'm off to bed. Hopefully get a good nights sleep that'll fix my sore neck. I'm stiff like a pole, wonder what I've been doing?

Total Recall

I believe I've made some progress in my life, and sometimes I'm lucky enough to get reminders of just how much. This latest one got me thinking of episodes from my teenage years.

I was sixteen and in love. As always, I might add. I realize now that I can't remember a time actually, not being in love, or looking for it in some way. Well, at sixteen it's probably more hormones than love, but the emotions are quite confusing. My self-esteem wasn't exactly high in those years, and I honestly couldn't believe anyone would miss me if I left them. So accordingly, I did. Although I could easily do some retrospective analyses of the whys and such, I'll pass for now, but I do remember one of the most embarrassing episodes. Embarrassing 'cause I quickly learned that my behavior did cause some pain, and it has stuck with me since.

It started on a Swedish summer night, at an open-air dance pavilion. Lots and lots of happy (drunken) people out in the woods, and a band playing cover versions of all the current hits. It was a very local happening, up where my cousin lived. In fact it was her turf I was roaming, and thinking of it, that might be even more of a faux pas, hitting on a boy she'd been into for a long time. My excuse though for that, and everything else that happened, was my young age. Teenagers are morons, let's face it. So, I did what I could and we had a fabulous time together for a while. To this day, nearly 30 years later, I can't point out anything specifically wrong, but I might remember some of the (unconscious) feelings. Too serious? No "new-thrill excitement"? Too predictable? Restrictions and limitations of what might be with other boys? So I broke up. But did I muster up the courage to do it face to face, or at least on the phone? No, of course I didn't. I wrote him a letter! Or more of a note as I recall it now. Short and brutal, I'm sure. Coward, that what I was. But only sixteen, and I've learned since.

Then you'd think someone with even 40 more years of life experience would do a better job, right? Remember that episode of Sex and the city where Berger broke up on a Post-It note? The lowest of low, according to most people. I googled "Post-It breakup" and found a lot of different entries discussing the theme. Like the ten worst ways of breaking up with someone, and why it's not acceptable. And there's no excuse in telling there wasn't a serious relationship to begin with, 'cause why the urge to end something if it didn't start at all?

Carrie says it well, I reckon:



Post-It, Facebook, text message, same difference...