Acceptable Behaviour?

I'm making a poll here, so please, please, PLEEEASE, help me out. I'm going to tell you a short story and I need you to tell me if I'm wrong when I find some of the people in the story behaving unacceptably. There will be no names or anything, my interest here is merely my own satisfaction in knowing that I have the majority behind me. So here's the story:

A teenager walked into the livingroom where he found his fathers new woman busy painting. She hadn't yet decided if she was going to move in with them, but she was there for the weekend anyway. The son asked her what she was doing. Not that he couldn't see that, but he just had to hear it from her.

"We're painting this table. You'll get it back once we've bought a new one."

The boy left the house flabbergasted, to see his friends.

You see, this is the clue. The table belonged to the teenager, and I think what the father and his woman did, by entering the room of the 17-year-old and get the table, usually is called theft. The father is probably of a different opinion and is most likely to call this act borrowing. So who's right? Am I blind who can't seem to find an excuse good enough for stealing from your children? And mind you, they certainly could afford buying a new coffetable straight away. Some people don't have to wait for the next paycheck.

PS. I've recently found out that some of you new to the blogging-world doesn't know that you too can have your saying. If you only read my blog it's understandable 'cause as always I couldn't resist the temptation to fix and alter things. Usually direct under each post it says Comments which is sort of obvious, but in my blog you have to pinch me back. Get it?

Sofisticated Terrorism

This story took place a few days ago. It was the last day of my holiday, and I thought I’d have a last stroll through the city before I had to return back home. I talked to my brother in the morning and arranged to meet for lunch. He works at one of the major architecture offices, and as I hadn’t been there before I was quite thrilled to see what he’d been up to the last couple of months. So we decided to meet there. It was a ten minute walk there from the train, and just a few yards from station I walked by a man playing the accordion. Not very inspired, but it was nice somehow, because he was standing in a gallery which is always pretty effective with its good acoustics. I walked through the mall, and right outside I encountered another accordionplayer. He was a lot younger and equally livlier, but still, they sounded alike. I even think they played the same song. For some reason I noted the name of the bridge he was standing on, and realized I didn’t know it before, even though I’ve crossed it many, many times. I left the Peace Bridge behind me and turned another corner.

To my astonishment there was yet another man playing the same instrument as before, and now I really started to worry. I had this this unsettling feeling that they were all part of some evil masterplan, synchronized to play the same repertoire, and I made up my mind that if I heard a fourth player I had to alarm someone. I did. Not ring any bells or anything, but I did hear another accordion. Suitably right outside the cathedral. By now I was utterly convinced that this was the terrorists latest scheme. How sofisticated! Simply ship busloads of them into the country (none of the musicians were native), scatter them around the cities armed with their lethal instruments and well rehearsed muzac, and then let them play for all they’re worth! Had I stayed just a little longer I think I had had to kill myself, and I’d probably had taken a few of my poor fellow citizens with me, just to spare them the agony.

I rushed up to my brothers work and told him that the end was near. “Silly sister”, he said and took me to lunch, “the one by the cathedral is actually quite good, you should hear him jamming with that old Galois-smoking, trumpet-playing Frenchman.”

It was evident that all this was purely a result of my sometimes too vivid imagination playing tricks on me, not to mention a desire for interesting plots. These poor musicians were probably just refugees trying to make a living in an unfamiliar country.

And in fact, I do love the accordion, just listen.

A Very Late Summer Holiday

Good things come to those who wait, I think the saying goes, and this little post is just to reassure anyone who doubt it.

Today I finished my essay. We were supposed to write 1800 words, and when I counted after the final stop it came to a total of 1813 words. That’s pretty darned accurate, I’d say! If this turns out to be one of the two papers I decide to hand in for my exam it’s going to be doubled, but that won’t be a problem either, I already know were it’s week and needs more support. So far, so good, and now I think I’m aloud to relax for the remainder of my stay here back in Sweden.

I still haven’t told you what I’ve been waiting for. But if you know where I usually live you’ve prabably guessed it already. Yes, summer. We didn’t get that in Bergen this year, not much anyway, and I didn’t go anywhere either. (I spend the whole “summer” preparing to move, packing boxes with china and old shoes.) So this weekend I headed for my old homecountry and a familygathering, and as bonus the weather turned out to be absolutely gorgeous. Even if it’s late September it’s not only sunny, but quite warm as well, which is a bit unusual. A nice autumnday could otherwise be somewhat nippy.

As I sat here earlier today working on my essay, I frequently took breaks and looked out the window. The wiew offered pure serenity, the cow and her calves grassing, a heard of sheep in the distance and the farmer out there too, moving stones. You can’t do that in a hurry!

Now I can hear Van Morrison on the radio and the coffe brewing, and I even think there will be some vintage Barbados rum with that steaming cup. Sounds good, doesn’t it? I’ll have one for you too... To really emphasize how quiet and relaxed this is, I have to tell you that this post was written days ago, saved on my laptop to later be brought back to civilization and broadbandconnections.

Mañana, mañana

Exile

Hi!
I left the country! Not on a permanent basis, just for a few days. The sun is shining and everything is just fine. Not. My luggage got lost in Copenhagen on my way here, and with it my books and papers that I need to finish my essay. Hopefully I'll get it back later today, so I'll simply use this as an excuse for doing nothing, besides drinking coffe and chatting with my mum. And that is quite important as well, I think. Quality time with people you love.

My mum doesn't have broadband. Her connection is NOT reliable. SHe is though, so she drove me to town, and here I am, happily tapping away on the keyboard at a public library. Have to go, times up.

Peeing My Pants

My essay was supposed to be handed in by Friday, and as I'm going away Thursday morning I thought I'd rather finish my writing tomorrow, Wednesday. But today I was relieved to learn that the due-date has been postponed until next Tuesday, and immediate I leaned back in my chair and imagined I had all the time in the world. But that, my friend, is really like wet yourself to keep warm.

Regardless, I'm happy for the extra time 'cause I'm kind of stuck now. Partly I'm not really sure how philosophical I can keep this text and still meet the expectations regarding reference to the curriculum and required reading. But hey, What the Hack, I think I'll stick to my personal style and see what happens. That's usually a good idea, why not this time?

The other reason for my struggel with the writing is that other wet dream I've had lately (without peeing my pants). The one about the boat. Yeh, I know, you've heard it before. I even said we already bought the freakin' ship, but the thing is we really weren't sure. Should we go for the one that seemed to be a safe (as safe as a boat can be) investment, but perhaps lacking a bit charm, or should we decide upon the one we really fell for? The one which probably had a lot of hidden problems? Mind or heart? But there was also a third alternative... a lovely lady who had it all - tons of charm, regulary inspected (without negative comments!) but of course she seemed to be out of our reach, we're not that rich. In fact, we're not rich at all. I for my part am only repeating my usual stunt. Spend my savings on something I believe in.

I am a great believer. And I belive in many things, fate and destiny being two of my favourites. Or do they count as one? Anyway, according to that we might actually end up with the dreamboat afterall! Guess her name? Frigg!


For you who are too lazy to link, I'll just tell you that Frigg was the wife of Odin, and she was the only one who knew humans fate almost as well as her husband did, back in the good old Viking days. I wonder how they kept warm?...

Absolution?

A small, greyhaired man in his fifties entered the Vicars office and told the Vicar he wanted to confess.
That’s allright, said the Vicar. What’s on your mind?
Well, the man started hesitantly, yesterday my wife bent over the freezer, her skirt slid up just a bit, and I couldn’t fight the lust of the flesh, so I pulled up her skirt completely, off with her pants, and took her all I could!
And that was your wife, you said? asked the Vicar.
Yes, replied the man, we’ve been married for 28 years.
My son, this is nothing to confess, said the priest, having sexual intercourse with your wife is just like God intended.
Thanks, that was good to hear, said the man and left the office.
About an hour later a plain, greyhaired little lady about 50 years old also addressed the Vicar and wanted to confess. The priest asked what it was all about, and the woman told him:
Yesterday I bent over the freezer, and my husband pulled up my skirt, took off my panties and than we had sex from behind. This is awful.
The Vicar chuckled and said: Your husband has already been here to tell the story, and I’ll tell you what I told him, that there is no shame in sexual relations within the holy matrimony.
So we’re welcome to church if we want to? asked the lady.
Oh why, yes of course. You’re most welcome to the church! replied the priest.
That’s a relief, said the lady, ‘cause up at the deli they told us we’re not welcome anymore.

It's monday - and it's blue...

If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't they never were.
Richard Bach

Merry X-mas!

Musiclover

Like always it seems like I'm keeping my priorities straight. Straight as Liberace. Instead of reading up on Freud I used my twohour lunchbreak to drive down to Hi-Fi Klubben to pick up my new stereo. (I payed for it, too. Thanks, Lånekassen!!!) I really look forward to slowly warm up the amplifier with some soft, playful and intimate scandinavian jazz. And maybe later I'll power up with a little bit of Tom Waits? My lonely nights are over, I think. As long as I have my music I'll survive...

Late night therapy

So, what do you do when you're crying so much that you think you're going to throw up? When you're gasping for air like a fish on land? This is my third night in my new apartment, and everything is utter chaos. In all possible ways, my mind is just as messy as the surroundings. Boxes everywhere, with half forgotten content, and nowhere to put it once it gets unpacked.

I had actually gone to bed, quite tired after weeks with this moving business. Suddenly it caught me like a riptide, dragging me under - I'm alone, and I wish I wasn't! It could have been rather OK to be by myself, if there only had been a future in it. But as it is I'm going to stay alone, and that is tough to realize. All this probably sounds like a lot of BS. Both for you who know me and everyone else. And yes, I can hear your voices, telling me: "PLEASE, get a grip on your self, there are other people out there!" Well, you heard it before: I DON'T CARE!

Writing is good. It's like Prozac for me, keeps me from not losing it all together. So I must admit that this post is purely for my own benefit. Maybe they all are, but usually a bit more disguised. Not so obviously selfpitying.

But at least it helped, and that is my answer to the opening question. I write for therapy. And again, if that had been the whole and undivided truth you wouldn't be reading this now...