I'm not in the mood for writing just now, but this I'll say: I'm like a starved out prisoner, very easily satisfied - hence the smile. I've found out I don't need that much really to be happy. (Just for a little while at least.)
Or I could pursue that car metaphor from last post, and tell you that someone just lent me a few ounces of that rare oil my car needs.
I'm afraid my car is going to break down soon. The gas is running low, but that's more of an acute problem. If the tank gets empty, I'll just fill it up again if I can afford it, if not, I'll just leave the car for a while until I do. The car is also quite rusty, but I consider that being more of a cosmetic flaw, and also rather easy to fix. No, what I'm talking about is the motor. It is seriously damaged, after being driven for too long with too little oil. So why don't I just refill? Well, I've tried that, but I filled it up with the wrong type and that actually made it all worse. That synthetic stuff won't do for my car, it needs the "real stuff", 100% organic. And a special brand as well, damned hard to get hold of.
Nah, my car is just fine, you all know that, don't you? You've been reading this blog long enough to know what I'm really talking about. Right?
I could apply for a job in the EU. Check this link out - I could do what he's doing. No problem.
...on this Long And Winding Road, walking home from the party early Sunday morning?" I don't know. I just passed these abandoned shoes by car, Sunday afternoon. I really wasn't sure if my eyes only played tricks on me, so I turned the car around, drove back, parked the car and took a closer look. I immediately pictured a variety of possible scenarios, some more intriguing than others, and one even involving calling the police.
I had my Minolta digital camera with me and immortalized the scene. I then walked back to my car and drove back to reality leaving the shoes behind.
As it is sort of huntingseason going on christmas, it reminded me of a story from last year which I thought I’d share with you.
Last day in school before the holidays they usually sit down and have a shared lunch, and my daughter brought a nicely decorated platter with cold cuts for the occasion. For some reason her backpack were left downstairs with it’s content for a week, and when I found it the leftovers had turned almost completely liquid trapped behind the cling film. The reek was unbearable, and except from the fabric pencil case which could go in the washer, everything else went straight to the bin.
A few days later my brother came visiting from Sweden to spend New Year with us, and I told him about the rotten affair. “Ha, do think that’s disgusting? Listen here, I’ll tell you a story!” And he told us about his friend (let’s call him Paul), who’s a keen hunter. He goes after the big game and therefore needs two, if not three, large freezers to store the meet in, which he and his family then empties after the “first in - first out” principle. Once when they went away for a few days, Pauls brother (we can call him Jack) was in their house doing some work, and related to that he needed to connect his tools to the power supply. He pulled out what he thought was a suitable plug from it’s socket, and even worse, then forgot to put it back again. A long time after this, maybe months actually, the family started to experience some really foul odour emerging from somewhere unknown. They aired the house, and the smell disappeared, and this kept on for a while; short bursts of insufferable stench that blew away again through the open windows. But in the end they just had to figure out what it was, and they searched the house thoroughly. In the basement they found the source of the horrors - meet Bullwinkle, slowly swimming around in his own dissolving flesh! Everytime his hideout was filled up with gas due to his decomposing state, the lid lifted and let out a dose of foulness. Now, that’s revolting if you ask me, but it doesn’t stop there, ‘cause the freezer was too big to carry upright through the door, so Paul handed poor Jack a bucket and a shovel and told him to get on with it. You get the picture? I did, and suddenly my daughters abandoned lunch seemed almost appetizing.
Can we learn anything from this story though? Yes – never forget the moose in your backpack!
Late nights seem to work wonders for philosophical elaborations. Earlier this evening I got a phonecall from a friend of mine, and we talked about exes, friends and human behaviour in general. The issue here isn't who we discussed, but in some context I said something like "You see, he really isn't all that bad, he just doesn't know how to act. He did in fact use to tell me that his problem was that he thought and felt too much, and to protect himself he chose not to show any emotions at all." Just as I uttered these words it dawned on me that we should never be making excuses for people who don't do the right thing, and get away with it just because they're "good, deep down inside"! Let's put it this way: In my mind I can actually see paintings that haven't been painted yet, and I know that they would be really good if they only were. But they're not, and I certainly don't expect to get credit for a picture in my mind, even less call my self an artist. First I have to bring it to life in oil on canvas. And the music I hear isn't worth a thing to others if it's only in my head, even though the sax and the piano are playing in perfect disharmony. And as not all of us are true artists, not all people have the gift of acting accordingly to their intensions, and therefore shouldn't get acknowledged as an "acting artist" either.
Life sure is a like a Rollercoaster, but have ever you thought of the fact that they not only travel at a tremendous speed up and down, and round and round, but some times they actually fail? I think we use that rollercoaster metaphore as a way of reassuring ourselves that in the end of the ride, you're safely back on the ground, laughing about how silly you were to be scared and anxious. But what about those times when the brakes don't work, or the calculations somewhere went wrong and the cart just leaves the rail and continues in free air?
There’s usually an upside to everything, and being a self-analyzing, slightly obsessed semi-neurotic keeps me from never running out of topics for writing. But a touch of schizophrenia would sometimes be useful as well, then it wouldn’t be all about me...
You're coming back, and how I missed you! Working without you has been nothing but struggle, and I wish you'd stick around for a while. I certainly need you. After a long time of not getting the logic in what I'm doing it's finally coming back to me, and with your help I'll probably accomplish my goals. I know you most likely will leave again, so I'll just enjoy it while it lasts, and get as much done as possible. I think we humans all need you, Inspiration!
About a month ago I bought myself a new TV with a 32" LCD screen, and one of the things I thought I'd like to do was to hook it up to my computer. I really haven't had time for it before, and also the connection cable lacked, but tonight I tried it out and what a difference! Amazing to see all the details, in one of my PhotoShop projects for instance. Just wish there was more time for playing...
When I woke up this morning I noticed that my view was getting clearer, and I could now see things I couldn't see a month ago. By winter I guess everything will be unobstructed, leaving a free perspective. My window outlook isn't so bad either.
Isn't it funny. Here I've been struggling for weeks to muster up some inspiration. Everything have been really slow, kinda sirupy, as I fell behind at uni already from the start due to the moving and all that. Heard anyone say that they work best under pressure? Well, you never heard it from me, but it must be some truth in it, 'cause today round about noon there were no more excuses. Kids away, silence (Almost, except from the neighbour playing music just a little too loud. But at least he put on a CD today instead of that annoying Radio1.), the apartment almost tidy and I was still smiling from the night before when I had a few ladyfriends over for my fabulous fishsoup. I had written only 300 words up til that point, and I was really stuck. Not that I didn't know what to say, I have plenty on my mind, but the problem here was that I simply weren't in the mood for following instructions and keep to the assignment. I have a strong feeling that I probably were some kind of a rebellion in a previous life. A pirate princess, maybe? So I've been sitting here all day, while the sun has been shining continuously outside. Slow, slow, and ever so often ctrl+a, tools, wordcount just to see how I was doing. Much like a kid asking from the backseat "Is it far? Are we there yet?" while you steering the car out from the parking lot. Much to my surprise; at the end of the day I had managed another 1000 words, but I'm not actually sure if that's a good sign, 'cause I haven't started on the interesting stuff yet. I have merely done a sort of resume so far, and now I'm not sure if I can limit myself. (This made me suddenly think of the cake I have in the fridge from yesterday.) So I think that's kinda ironic, that I probably have to follow my own advice that I cheerfully gave away the other day.
The easiest blogpost ever, just cut&paste from a (forwarded, scanned and virusfree) e-mail:
Why females should avoid a girls' night out after they are married!
The other night I was invited out for a night with "the girls." I told my husband that I would be home by midnight, "I promise!" Well, the hours passed and the margaritas went down way too easy. Around 3 a.m., a bit loaded, I headed for home. Just as I got in the door! , the cuckoo clock in the hall started up and cuckooed 3 times. Quickly, realizing my husband would probably wake up, I cuckooed another 9 times. I was really proud of myself for coming up with such a quick-witted solution, in order to escape a possible conflict with him. (Even when totally smashed ... 3 cuckoos plus 9 cuckoos totals 12 cuckoos = MIDNIGHT!) The next morning my husband asked me what time I got in, and I told him, "Midnight." He didn't seem pissed off at all. Whew! Got away with that one! Then he said, "We need a new cuckoo clock." When I asked him why, he said, "Well, last night our clock cuckooed three times, then said, "Oh sh -- ! ," cuckooed 4 more times, cleared it's throat, cuckooed another 3 times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the coffee table and farted."
Does anyone out there have the the most updated pricelist on "time"? I've just bought me some much needed extra of that particular item, and I have a strong feeling that the end cost will be enormous. I don't even know the currency. Dollar? Yen? My soul? Or perhaps some peculiar form of payment, yet unknown? Sometimes the fineprint at the end of a contract is so small you can't see it, but there usually is a catch.
Catch me, if you can...
Well, we didn't get the boat. Right now I'm not too sure what to think about the whole thing, but if I have understood just a fraction of what I'm supposed to, at my course in Psychoanalysis, I believe the dream I had last night tried to tell me something:
I really can't remember that many details, but suddenly The Boat appeared, and to my astonishment I found out that she actually was driven by nuclear power and radioactive! Dangerous to say the least, and far more complicated to take care of than anyone could have imagined. Neither of us are Atomic Scientists. In this dream lies the possibility of some useful interpretations, but it's too late now. I'd rather go to bed and see if I'll get a "follow-up".
I'll think we'll probably go for more sail and less motor. (Toril, how much do you charge for lessons?) ;) lol
And something completely different: I've made a new "design",
Come visit my second store on CafePress!
I've been flying around a lot lately, in many aspects. (Not in all, mind you!) The most recent trip was just a 24-hour one to have a closer look at the boat we want to buy. I arrived in Trondheim late at night and grabbed a few hours sleep before I picked up my rental car and set off for Frøya. Norway is truly a beautyful country and the 2 1/2 hour drive made wonders for my scattered mind.
So after my personal inspection I made a quick phonecall and we decided to go for it. Perhaps I was a bit naiv, but I thought the deal would be closed that day. But, oh no. I didn't hear anything for the rest of that day, and it was not until this afternoon I've recieved a mail where the seller said they still had to deliberate a bit further. He said he would give me an answer monday evening, at the latest.
It was now I started to think about the process of getting an adopted child. I've heard stories where the parents-to-be actually got pictures of "their" new baby and even travelled across the world to pick him or her up only to learn that the biological mum had changed her mind and kept the child. I'm not at all trying to pretend that buying a "dead" thing like a boat could be compared with having your own children, but as I don't think I'm going to enlarge my family in the nearby future this is in a way my new "baby", and the wait and uncertainty is killing me, so to speak. And just as being a first time mum I'm not at all sure how to take care of this bundle, even though I've been around boats before.
I'm so glad I'm not doing this alone. On the other hand, I wouldn't either.
