The Here, The Now, and The Later

So much happened in such a short moment… They will part ways, clinging to the belief that this can be done in a civilized way. We’ll see… As for now they remain cordial, friendly, so maybe this The Last Summer can play out the way they hope. I of course hope with them, but still, I wonder…

Having written that I see that the time has come for the “spade’s a spade” moment;

We spent almost all our time together from 1986, and in one swift conversation it all ended. Never mind what led up to this. The fact remains; it’s over. I’m feeling relief and sorrow at the same time. And maybe there-s a little hurt pride thrown in on the side as well. I mean, nobody wants to admit to the “failure” of a marriage crushed to bits on the rocky shores of time, change or what have you. Still, as I said, relief. I was mixing optimism with cowardness, arriving at a fine mess of procrastination. This would never have happened if it was left to me. So I thanked him, explaining this, but also making sure I acknowledged his initiative. Had this been left to me I’m not sure we would be here, now.

But I long for this my new life! Of course there are scary parts that I worry about, and quite a bit of sadness when I think about these last instances of… everything. But still! To not have to take into account the other at every turn and every decision! To do whatever, whenever… It might sound both petty and small, but believe me! To create ones own space and tie-frame is a huge luxury. Granted, it comes at a price, and I hope I’m as willing to pay it when I’m at the cashier, as I’m now, rambling along these long exciting ailes!


Next post will probably be  full of sorrow remorse and self-pity, but I suspect that’s how this cookie will crumble… then we’ll see!

Published in: on June 21, 2014 at 21:07  Comments (2)  
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Doubts & Fears and the Headlong Journey

My recent actions and decisions leave me reeling. How did I ever come to this? Working hard to get a grip on this upcoming exhibition, I can only marvel at myself. Granted, I was dazed and confused when I approached the place saying I wanted to do this. But now, i feel as if I’m just floating along, bobbing in a current I can’t control at all. I suppose this is a good thing. To learn (yet again) to let go, to have faith. but faith in what? My “artistic abilities”? Do I have any? Can you have them without wanting to push a message? What does artistic mean anyway?

So many many questions not being answered. I’ll just take a deep breath then, letting go, tossed headlong in the current I can only guess at my destination. I have a feeling I’ll end up bruised and battered, but hopefully it’ll be worth it.

It’s good to have a focus on beauty. More so now than ever. My days these past months have been filled with horror and pain, despair and sorrow. All gleaned from the neews-feeds of the social media. It snares me, the interactivity and easy sharing of good and bad. A weight pushes down on me when I’m not there to sign and share, and yes, there’s also a little nagging feeling sometimes of having to prove just how connected and righteous I can be. It wears me out, and my family too I think. We don’t share this, so my isolation in the world of petitions and causes widens the rift that’s already started to gape open in an alarming way. no no, I’m not blaming that on my little office in the cyber-world! Still, we’re not helped by it, not at all…

And I’m back to my dark fears again. Can I really do this? How can I even begin to think that anyone would like to see my work? Let alone buy it? Oh God, at what price..I mean, I’m unworthy, I know it…on and on like this, looking at the sad horror of the world at the same time. I need to chose, I think. maybe do one thing at a time. maybe I should just cut loose, and drift without a care in/of the world…

Published in: on March 4, 2013 at 21:29  Comments (2)  
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The Breaking, The Sorrow, The mending and the rest.

Is it even possible to start all over again here? I can hardly believe how much time has passed since my last post. .. And also, I can’t remember much of what has happened since then, not that it matters much. This blog has never been a diary, or a recording-device for doings and thoughts on a day to day basis.

Everything changes, all the time. I do too. The past year was one of so many changes, good and truly horrible, that I’m not even sure I want to, or even can put it all down here.I came back from Paris, changed. trekking at high speed, camera in hand, I came back with Beauty. That lead to a friendly push from behind which enabled me to dare to venture further. To actually look at what I’d done, and be pleased, even proud. Daring even another step I went commercial, on the smallest scale ever. And now, here I sit yet another year later (more or less), heartbroken from loss, but also with a renewed belief in myself, and new challenges to brave.

My heart broke in September last year. A very special friend just disappeared from one moment to the next, mowed down in the street, she hit her head and died in hospital some short hours later. I’m happy I can’t remember the pain of hearing the news on the phone, I remember only sheer panic and horrible grief. It’s enough so. Some days I still reel from the absurd reality of it all, but there you are, life… And here I am, living.

The winter-months have passed in an Internet-induced if not coma, so at least narrow-sighted quite passive tunnel. Oh I’ve done what I should; gone to work, been with family etc. But also I can see it now, secluded myself from many things by focusing on the pain and distress of others. Maybe to alleviate my own, I am not sure though that it’s as simple as that- I rather believe that my pain opened up the flood-gates to a new me, somebody that’s less afraid of the pain and the horrors of this world. I still hurt when I read or hear about the pain we inflict on each others, our fellow living beings and the Eath we live on, but by looking at it, and by taking what little positive actions I can against it I survive the despair.

That is one of the positive lessons I’ve learned from grief. The here and now is still hard to remember some days, and I struggle with an inertia that will some nights almost make me panic, thinking of all I do not do… Still, I am learning to be more human, less of a “super” one, and hopefully also to be patient with myself, compassionate.

Through it all, I have somehow kept my positive take on life. Now the next lesson is to learn about courage and cowardice, and where indulgence and fear rules my actions. Oh well… I’ve said it before; Life’s an adventure. Also, I was thinking about starting to be good, and proof-read, but no.

Published in: on February 21, 2013 at 19:57  Leave a Comment  
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Fade and Out and Then

This year draws to an end. I’ve been waiting for something to report, but they trudge along in the same ruts, both her, and him, and I sit idly by, waiting to see what will happen. Perhaps it’s about time to give her a nudge, I think so, as she doesn’t seem able to get a grip on herself, and not on her life either. If I could only find out what she really wants! Maybe she doesn’t know, maybe she does, but is afraid to say. Well, I’ll give them this year to finish, or start over, and then hopefully this peeking into their lifes will be over and done with. I feel it’s high time to move on, to look further afield, or maybe deeper within. To change, and to be changed! I’ve been idle, and feel stale, and I can feel the flow of time quickening its pace, as if we’re on our way downhill…

Published in: on December 27, 2011 at 15:20  Leave a Comment  

A Quick Look

After all this time, i would’ve thought things were different. They’re no ofcourse, and that makes me wonder if this is not maybe always the case? You go away for some time, and then when you return feeling new and improved, there it is , same old, same old. Such a shame, as i really hoped for, and wanted them to be moving on. I mean she’s soo slow, and he’s soo dense, and Hello Help! will they be able to pull it off before their span is used up, for this time? Still, who am I to try to hurry them along their way? life’s life, and we all use ours up the way we see fit.

He falls asleep early more often than before. She’s swalloing, and biding her time, being too cowardly to react. He knows this, at least within, and acts accordingly. She tries to have a life within a life, as she thinks it’s easier. He seems to think this is the life, and lives it…. And so they pass the weeks, months, years. Who will be able to break this status quo? Or rather, what will it take to crack the surface, to pick the thick scab off of the wound? What will ensue once it’s all off and running. I can’t see, and I can’t guess. I will however watch, and report.

Published in: on October 31, 2011 at 20:49  Leave a Comment  
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On and On

This post has been a long time coming. Actually, I don’t even know yet if it will survie. It’s been so very long since… and I feel all changed, and it feels strange, and I don’t know if I will be able to explain what happened.  Sitting here I can at least see some of the results. They give me a feeling of maybe having left that “Stubborn Princess” behind. I didn’t know this was possible until a dear friend explained it, and then I recognized it as something that maybe had happened to me. Strange how things can slip by…

All’s not well ofcourse, but when is it, really. I don’t bite my nails, that’s true. But as I seem to gain strenght my immediate surrounding sort of fades, loses focus and presence. I don’t know if this is just something I see because of who I have become, if it was there all the time, but as I struggled with myself i didn’t see? Now however I see and I shrink back, plotting my retreat like a coward. I just don’t think I can do this as well; take charge, scold and support at the same time. Be the “bad cop”… Oh I really really don’t feel like it! Ofcourse there isn’t any getting away from the thruth, no matter how much I kick and scream… but Oh to just leave things well alone! We’ll see, I’m just not ready yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be. Supposedly we are all acting according to our own capacity, so maybe I’ve reached my limit. But I know ofcourse, lying to myself won’t get me anywhere, not anywhere i want to be that is.

This is a very messy post. Maybe I should just delete everything, and sit back and try to get a grip on what will happen next. Still, there is that thruth again; I wrote this, so it must mean something and deserves a better faith than deletion. And maybe that is the whole point of all this anguished rambling this time? To decide that deletion is never really the right answer, that it’s to quickly done once you do do it, that to un-delete isn’t really possible. Once the damage is done there is no turning back. Is this cowardly I wonder? It’s annoying that I can’t seem to know what I want, or how I want it done!

I started this post thinking I’ve grown up and left that hurt little girl behind. I actually been referring to myself as “serene” once or twice lately. God what conceit! Here I sit hacking away at the keyboard instead of getting up and do something out there in my real life. Well, I’m not more than a coward than that I can admit to being one… I have to think before I continue.

Published in: on October 7, 2011 at 21:10  Leave a Comment  
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Final Countdown

Her sentence is almost up. Maybe that’s just putting a too dramatic edge on it, but yes, she’s definitely counting down. It’s been long, and tedious, and frustrating, but as the tunnel is getting somewhat lighter, so also does the tediousness dissipates, and the frustration becomes but a memory. She likes changes, and by now lives by them, but to live like that is to exchange the change for continuity, and then what’s left of the adventure? Sometimes she yearns for something completely different, but she, like most people , is still more comfortable with that which is known. Still, there will be a change of scenery, of comings and goings, of foods and of walks. A welcome change, almost a relief. Still, there’s some distance to go, the hardest really, when you see the finish-line, but can’t yet get to cross it. The tiredness, the slipping of standards, the stress of it all.

Still, just the very thought of peace, quiet, light… Combined with being cocooned in the warmth of friendship, of solitude and nature. This is surely worth waiting for, for as long as it takes. She’s still so stubborn, never saying die…

Published in: on May 15, 2011 at 13:10  Leave a Comment  
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Stubborn Princess

I know that woman with her bag of books, poised for flight, and I don’t believe it. We’ve grown up together, and I remember her in quite a diiferent light. Silent and stubborn to a fault, never giving up on the things she really wanted. ofcourse she had that problem with her selfesteem being erode by bullying, and by upbringing too, but I’ve heard the stories about the little girl, who like a picky princess bestowed goodnight-kisses to those she considered having earned them… The little girl who would not go to sleep until she’d been caressed and petted enough each night. The little girl who sat with the dog, on the rug, behind the hall-curtain watching TV behind everybody’s back, instead of being asleep in her bed. I just don’t see her getting up to leave. Granted, there is a time for everything, and maybe this is it, but knowing her so intimately I still hesitate. Granted she is the sly stalker kind of person, and may very well just get enough when nobody expects it, but she’s also proud in a strange way (maybe the wrong one) and wouldn’t want to admit herself defeated. because a defeat it would surely be to her. Not being able to fix things is something she has a hard time accepting that’s for sure, and so much more so if she’s part of that what’s broken.

So I’ll just keep an eye on her, and report back when the next step occurs. Because ofcourse there will be one, how could it not?

Published in: on March 16, 2011 at 18:46  Leave a Comment  
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The Comeback Again

Once more I find myself behind with the recording of my thoughts. My life is at a stage where I don’t seem to be able to catch up. It’s not the first time, but each time I’m getting more fed up with it. Fed up with the fact that I know better, and still, I carry on until I’m past the limit. I see the signs, but just out of the corner of my eye, and ignore what I see. Stupid, I know, but that’s me I suppose. Well, the worst is past now, and I do feel better. Just some more days and I’ll be free. Free to catch up, to catch my breath, to be somewhat in command of my own days. Peaking at what I’ve written I can see a pattern where I cast myself in the role of “witless woman without a will”. That is not the case at all, but I did feel that I was losing my way with all the running, and in the end I made myself ill. Maybe that is the way our bodies tries to save our minds, or is it the other way round? Suffice it to say that I was down, and now I’m up.

The rage gets the better of him more and more often. He starts slowly, and builds up steam by repeating, and repeating that which is the current topic of disgust, despite, well, anger. The whole evening will pass thus, until, finally exhausted he will sleep. She stopped some time ago to either argue or egg on. Her opinion is never the right one anyway. She’s biding her time. On a small scale by each evening. When all is quiet she gets out her book, and just disappears. On a larger one maybe she will pack all the books in a bag, when all is quiet. Gently disappearing.

Published in: on March 14, 2011 at 21:04  Leave a Comment  
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Dull River

I look at them, and sometimes I wonder how it will all end. It seems time isn’t really a guarantee that all’s well, and will end that way too. I think he despises her. Not in so many words perhaps, but in many words, so many, many words. Small, even tiny, little daily pinpricks of despite. Why she doesn’t bite back more often God only knows. I would! But I think maybe all these small hurts are slowly bleeding her dry. Anemia of the soul maybe is what she suffers from. I root for her, but can also see that it isn’t that simple. Not from her point of view anyway. And she’s so so tired of it all sometimes, and then another week, month go by without any sign of change. It alls flows into one long dull river. Maybe she’s hoping for that instance when the river will reach the sea. When all will be diluted, less painful, less personal. I think she’s deluding herself, but it’s hard to tell people what to do. Even when I know her as intimately as I know myself. I’ll bide my time and hope to be there just before the necessity arrives to say, ” I told you so, didn’t I?”

Published in: on February 26, 2011 at 13:54  Leave a Comment  
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She was five, maybe six years old, and she knew that it was a bad thing to be greedy. Still she wanted that lipstick so badly! The big girl was nice, and the lipstick was old anyway, so she finally got it. What  pure joy!


That feeling is still there everytime somebody gives her something. I wonder, is there something more to this joy of receiving? Is this another way of being “seen”, fulfilled, getting proof not only of existing, but also of being loved? And if so, is it the same underlying search for love and acknowledgement that makes giving the same pleasure? That by giving she will be loved for being “nice”?

The lipsticks nowadays don’t smell like they did 45 years ago. Pity…

Published in: on February 16, 2011 at 17:55  Leave a Comment  
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Tunnel Ending?

I know. I wanted to write about the Rage… But as the light comes back into my life I can’t seem to remember what was really eating me. Good, I say. It seems the lighter frame of mind is coming back, so why hang on to the negative thoughts of Winter? Yes of course, so many things are still not resolved, are still hurting me. But with Spring in the air even though it’s still just late winter I can’t be bothered. I’ve decided to skip my grievancies as I’m pretty sure they’re not gone for forever. I have a blackbird singing otside my window every morning and evening… life isn’t really that bad!

I can say this with a light heart even though I’m due for yet another surgery. Well this isn’t a “big” one, just a small adjustment of some cartilage gone askew below my right eye. My surgeon knows by now how I fear the local anesthesia so I’ll be put under, just a tad. Thank you! This means I don’t have to worry between now and April 1. That’ll be our wedding-anniversary…which one I can’t remember, so I suppose it’s not that big a deal. What’s a really big deal is me not getting a grip! I can’t seem to stop indulging myself. Eating and drinking as if there’s no tomorrow. And biting my nails to booth… Yes of course I’m not happy! Thing is, I’m not really that sad either, so I can’t seem to resolve this problem. I keep hoping for Spring. But spring in it self isn’treally a solution or a saviour. As usual I have to go it alone…. I’m sick and tired of it, and wonder why I had that vivid dream of my loved one leaving me? Correction; he didn’t only leave me, he left his whole life, down to the wallet and the driver’s license… It was weird, and I woke up trying to cry… Hopefully this dream’ll continue tonight. I want to know what happens next!

Published in: on February 10, 2011 at 20:43  Leave a Comment  
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Hello…are you there?

Sometimes I wish that more persons would read my page, i. e, that I’d get some more feed-back. Having written that I wonder, why? I mean, I thought I wrote this just for me,  and for my writing. Not to get anything in return? Still, when I sit here with my computer at a really bad angle, getting a severe crick in my neck and my waist (!), it seems to be interesting to know that somebody out there is actually acknowledging my existense. But, sometimes I tag-surf, and I do realize that we’re so many out there doing just what I’m doing right now; looking for some kind of acknowledgment, some feed-back on the fact that we’re here, saying something that we hope others will agree with, or at least have an opinion about. And now having written just this I feel that it’s not really that important after all. I can go it alone, and still know that what I write concerns mostly me; I d this mostly just for the doing, and even though I’d might want an audience from time to time, I can see that the advice of Muriel Sparks about not writing for an audience is a good one. I mean, the way I’ve been sucking up most of my life would be disastrous to any kind of writing. Think about it, if I wrote to please others, where would I be? “Can’t please everyone, so you got to please yourself” the song went so many years ago. It still stands… Next post I’ll try to write about something that’s been on my mind for some time now; The Rage. It scares and worries me, and I’m not sure how to tackle this topic. No no, this time it isn’t my own. Which is making it so much more difficult…

Looking ahead, once more…

I haven’t written anything yet for this our new year of 2011. There will be no promises, no good intentions this time. I feel is if I’m catching up, and don’t have the energy to sally forth full of all those new good intentions. No, I’m not depressed, but I do feel somewhat tired. Tired of my physical state after the latest operation, tired of the pressure of being behind financially. Not that I owe, never that! But the burden of having been off work, not pulling my weight. Tired of trying to see how it will all end, how and when the change will take place, and how I will go about it. Yes, I’m the one that will have to take the necessary steps, and I don’t want to! I don’t want to be the one responsible, the “bad guy”, the disrupter of life as we know it. But I suppose I must, as I’m the one longing for, almost craving the change. It’s burdensome, and I’d really liked a year without burdens… Anyway, my life is, as always what I make it out to be, so who am I to whine? This is only the first month of many, and what with the return of the sun, the longer days, the warmth, I’m sure I’ll make it through this year as well. I mean, what else can I do?

Published in: on January 8, 2011 at 21:13  Leave a Comment  
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And again…

It seems to be best to post once more what I’ve already posted; this time in another format. Hopefully I’m now accesible to all. For what it’s worth.


Alone again naturally.doc

My friend and I.doc

Eight days wonder.doc

Published in: on December 19, 2010 at 13:15  Leave a Comment  


Well, I’ve been away, and hoped to be able to transfer that which I’d written. It didn’t really work, and I don’t know how this will end up on the page. Being dead tired I don’t really care if it wasn’t for the fact that I do mind keeping my anonymity. Maybe I’ll post this, have a qick peek, and keep my fingers crossed.

I looked; it’ll have to do because I really felt like sharing this now. Next time I’ll do better hopefully.


Alone again, naturally.docx

My friend and I.docx

Eight days wonder.docx

Published in: on December 19, 2010 at 09:22  Comments (2)  
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State of Mine…

So, I woke up this morning, and realized (finally) that I live a boring pitiful life. Boring is ofcourse in the mind of the……liver?but pitiful is for real, and it hurt me to realize. Pitiful in as much as a life not very well spent etc. Yes yes, I did celebrate my half-century, but still….. I live in a small constricted place, with a small(minded) constricting partner. Ergo, I have limited myself, and wonder “why”. I probably have the answer already, but still, let’s chew this through shall we? To limit oneself is, I presume to be “safe”, to know what’s what. OK, so chosing a partner that constricts ones possibilities is par for the course, and ofcourse one does get off without blame. Poor partner on the other hand is a villain, bastard, and what have you. Conclusion; You yourself (is always, and forever!) responsible for your own happiness….

So. How will I get to be happy? Because, sadly, I’m obviously not. And even though it may coincide with the half-century thing, I believe this is not a very new condition, it just takes time. Between the “fight on-shape your life”, and the “the buck stops here-feeling”, I just don’t know what to do. The “girlie”, and “ladies”-mags all talk about re-inventing, re-meeting, re-spicying, but I just don’t know if this is where the problem lies. I do know where it is, but I can’t bring myself to write it down. Once said or written it’s for real, and then I really have to deal with it.

Oh yes, I’m just as cowardly as the next “girl”, why not? Even though I was called “self-sufficient” by my dear one last night! He meant it in a bad way, rest assured! Perhaps I should continue on my own? But I don’t seem to have the energy. My energy is being eaten up by my lack of space, and right now I just can’t seem to find out how to change this fact. I suppose I sound desperate, but I’m not, not yet. I wonder however, “How will I do this”?  I’m tired of my life, and wish to end it, in a good way…..

Published in: on December 4, 2010 at 13:51  Leave a Comment  
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Disenchanted, and yet…

All of a sudden I felt like writing again. I don’t know why, or what to write about, but here I am, hacking away at my keyboard again…

I’m getting a bit self-consious. A friend’s been reading some of the posts, and all of a sudden it feels as if I need to prove something. I don’t know what, and maybe proving isn’t the word I’m looking for here, rather ” to live up to something”, I’m sure there’s a synonyme for that, just can’t think of it right now.

Funny how an audience you know changes the whole focus of your attention. I hope to get back on track not caring about who reads what, or what they think, but tonight it’s difficult. i amost wrote “Thanks N. for nothing”, which is really just a way of trying to step out of the picture and layng the blame at somebody elses feet. Sorry “N”, am alone in this, and your enthusiasm should help, not hinder me!

In a little over a month I’ll go back to finishing what I’ve started. This time the eyes need to be worked on, and even though I know what’ll happen a bit more clearly this time I’m not afraid. I find it rather reassuring to put my destiny in somebody elses hands. My part was to think about, and decide whether or not to go ahead and do it. Now I’ll just lean back and do what I’m told to. A rare luxury…. Of course anything can happen, or go wrong, but then again, it always can, can’t it? Tha fact that I’m the one setting the ball in motion makes that completely OK. I prefer having myself to blame.

My place of writing this is just too uncomfortable.  My neck is aching, I don’t want to stop now when I’m finally getting warmed up!

Published in: on November 4, 2010 at 20:34  Leave a Comment  
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Busuyi, After All These Years…

On and off you’ve been on my mind. Not a lot, and not in the beginning, but now, when I’ve come to the point where one can look back without cringing. At least not too much.

I’m sorry. Not as in begin for forgiveness, but as in “too bad, so sad”. Sorry I wasn’t older and wiser, more mature. And also sorry I couldn’t really live up to it all. Ofcourse you had your issues as well, I can see that you weren’r perhaps the most grown-up person either. Sure we played house, and very seriously too. Or was it just you, I mean being the serious one? Now when I try to look back, I sort of escape myself, maybe I did that back then as well. Just pretended that I was there, while I was really going through the motions…? In I way I did try though. Tried to be good, to fit in, to have a place in your picture, but I think I never really made it. Being so young and ingratiating doesn’t nearly cover it all, does it? The not fitting in didn’t hurt then, I thought, but in retrospect I can see that it was hard. Hard to keep on being nice, and good, and clever and the rest of it all.  Not that I didn’t have your support, but it was always linked with such a serious dedication towards the goal of success. And ofcourse for you that success was all-important, at least I think so. Did we talk about these things then? Sometimes I can’t remeber us talking at all….but surely we did? Ofcourse we did, because I can’t remember that we weren’t “happy” together. Were we happy? Do you think we were?

I’m sorry I left like that. Maybe not like the proverbial thief in the night, but pretty much so. How could I have done it in any other way? Not that I feared you, no not at all. But I was young and cowardly, and didn’t see how I could get away without some damage to my resolve. Maybe I would have been talked back into staying. I find that both likely and frightening, seeing how you were so grown-up and coherent in everything you did. But still, long story short, I was a coward. Being far away was the only way to be, an yet, I absolutely didn’t plan it that way. What happened, I think, was that with the distance between us, and between me and the situation I just found that I couldn’t go back. Couldn’t face the shaky situation of a (to me) wild country in such a political upheaval. Couldn’t face the prospect of trying and trying for the family, the language, the belonging… I’ve started to read your letters a couple of times. My cheeks burn with shame and sorrow, because in your letters you were so disgusted and perceptive, and we never had any of this out before it was too late. But still and all, I’m happy that it ended. Because I honestly think that it never ever could have worked out in the long run. Hindsight shows me that now when I’ve lived for almost half a century. I’ve grown up to be somebody I’m pleased with, somebody that isn’t trying to please everybody else all the time, somebody that I can live with without feeling shame.

I’m sorry I’ve never been able to find you again. Sorry I don’t know what became of your life, your ambitions and dreams. I hope I didn’t ruin it all by leaving. I can’t actually believe that is the case. I hope you were as strong as I remember you. These things I hope for your sake, not mine, since I’ve come to the point were I actually have few, or no regrets. If we would ever meet, Ihope I will be able to tell you.

When all is said and done (is it ever?) my time with you was as fine as one can wish for. I was, after all barely nineteen when we met, and you….31? Those years bith up north and down south, what an adventure! I would never have it undone, the good parts and the bad ones. I can see now that I should have told more, asked for more, but hey, no regrets. Hopefully you don’t have too many yourself….


The Art of Being

Most of the time when I get in the blog-mode I know beforehand what to write. Not so today. I just felt like writing, so let’s see where this will lead! I work as a helper at a little library of books in English. Very seldom, but still. And I enjoy it immensely. Last time there, I found some books for sale att 25 cents a piece. One of them was “The Art of Living”, as thaught by S N Goenka. This is about Vipassana, which I won’t go into here as I don’t practise it. But for years now I’ve been sort of chomping at the bit trying to get away for a ten-day course, never gotten so far, and so on and so forth. I won’t call it a sign, but last week when I was at a particularly low point I remembered having it, and yesterday I started to read. It’s such a simple way of attain peace of mind, and even so, so hard. I can’t understand how we (or at least I and a few others) manage to complicate life so much. And looking at the world I can’t understand how so many claim not to need some clarification, or a handle on their life. It seems as we all just live by reacting to somebody elses action. Most of the time mindlessly, i.e without really reflecting on how we respond to what has just been dealt us. I know this from my own life. How I many times just lash out a pre-set answer, or a pre-conditioned feeling just steers me towards a result I didn’t really aim at. It’s scary to realize that what we call control of mind more resembles a sort of Pavlovs’ Dog answer to that which happens around us. No, this isn’t something I picked up from the Vipassana book, rather it triggered some thoughts that were lying idle, waiting for a new chance to get themselves heard. From now on I will try very hard to “count to ten” before lashing out a quick retort that usually reflects my reaction rather then my true mind. Hopefully it’ll work at least five times out of ten, I don’t hope for much more. It seems that ” to will” something isn’t enough. But I can’t find out what the missing component is, not yet at least. But then, what about those among us that seem to want to spread discontent and sorrow or anger? Is it only because they are so miserable being who they are that they have to let their surrounding suffer? What about that Choice I harp on about from time to time? Are they so very unhappy that they really chose to share that with the rest of us? I wonder…Maybe there is a dark side to us all then that we can actually chose bad before good. And then, how will I be able to feel pity?

Believe me, I don’t always. Not even most of the time. But I try to see things from that other point of view. As often as I can remember to. When my reaction doesn’t get in the way too quickly for me to even see it come. I actually aim for serenity, even strain towards it. And even as I see the tools I need to get the work properly done, I still chose to look the other way so many times. I just can’t get it right. Ofcourse trying is good, better than not, but life is short, at least this one, and I would really like to get it if not perfect, then at least good…..Oh I don’t know, I suppose most of us have these rambling thoughts. Obviously this is not the evening I will solve the problem of the Art of Being Me.

Published in: on December 15, 2009 at 21:10  Leave a Comment  
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I tell my friends not to do it, that it doesn’t help anyway… Still I find that I do it too. Worry. Take it all out beforehand. I know, and preach that it’s not sane to do it twice; first worry about it befor it happens, and then when it does. Still….I’m like anybody else, escaping my here and now, to be somewhere later on, further afield where I can’t do a single thing to change what is happening.

Next year I will go through a mind-bending change. That is, to me. And even though I know there will be no return to “GO” once it’s done, and even though I alone has the final decision being very well aware of the results…I worry. I’ve lived for almost a quarter of a century with the me that I know, and have as a matter of fact come to both accept and like. And yet here I am, aiming to change it all into…I don’t know what. It will be done to prevent damage later on, but am I vain? Am I actually just trying to justify a little help against that which comes to all of us? Honestly? No, I don’t think so, but yes, there is a small portion of thruth ofcourse. I am vain, like most of us, and like most of us I welcome help to alleviate the if not ravages of time as such, then at least th unnatural ravages that time plays on me, and my normally unresponsive features. I think I will be able to cope with the horror of sedation, hospitalization,recuperation, but then what? Will I be able to still feel like “me” when my features are altered? When thay are supposed to react in another way to stimuli than before? Ofcourse I know there is a long long time of transition, of training, and possibly pain. And it’s supposed to be worth it. Supposedly it’s a good thing I’m as old as I am. I walk into this with an open and adult mind, not expecting more than is possible, more than I can myself help to provide through perserverance. Still I worry. Will the new and improved me be worth the effort and pain? I am the first to acknowledge that you can’t be sure of anything in advance, but still….. I worry

Another Face of Love

A woman I know has a husband who is leaving her. Not only her, but he is leaving himself as well, being victim to an affliction which is slowly eroding his mind. He is not yet so far gone as to be able not to care, but plods along, trying to do his bit around the household. He is lucid, but in fits and starts I think. I’m not really present nearly enough to judge. But I see things, and I wonder about her. Still very much active, interested and well-informed I can see her slowly buckling under the burden doing everything, deciding everything…And yet, I think she was never really the kind of person being in the here and now.  I wonder though, how their love is manifested. Is it in the way she still clings with a quiet desperation to his “normality”? Constantly nagging, losing her temper in a bitter way when he doesn’t catch on fast enough.  Or is it in the way they still seem to lead their lifes as if nothing is really going to happen? As if he hasn’t already taken some falls, is if that spiralstaircase is still negotiable, as if even thougn he can still find his way home, one worries? I can’t really imagine how it feels to se ones love losing himself that way. Even though we had pur share in the family, it wasn’t from the same affliction, and as it was close to me, yet it wasn’t close enough. And if I can’t imagine that, it’s even harder to imagine being on the other side. How do you feel when you know for sure that you will exist to be you, in every sense? How do you feel when the love of your life struggles to be nice and patient, and yet fails most of the time? How do you love when so much is at stake? You and your own life?

Maybe what we do when we know that love will leave us, is to stop our loving first. Maybe that way we hope  to hurt less when left alone. I hope Iwill never ever find out. I would hate to have to stop loving for loves own sake!

Published in: on December 13, 2009 at 11:05  Leave a Comment  
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Some Love…

Let’s see if I can do this today. The night was cut short by my tinnitus, and it’s very tiresome this time.


We don’t have any children, my husband and I. By choice, even though I have to admit that up until not so long ago, I thought the choice was mine alone. Well not that I didn’t want them but….

This is how it went; We met, and boy did we fall in love! I still get frissons thinking of it! And having come out of a previous marriage, where children were expected, and everybodys’ business, I just assumed that was how life would go on. Back in the old relationship nothing ever happened, and I left alone. Now, I can see what a blessing that was, I think I wouldn’t have left at all, at least not with any child. Well, be that as it may, I thought I could get them, and when that proved wrong, we weren’t ready. To early, where are we going, hardly know each other……all that came and went.  The time passed, and I was careful, and the time passed, and I started to fret. Well it seemed it was never “the right time”, and now looking back, I can see that I started to wonder. Maybe I even new, deep deep down inside, that this wasn’t going to happen. All the stalling from my loved ones’ side came from not wanting to go down that particular road at all… When the chips were finally down, I thought I would die. I cried and mourned, and we cried and mourned together, from different reasons. He because he was hurting me… I was hurting very badly, I because I, as a woman could not do what I was “supposed to do”. Those were very bad days, and believe me, I tried very hard to have it all! Still, I did chose finally, to stay on with a man who loved me intensely, but still with the integrity to say “no!” to something he absolutely couldn’t see himself doing. There are days of regret ofcourse, I’m only an ordinary woman with the same internal hormonal clock of every other woman. Ofcourse I would have loved to have children, as many as possible! But I found that I didn’t want them at any cost, and not at all at the cost of the well-being of another human being. And no, I most certainly didn’t want them on my own, for myself!  I’ve had “friends” (read women!) telling me to “go ahead anyway, that this is my “right”, that I would be sorry for the rest of my days…And ofcourse I have this hollow sorrow, but I also have my love, and I also have a good life living with the acceptance of having made a choice, and standing by it. To regret isn’t necessarily to feel bad eternally, but to accept things “as they are” given the circumstances. We still have each other, my man and I, and even though I have to remember sometimes that I didn’t “give up” a fundamental part of being me, didn’t sacrifice myself for him (yes, I have blue days) life is good, and knowing what I have is much more intresting than “knowing” what I’ve missed. maybe this is love?

And what about him? I can hear you asking. Well, he is very happy being a husband without being a father, and I think he is also very happy to be my “Chosen”, because that he is. And I feel chosen too, albeit by somebody who is selfish enough to want it all for himself. Yes I know…but we all do our best, according to our abilities, don’t we?

Love has many faces……


It’s my birthday. I swear, I didn’t see this coming! I mean ofcourse the elevated age, the number signifying being if not old, then at least middleaged. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe I’m just going through the motions, making the same noises everybody before me has already made. I try not to care, but ofcourse every year does make a little difference. I don’t really care about the getting older part. I just hope it will be as painless as possible. Now I’m still young enough feeling that age doesn’t matter, but ofcourse that’ll change I know. Well, everything has its own time, and my old age is sure to sneak up on my whenever I least expect it. Old age is one thing, and death another. As of now, I don’t fear dying (one day), but maybe I’m still too young to really grasp how serious the situation will be? And if so, maybe that’s just as it should be. I’m curious now, but I admit that it could very well change, given another circumstance…

But what I’ve been thinking alot about lately is love. I can’t define it, and that disturbs me. Everybody (at least writing about it) seems to know exactly what love is, and how it is manifested, and I just don’t know. Don’t I love then? I don’t know. There is a very loved one, and many whom I hold very very dear, but still do I love? The only thing I’ve concluded is, that for my loved ones I’ll do whatever it takes. I can’t promise everything, because that’s such a large word, and I just don’t know…But given a situation where I’m at hand, and something happens…I wouldn’t hesitate. If that’s love, then I do love, but “if I compare thee to a summers’ day”… synonymous to “real”love, then I don’t know at all. Sometimes I do really fell that I can love everybody that crosses my way. Not in a hippie rose-tinted way, but  because man is essntially lovable. The other thing we feel, the ” arghhh what a jerk, idiot, foolish ugly fat person, is just our own take on reality, tinted by our own shortcomings, hang-ups, whatever. I have these shortcomimgs as well, but just once in a while I try to look past them, and then I do see that we are all quite lovable, in our own small ways.

This is far from all I wanted to write about love, and loving, but it’ll have to do for now. I won’t write that ” I love you all” here, but try to feel loved somewhere, by someone, I’m sure it’s not at all impossible.

Published in: on November 29, 2009 at 17:57  Leave a Comment  
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The Grudge, and Forgiving

After having read through some, not all, of my meandering thoughts I have to say “I’m ashamed”. Not, believe me! by the content, but rather by the shabby presentation of what is supposed tobe passing for my innermost thoughts. I don’t write very well, that I concede, but really! The sloppiness of hurried spelling is really not at all what I was aiming for. Well it’s done, and maybe read by now, so I can only wov to do a better job in the future. Maybe a bit more of the proof-reading I find so annoying. Yes yes, I have always prided myself in not going through what I’ve recently written claiming it would “cramp my style” in as much as I would want to go back and change most everything. But no more. I promise to be better in the future and go about things a bit more diligently.

Well this wasn’t at all what I’ve been pondering these last few days. My thougths have rather been preoccupied with grudge, or maybe “The Grudge”. Ican see now how I still don’t really get to lay the blame on those on whom blame can, and maybe should be laid. I mean, sure I had a mother that was unhappy/weak/did her best…whatever. Why can’t I just own up that I’m hurt? Deeply and in a way that has formed my whole way of being. And ofcourse I was deeply unhappy when the children at school teased me mercilessly while in class and rescess, only to be friendly after school when their pals weren’t around. And ofcourse it was a very poor consolation having to hear at home that “they’re just stupid, and you’re so much better than they are”. Or maybe the worst for a little girl…” well you know, to be pretty isn’t everything, you’re so clever”. Well here’s to finally doing it, and saying it. IT SUCKED!  And I blame my incapable mother and absent father. Yes I know that we all do our best according to our abilities. I’ve said it myself and I’ll say it again, but still….It wasn’t enough, I’m the victim here of somebody elses not being up to it all, and folks, IT SUCKED THEN, AND IT STILL DOES!

There, Ive said it at last, and I meant it. Sure I can still look at it all with empathy, but now, so many years too late I can also see that understanding isn’t everything. And forgiving is all very well as long as you acknowledge the fact of wrongdoing in the first place. Now, I can honestly say that I forgive, and even understand, but I will never again excuse the way I’ve done up until now.

It feels good!

Published in: on November 12, 2009 at 15:43  Leave a Comment  
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Catching Up…

Arriving from one home to another, I still feel lost. No, not lost as such, but the expectation doesn’t ever match the outcome. No  matter how I try to remember from one season to the other. Starry-eyed I arrive with a head full of ideas, projects, and always that feel of hot summer months on my skin…It never plays out that way. This year I’ve finally come to grips with reality versus fantasy, and…it’s just OK. Maybe this is the upside of growing older?

Growing older doesn’t worry me yet. I am yet to reach that part of life  when one becomes betrayed by the body, or mind. Still, ofcourse, I’m not too dense, or too young to notice change. Far from it. I actually enjoy it with the same somewhat wide-eyed optimism I’ve managed to hold on to for so many years. Change can never be a negative thing, at least not in my book. Only our reaction to the action of change can determine the label we choose to apply. All in life seems to me to be a matter of choice. And choosing is ofcourse that struggle we all have to deal with, one way or the other. The part that makes life “hard”. Hard, I think because our fear of facing the result of our choices blinds us to the opportunities that may arise. The same old ” I know what I have….” as usual. Sometimes I feel it’s really boring to have to go through these thougths and worries all the time, but I can also see how I fall back into my same old patterns all the time. The thing that’s both annoying and reassuring right now is that all this is old hat, and my pride takes a sort of dent when I notice that my profound ponderings are just the same old thing that most of us reflect on. Oh well…. It’s also good to know that I belong to the human race. That I’m not an alien entity doomed never to fit in among my fellows on this Earth.


This post was something I started in June….yeah I know it’s November now. Still, this will have to do as a start for the dark season ahead. There will be light as well, ocfourse, and now, while writing this,  the sky’s a crisp clear bottomless blue, and the colors have hardly started to change at all. There is hope for this winter too, I’m sure!

Published in: on November 7, 2009 at 07:25  Leave a Comment  
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Final Countdown

I have to admit, I do feel somewhat ashamed. I know I don’t have to, but still…Not that I really really think that there are persons out there in the wide open cyber waiting for my next post…so then why? Oh I don’t know. I suppose it’s the everlasting whip over my back urging me relentlessly to achieve, to do, to show how it’s supposedly done. Tiresome, but oh, so me! Anyway, this will all soon end, at least for some months to come. I’m migrating, as I’ve done for these past eight years. I’m going to a very hi-tech country, but as I’m more lo-tech myself, logging on will be slow and painful, and I prefere using my summer-months doing more outdoorsy things…We’ll see, there are evenings I’ll probably feel like sharing my thoughts yet, we’ll see for sure. I don’t feel like either continuing, nor starting anything new as of now. The time should be spent getting a handle on going elsewhere, but somehow, at this point I lose heart. This happens every year, and still we manage to get away, and arrive, so I don’t worry too much. I chalk it up to finally letting myself feel the actual tiredness of the end of the season. Gritting my teeth I just hope for the best. I can see how this is a really boring post, so I’ll try to get back again, before logging out for this season. I do have some pride! It would be so satisfying going out with, if not a bang, so at least something profound and thoughtful…..

Published in: on May 8, 2009 at 20:36  Leave a Comment  
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Not Poetry At All

the apathy of freedom, how come I find it so strangely stressful?

being free,

is it not more than that, the opportunity  to do?


my friend eats herself up,


piece by bit by piece

what comfort I wonder, does she get from the taste of herself?



Published in: on April 12, 2009 at 18:40  Leave a Comment  

Through My Eyes

There’s a need right now for communicating. Strangely enough there’s not really anything to communicate. Maybe that is what we term loneliness? But I don’t feel lonely, on the contrary, I feel pretty good, which is ofcourse something to communicate. It’s nice for a change to use my space in sharing whatever postivness there is, no matter how vague it is. Too much is focused on the negative sides in our lives, and in other peoples lives as well. I find that sad, and a bit scary, how easily we so readily take to heart all that’s bad, sad, awful or gruesome. I wouldn’t like to think that negativity is a force of its own, but maybe it’s just that, a force to be reckoned with, to be wary of…But if that is so, it must also be that the positivity is equal to that negative side. This is ofcourse as old as water, but I can write what I want here, and so I do.The question is though, if it will even out within a scope of time that I can see? Or is this the religion of everything, to trust in an outcome, whether we see it or not? That trust is hard to come by I feel. We all look for this instant gratification, and it’s so shortlived, as are we, and who can really care about a time when we’re not even around anymore? I try to fend off negativity as best I can. It’s not easy, and sometimes I feel as if this is a way of fleeing the harsher thruts  and facts in life, but still, I don’t think I flee. Not really. It’s more that I don’t need to know about all that is wrong in the world. I know about much of it, and react like we all do, with sorrow, horror, or when it’s closer to home with the approriate reactions. But it overwhelms me, and I don’t really see the point of accumulating all that’s wrong in the world….to do what with it? I cry over cruelty, beaten animals, starving babies, the lot, but it also brings on such an immense feeling of helplessness, that it’s sometimes hard to bear. What can I do, more than try to do good in my immediate close sphere, to try to be a friend, a help, sort my garbage…..Maybe nothing more than that, and I really truly hope that this will be enough, because for me to carry a load of guilty conscience would only add to the very negativity I try so hard to avoid. I guess that’s why I tend to be so Pollyanna-ish when people complain about one thing or another…I don’t really want to be their accomplice in stoking that negative furnace they seem to be keeping lit at all times. Granted, there are things that need to be aired, and discussed, to get the right respons to a problem, but it has to stop there. The incessant griping can bring no good I’m sure, and will only serve to further deepen the grief.

So…I try to look t the good things, see the nice sides of people around me. I think maybe I’m overly persistent in this because of how I was before. Following my mother’s lead, I jibed at everyone, and everything that didn’t fit into my idea of how things or people should be. I almost blush in shame now, looking back on those to loudmouthed persons, one old enough to know better, and the other not having a clue. But I don’t blush, I try to forgive us both because there’s a reason fo everything, and an action is always followed by a reaction. And now that I do see how it was, I can only make up for it by changing. Beating myself won’t helped anyone, least of all myself. I do sometimes mourn the fact though that my mother didn’t seem to get it right before she passed away. I find it sad that one person can harbour so much resentment, be so unhappy within herself, never really managing to turn to the postive sides of life. Well she did, once in a while, and I suppose I can only be happy for whatever happiness she did get. We’re not here on this Earth I think ,in sync with each other, we’re here struggling to get it all right, if not this time, then next. And I think the part that’s hard to get around is how much is forgotten, from one time to the next, how hard it is to listen to that which I’m sure is within all of us, the sense.

Well I hardly remember where all this started, and my neck is absolutely killing me, so this will be all…for now.

Asleep at the Wheel

Instead of tumbling into bed after this truly harrowing week I sit here, pushing the keys, in bad lightning, with nothing much to tell. Funny how it sometimes just doesn’t feel right to go to bed, even though you’re tired, even though there’s nobody but you to decide. Probably it’s a way to prolong the day, but with your own time, finally. Before it being the computer being the excuse, I usually spent the same amount off “not going to bed- time” in front of the bathroom mirror looking, studying myself, often looking for blemishes, pimples, something to make me pass the time.

By the way, I shared this my blog with some near, and some not so near. Not to gain some special kind of recognition, not even to get a pat on the back, but still, it’s odd, and amazing to see how that which I write is perceived. Granted, I do not write in my own language, and admittedly the words and phrases I use don’t always “go together well”….But still, I’m a tad, just a tiny tad disappointed. I shouldn’t be though, because I’ve felt out of this world for a long time, so why would that which I write ring a bell anywhere but at my own place? Out of this world isn’t a very correct term, but it’s complicated to explain the feeling of not being like people around me. I don’t mean physically, that’s dealt with, but more in a mental, or dare I write it? spiritual sense. This can probably be ascribed to the fact that I don’t get around alot. My day to day life is limited, I don’t have a lot of opportunity to meet new friends, and I don’t always take the opportunity to discuss my thoughts and views with the few friends I do have. So I’m not really in a position to complain, and I don’t think I am really doing that, but still…..So, who am I, and what is it I think that makes my so different? Oh I don’t know, maybe just a general feeling of being unable to stay the same, of wanting a change always. Also to be the only one I know to …oh no no no, this is sounding way too pretentious! I really truly need to revise these thoughts before I embarass both  this page, and myself.

Whoa! I actually fell asleep here, in front of the computer which is almost burning my legs. I just gotta go to bed, and quickly too!

Published in: on April 11, 2009 at 20:42  Comments (1)  
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Thursday’s Tired Thoughts

This was supposed to be my own special days, alas that didn’t happen. I forgot how it used to be in summers past, when I ran, always a tad behind the schedule,always with a guilty conscience because of Dog left at home. Those summers I worked a lot more than now, but I was also a lot younger….now I work less, but get as tired as then. Funny how age does matter. I’m not at all old, but still, older than I used to be. I don’t really care that much, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t matter at all.

I thought to get in contact again with my estranged father. I was the “estranger”, having totally and completely lost my patience with the way our “relation” was. Now, I can admit it, I feel that bygones are just that, bygones, but I still haven’t gotten around to he actual contact-taking again. Maybe it’s not as important to me as I thought, then, some weeks ago, or maybe it’s just the fact that time rolls over me like a tsunami, leaving me always short of breath, flailing my arms above my head not to sink.

There’s been so much to think about lately, but it’s odd how when I try and think back to recapture, to share my thougths I draw blanks, again and again. So maby times each day there’s a little something poppig up, and I think “Yes! this is what I would like to ask, tell,share”, and now, nothing. Sometimes I wonder about the ulteriour (did I spell this right, I wonder…) motive. Why….is it so important to share? It’s not as if I get a ton of feedback, catering to my need of being seen, heard. Am I just feeling clever? Trying to show off? Again, without anyone ever putting in the proverbial two cents, what’s to show? Oh I don’t know. There are times when I get tiredof myself and my endless toing and froing. It seems to me that I’m lacking in some fundametal backbone sort of thing….Or maybe I’m just like this because I’m so tired….and wired…Wired from the stress of getting it all down pat. Ofcourse I don’t need to always perform at top level, but then again, this is the way I was brought up, and even though I do set some limits now that weren’t there before, I try too hard. Knowing is maybe a way to betterment, but I feel that it’s getting too easy saying “I know…I will change, stop, think,…later” . Sort of getting in the first laugh at oneself, to make it hurt less.

Control is something I never saw myself as someone in need of. But still, as I scamper behind my own agenda, filling post-it after post-it with things to do, I wonder. I feel bad running behind, and some nights I clench my jaws so hard in my sleep I feel ill in the morning. I did manage to stop excessive eating, in five years I’ve lost 20 kilos. I do manage to drink just enough, hangover is never an option, and neither is drinking “because I’m bored, tired, sad, happy…” The one thing I just can’t get a handle on is biting my nails. Maybe this is such a deeply rooted disorder that I have to live with it forever. Like my facial paralysis (even though it now seems things can be done..), or psoriasis (no not mine), or being deaf. Strangely, I find that hard to deal with. I very much need an explanation, maybe then I can see the way to a solution. Probably if I surf the Web enough something’ll turn up. A freind told me once that I was a control-freak. I took offence in a mayor albeit quiet way! But maybe she was right. Struggling to straigthen myself out may vey well be just that, struggle for control. Admittedly, I still don’t see it. To me being a control-freak means someone who needs to control his or hers surroundings, or people surrounding. I couldn’t care less what other people do, even though I’ll admit to having an opinion about most things people do, say, wear……but that’s a resdue of my early contitioning, and its’ really really hard to get rid of. I’m forever trying! One thing I’ve found otu about my biting though, when my inhibitions get softened, like with an extra glass of wine…I bite more freely. What does that mean? I can’t see it, and it bugs me! On the other hand I can just as well starting to bit my nails while driving my car…it’s all a mystery.

Springing Forth, a Seasonal Well of Not Poetry?

I don’t know how to go on from here. No, not in my life, but here with my halting posts about the past. Perhaps blogging is seasonal. If so, winter seems to be the high season of my writings. With the lengthening of days, my need to share my thoughts sort of, shortens. In a way that’s a good thing, but on the other hand I thought I had all these important things to share…Seems they weren’t that important, and that my need wasn’t all that great either. I suppose this is a good thing, but I can’t help feeling a little bit like a failure. After all I was brought up to finish things, to see things through, even though I have to admit that a less thorough person is probably hard to find.

Ever the enthusiastic optimist,

I flit.

Ever loving the new horizons,

the new vistas,

my grip slackens on that at hand.

Eyes unfocused,

my right hand is forever out of touch

with the new projects

of my left.


That, in haste, I think describes me quite well. Hopefully I will get back to my twisted tale of Granma, mom, and I, but it seems less urgent now, with the sun, those newly sprung shoots of green….God! am I going spring-poetic?!

Published in: on March 23, 2009 at 21:38  Leave a Comment  
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En Passant

This isn’t the time, nor the place really, but I need to come back ere before it’s too late. I see now that what is lacking is peace and quiet. So I will hold my breath, waiting to exhale until the evening of the second of next month. Then, and only then will I be free to once more pursue my ramblings, frettings and general stumbling. Oh, I can hardly wait! I know that solitude has its drawbacks, but I’ve been ill with too much attention from my surrounding, and only long for that long long quiet.

Until then I doubt if I will pass by. Maybe with yet another little doodle, we’ll see how my days play out.

Published in: on March 18, 2009 at 20:37  Leave a Comment  
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Opportunities Lost

some nights

that elevator-feeling

of free-falling panic

comes from looking back

on opportunities lost


I mourn for a while

and then press STOP

closing my eyes

I step off

looking straight ahead

Published in: on March 15, 2009 at 18:51  Leave a Comment  
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A Something

these endlessly pounding waves

sometimes I almost drown


but instead I find myself flat out

on this shore of fatigue

time and again

like these endlessly pounding waves

Published in: on March 11, 2009 at 20:03  Leave a Comment  
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A Good Girl

It’s seldom I take the opportunity to write in the daytime.There’s not enough peace. Today though I think I’ll get at least started. I have places to be a bit later on, but I still like to get in the mood. Looking through my earlier writings I see how I ramble, and stutter. No matter, I’ve gotten used to that by now, and I know that it’s probably due to a lack of direction. I mean I don’t really aim at something in particular with these my written thougths, not looking fo a way to find that major book-deal that’ll make my day, life, fame, whatever..I can’t even say (even if I might’ve before) that this is my own personal therapy. Nowadays I think of it more as a tool to use to get it all inte perspective. To understand, to maybe forgive and forget, even though I’ve never been thinking in terms of somebody badly treated, or with something in particular to forgive. Perhaps that’s where I fail to be clear-sighted. Maybe there are things to be forgiven by me, but in order to forgive I have to admit that all wasn’t well. That’s hard. A bit like a raped girl deciding to take all the blame herself….Rather than being the victim. I admit it freely, I have no patience with vitctimization, I even hear my self going off in a rather strident voice whenever I mention that. So, another insight, not really painful, but still, again something to think about for a while. In all my telling of all that went before me, and how it was for those that came before, I can see how I struggle to understand. To explain really. Because that which can be explained loses its mystery. At least I think so now, writing in this instant.

I’ve followed a discussion about how people who lack the ability to show their emotions may or may not also be lacking in the very emotion they fail to show…..My input was that I can see how I, not being able to blend in as much as I needed might have suppressed those emotions that while showing them made me too exposed, and therefore vulnerable to other peoples reactions. It seems this is some kind of textbook-case of how we are, and react. It made me feel (once again) pleased with the realization that rather than being special (in many senses) I am just as everyone else. Not because I still feel this need, or craving to belong, but because it humbles me in a way I find good. It opens me up to even more feelings of empathy than I’ve had up until now. Whoa! wait! I don’t mean that I don’t have a very long way left to travel, just that recently I’ve come to realize that I am a truly good person at heart. Surely I have my faults, and ofcourse (for once maybe) I don’t measure my “goodness” with anyone elses. It’s just a pleasure to know, from the inside that, yes….I’m just alright!

Those Who Came Before

This is not at all the time to pick up where I left off some time ago, but I find that once I’ve started it usually does the trick. I’m tired however, and I have a feeling this time I won’t press “publish”, but “draft”….Well, Idid start at least! I’ve been thinking of how best to pick up my somewhat unravelled thread, and I think it’ll be by back-tracking even more. That girl in the woods, at the end of the dirt-track was, I’m sure I’ve already told, my grandmother. Long before she became “Gramma”. But there is still “Grampa” to tell about. His was also, in my view, an extraordinary childhood, in the big city by the sea. They were born in the same year, that girl, and that boy, but their circumstances quite different. So, the year was a bit before that war they called “The war to end all wars”, sweet Lord, if they had only knew! But if we don’t have optimism, then what? He grew up in that big city by the sea, together with his sisters. He was the youngest, the only boy. I wonder if that made a difference? From what I understand, they all had different fathers. His was the last one. I think both the parents perished in the world-spanning flu they named after that southern country later to be a haven for sun-seeking tourists. So, they died, the anonymous father, and the mother that worked bars and beer-halls. Not necessarily in a bad way, but then again, it can’t have been all that good either. The grandmother came to take care of the young ones. She was old,for that time, having married rather late in life, and having that flighty daughter coming into the world even later. She was of a “good” family from the southern part of the country. I can only guess at how it came about that she married that merchant from the west-coast so late in life. Maybe it was love? Who am I to say it wasn’t? Or maybe just the threath of finding yourself on “the shelf”. She had sisters, I think they were younger. Maybe they found their husbands before her? I’ll never know, but the facts remain. She married that merchant-man, and they had their only daughter, and he mis-invested, or was just plain stupid, and took his own life, or died, when the ruin was a fact, and she went back to her parents, or thereabouts…and her daughter moved back to the coast, or didn’t she ever leave? Well, the children where orphaned, grandmother came to live in the one-room flat at the hill over-looking the harbour. My Grampa seems to have grown up a nervous enough child, a bed-wetter, (like my-self) which in those days met with no understanding whatsoever. There was shame, and guilt, and punishment. To me it sounds just like the epitome of the Lutheran Faith, but then ofcourse, that’s what they all believed in, or at least grew up with. How he and my Gramma ever got together I don’t really recall if I’ve heard. Apart from a chance meeting; he renting a room where she knew somebody…She came in to the city to join her already grown sisters. They where, I think, working as dressmakers, nannies, whatever. One actually got a license to run a dairy-shop. I think they met just in the nick of time, both of them shy and awkward, and risking to find themselves older than customary for singles at that time. They married, and he, luckily, had gotten through school to land a position as an electrician. Then that other war came, not to this country, but close enough. Gramma remembered how in the first one they ahd to yield their crops, an meat, and eggs, well everything to help “the soldiers at the front”. They weren’t even soldiers fighting for the country, only some political allies fighting elsewhere! Now in this war they where again “neutral”, which means there was still a mobilization, Grampa going off “to war”, leaving Gramma with their first-born girl, my mother, behind, to fend for themselves. Well they still lived in a big city, they still had the family in the country, but still, I wonder how that start of a new family shapes the years to come. It seems they were just so conventional and ill at-ease to begin with, that I find it hard to imagine things could ever improve. But then hindsight is strange, we bend it to what we already know came after. Like scientists looking for an answer they already know, it’s just a matter of shaping your findings to the facts you need…. This is enough for now, I need to think through the rest….because there is more…..

Published in: on February 23, 2009 at 20:01  Leave a Comment  
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Slow Dancing

It seems I just can’t get going again. It’s not like a writer’s block, I’m not one, not even pretending to be one. I think of it being more close to being a wariness, a feeling of going too fast, and too far. Not really a fear of laying myself bare, but of forgetting to think before I’m doing it. There are others to consider as well, but not that I really think I’m exposing anyone but myself. Oh, how I ramble! The sole purpose of logging in tonight was to get going again, but it’s not going my way, it’s leading nowhere at all… The best I can do now is simply to log out, shut down, go to bed. Well, this is a first, I feel quite useless! And on my very own blog too. Humbling experiences are probably good for me, because I had a sneaky feeling of hubris, feeling how well I managed to get my thoughts across and so on. And here I am, feeling my own normal, ordinary self again. Truly humbling, but also interesting, I mean how things can turn out. Oh well, it’s Sunday evening, and as Mondays are my favourite days, maybe it’ll turn out better tomorrow. As she said ” I’ll think about it tomorrow..”, or some such thing.

Published in: on February 22, 2009 at 21:03  Leave a Comment  
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We lived our lives, as most people do I guess. Then when I was three, or thereabouts, my father wasn’t a part of the family anymore. My only recolletion of him, from those early years are a closed bathroom-door, and me outside, lisping, “Daddy, how are you?” They divorced. My brother and I got another daddy. He was very, very nice, even wanted to adopt us. Mother didn’t want to, or else it was my father having a fit at the very idea. As usual, I don’t really know. These aren’t things I’ve pondered, thinking I would someday tell them to “the world”. They’re just fragments popping up in my mind as I write it all down. Why I do this? Well, the tune is becomimg increasingly familiar; “I don’t know”… My disability was never diagnosed. Not until I took it into my own hands at age fourteen to seek help with the school-psychologist for an extremely annoying case of stuttering. Stuttered I’ve done for most part of my childhood, but there are limits to what an adolescent can take. I had glasses, didn’t hear well, and, and I repeat and, could speak properly. As I said, there are limits! Still, on top of this dreary litany of malfunctions I couldn’t smile. Well I mean in the real sense, the way others do, with an upward-turning curve of the corners of my mouth. Sometimes I don’t really know if it was a blesing or a curse not knowing why, and how, and who else, but I do know those the early years  before starting school I did suffer. Not a whole lot, if suffering can be measured? but enough to make me painfully shy, and here maybe it is, the wanting to fit in, to be counted on as one of the gang? Who knows? The kids of  my pre-school-suffering weren’t cruel. They where curious, and they knew an odd kid when confronted with one. Never teasing, only asking the whys and why nots, ofcourse for me it was enough, but now I can see that it wasn’t anything to the cruel mob-like teasing some children are living, and dying with during their school-years. Friends was in abundant supply, despite me being shy and all the rest. I started school, with hearing-aids of the old-fashioned type; a home-sewn cottonbag in a string around my neck holding the apparaus. My teacher saw to it that desks didn’t bang, and I seem to remember something about a wall-to-wall carpet in the home-room. Well I was six or seven, it’s OK not to remember it all! Admittedly, I wasn’t all the good little girl. I didn’t want to eat this, that the other, refused milk in any form but hot cocoa, wet my bed, never never never wanted to go to sleep, demanding to be petted and coddled until sleep finally knocked me out. I’m sure I was a trial to my mother, but now looking back I suppose I just wanted her undivided attention. And somebody explained to me once that the only way a child has as a means of control is what’s going in, and what’s coming out…..So, life was I would think pretty normal, at least I thought so growing up. Well I write and I ramble, and I think I’ve more than caught up with my postings here. Not that this is at all something I feel obliged to do, but having been brought up in a more or less lake-woebegonish way one finishes what one’s started. Well, whoever you are, I stop here. For now.

From the Beginning

So is an early rejection the key to it all? Is it really that simple? Sometimes I have a feeling that all this self-analyzing just complicate matters, that the more you delve, the more you find, the more you delve…..But, facts are still tht my mother left me in the care of my grandparents sometime very early in my life? Why? I’ll never, never know. Maybe it was her. Just 22 years old, flying in the face of convention, of her upbringing bringing into the world a little brown baby-girl. Mind you, this was 1960, in a relatively modern time, but still…modern is all fine to talk about, yet another to be. Or maybe it was me, taking so very painfully long to enter the stage, the tears in my eyes due to a little mishap at the assembly-line. I don’t know if she noticed right away the tiny defects. Could she feed me? She never told. As long as I can remember I’ve really really hated the feeling of being rejected. Even before I knew what I felt. And I was good, and I think fairly quiet, surely newborns have a knack of knowing how to toe the line, otherwise there would be so much fewer of us on this earth. Not that I was ever treated badly, far from it, I’m sure I was loved as well as was possible for her. But I’m also pretty much sure that this wasn’t really what she wanted, that when she rebelled against her upbringing and parents she didn’t count on the price she had to pay. On top of it all it didn’t really work out well either. My father played his music wherever and whenever there was a gig, and there she was, so young with the untold “I told you so”, and “What did we say?” hanging like a curse over her head. Twenty months later there was yet another baby, and her fate was sealed. Dramatic? Perhaps, but life usually beats fiction, albeit not in such a smooth well-worded way as with books or movies. So how long did I stay with Gramma and Grampa? Again, I don’t know, but I guess for some weeks, maybe more. Did she meet up with my father? I think he played in Belgium at the time, so it’s possible I think. She did work there for a while, before me, while running away from home. Or maybe she went to my later-to-be godmother in Denmark, or maybe she went crazy for a while and was institutionalized? It’s not very important, what is is that she went, and I stayed behind. Funnily enough, I don’t feel bad about it. When I found out some years ago I just thought “so that’s why!”, and started to construct my thoughts around this new amazing fact that came along so late in my life. She was already dead by then. But we had a good life, my brother and I, and we were very well taken care of, and loved, and also had the grandparents to fill whatever void we didn’t even know was there. My memories stretches very far back, but ofcourse they’re sometimes muddled the way memories are, hindsight and reconstruction is the bane on any remembrance I think. First memory; my Gramma and I are visiting an old woman in a very big kitchen high up in a tenement-building. The kitchen has an old-fashioned wood-burning range, and I’m served at a huge table, gruel, with those small dry raisins not Sunmaid. Fact (maybe); my mother probably took me to Gramma, who lived in the city in an old five-storey building, and as she often went to visit her childhood- home in the country, maybe the stove came from there. Maybe this was when my brother was born….Gramma and Grampa moved from that apartment when I was four, and I remeber being baby-sat toghter with my brother in that place. Strolling with Gramma and the pram to the cemetary where there was a waterway with mallards to feed with old bread. My aunt was sixteen when I came along, but her I don’t remember from then. I suppose she was in school most of the time I was in the house. So, again, rejection…Is that’s why I always been trying to be nice, good, ingratiating myself all over the place? Or am I just a naturally nice and good person? Nowadays I don’t really care that much about how others perceive me, being very adult now, but during my childhood I really really wanted to be liked, and to belong. Ofcourse the fact of my little disability can’t be skipped over, but I’ve told enough for now.


As I told a very dear friend, I have positiv things to post. Not that anything special happened, but things are turning to the better without fail. That is, I believe, the crucial way of life, not to be pushed out of the way, ever purposefully striving forward. In short, Spring is in the air, and yes, even such a glum one as myself cannot escape the effects. Thankfully should I add, because each Winter seems longer than the last, and to go with that, my patience and/or resilience is getting shorter at the very same pace.

The new tack that I mentioned is thus happening as I write, and I would like to give myself, and whoever cares to read this litany something new to consider. Well new, anybody that have read my writings so far about the three girls/women would already know that at least one of them is yours truly. I thought that I’ve found a clever way to deal with all that that has gone before, but not being a writer, I felt that this wasn’t anything I would be able to keep up. I can’t even tell if it was ever even lifting off the ground at all. Here everyday life sort of butts in, and I, I have to go. To do those everyday life things, that I sometimes wish I didn’t have to do. Sonext time then, is when I’ll start My story all over again, telling anout tat small hairy-backed girl. This much, at least is true.

Published in: on February 7, 2009 at 17:27  Leave a Comment  
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A Reluctant Return

I’ll go straight ahead, just getting back to this blogging that I almost left for dead. This is not the time  for telling of the whys, whos, and becauses. I just want to get the feel of it again. I sound like a junkie back from a failed rehab, and that isn’t what I feel at all. Rather, I feel reluctant to get out on this slender limb again. Each time I’ve written I feel exposed and vulnerable, and there has been if not hell to pay, so at least purgatory.

It’s a new month now, and I’ve decided to change tack. Is this a marine expression? I think so, and here I see the danger of having a mind full of too many words and expressions. I am not at all the marine type, I’ve never sailed, and probably never will. Having grown up by he coast of the Atlantic, or is it the North Sea….is no guarantee at all for a love of life lived between the land and the sky. I love the smell of the cold salt waters, the sounds of gulls, and the smooth rocks of ice-shaped granite, but that’s all. The thread is once more lost, the word scatterbrain comes to mind, but never mind that. I was relucant, but this wasn’t painful at all! Now all I have to do is try to get my “t” to quit annoying me. It seems to stick to the keyborad in a bad way……..

Published in: on February 1, 2009 at 18:55  Leave a Comment  
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I made a mistake. A huge one that I will live with for the rest of my life. I very nearly wrote “but that doesn’t matter..”, but ofcourse it does, a lot. But it can’t be changed, and so, must be dealt with. The choices I made was the right ones at the right time. Who can know how things will turn out anyway? And is the possibility of knowing what will come after, that which will decide how we chose? To me that isn’t so. To me one decide according to ones heart, and if there’s no guarantee that everything will turn out as you wish, well you’ll still have to go with the choice of your heart. Ofcourse there are those who need the plan B, the back-up, and I’m not the one to say that this is either right or wrong. No wait! I do say, and say “that’s wrong”… Because in life there are just too many possibilities, too many different parameters for us to be sure of anything at all. And life, as we know it, is so short….What if we hesitate at every new turn, if we always sit down to calculate the cost? I chose to live with my regrets even though they hurt me so badly from time to time. I chose to find comfort in my theory of reincarnation. And even though I know that this my journey still have so many painful moments yet to come, I can’t but travel on. My past mistakes must be what shapes my future, and even though I can’t see how that future will play itself out…… The road goes ever on….

Published in: on January 21, 2009 at 08:09  Comments (2)  
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That Dark Space Within

What is it that bring out a dark side in us? How come some of us chose so wrong sometimes that lifes are destroyed in the process? With destroyed I don’t necessarily mean as in loss of life or limb, but destroyed in the sense of a life badly spent, in misery och regret. I believe in reincarnation. Not the “I was Marie-Antoinette’s maid”-kind of thing. I find that somewhat risible, and sad that most people who pronounce a belief in reincarnation tend to have had lifes of fame and/or excitement behind them, but now ofcourse they lead this ordinary dreary lifes, like most of us. To me the thought of an earlier life is rather an idea that since we each of us have different personalities, they must spring from somewhere. There are ofcourse the usual inherited behaviour, as well as the learned one, but the rest, the “I” in us all I feel must come from somewhere. Granted, being a product of everything that ever happens to us will give us a personality, but from where comes the way we chose our way through life? To me, this is where the lifes of before come in. The accumulation of experiences throughout those earlier lifes shapes and re-shapes our lifes to come. This comes from me, who doesn’t believe in excuses. From me who think that every person is responsible for his or hers well-being…..But maybe it matches, even if we think we do things “because” of somebody else or something else, we still make our choices according to our own codes.


I had to take a break here. There were too much disturbance, both around me, and on the inside. I was going somewhere with what I wrote, but it’s lost for the moment. Perhaps I’ll find the spark again…..

The young woman made a choice somewhere early on. The memories of her childhood were all tinged with a dissatisfacion, and with the unfairness of little sister being treated “better”. Maybe she was treated, if not better, so at least differently. Most second children are, but to harbour such a grudge for so long…….Did she already carry that seed? Did it already sprout some tiny tendrils?…….The young woman left a couple of months after the little girl was born, leaving her in the care of the very people she herself fled, her parents. There is no-one left now to say for how long, or why…

Published in: on January 20, 2009 at 13:05  Comments (1)  
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All those Pretty Words

Even though I see myself as unique, I’ve still come to realize and cherish the fact that I’m not all that special. That feels fine, and I even feel quite happy about it. But still! I had no idea that so many wrote so much in so many places! It daunts me, and yet it’s comforting to see that maybe I belong in a group, as loose as it seems to be, with the same longing to put down into writing that which is sometimes hard to say out loud. Or maybe I’m just putting too much into it all. Maybe most of them simply want somebody to read and comment their stuff. Maybe they have higher goals, hoping for fame, book-sales…..Oh, I should really stop first saying one thing, only to back down and say another with my next breath. It’s unbecoming in someone who tries to be true. Also, it’s a bad habit springing from years of bending my will to anyone with a stronger one. I don’t feel, as a rule, that I have a hard time deciding things for myself. And yet I persist in having an opinionfully formed, only to give as much credit to somebody elses as to my own. Is this sane, or am I a bigger turn-coat than I imagined?

My three characters are waiting to take their places on the stage. I won’t let them however. Not today.

Published in: on January 14, 2009 at 15:27  Leave a Comment  
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This Winter of Discontent

I’ve decided to let both the winter and the discontent fade away into the shadows. It seems to be up to me to feel good or bad, so I decide; Good.There will always be new lows, so who am I to cling on to something as boring as self-pity, gnashing of teeth? The “what ifs”, are usually non-productive anyway, even though I have to admit to some retrospective thinking that brougth me just to this point. However, I’ll try to get back to the girls. If memory serves, I was about to introduce the third girl. And here I have to add (or did I already?) that even if this resembles so many other tales on the theme “trinity”, so is this pure chance. It’s also true…

The small dirt-road to school was a scary place. Tall dark fir-trees, huge boulders. The girl was always hurrying, something that didn’t at all diminish the alarm she felt. But go to school she had to, and besides, it was only every other day. She was a small girl. Small for her age, and the littlest of the family. There were already nine brothers and sisters ahead of her, some of whom didn’t even live at home anymore. Mother was slowly losing her mind, and would soon be taken away to the asylum in the big town. She would come back, eventually, but by then there was already the wife of an older brother taking care of the running of the household. Father died when she was eight, his insides eaten away, slowly, painfully,inexorably. When she looked back on those childhood days she remembered good times however. The laughter, the singing and playing in that family of young people made up for the other side. The war-years when nothing was to be kept for oneself but sent away somewhere to soldiers in a foreing country. The poverty, the toiling in the field, the barn. The berry-, and mushroom-picking for the market days…There just wasn’t a dull moment to brood on how life could be in another way. In summer the houses down by the station and the school filled up with townspeople come to spend the holidays. There were new children to play with, and ofcourse extra work giving some additional money. All in all life was good.

Alone, but never Alone

I don’t want to lose touch, hence this post about Nothing. Just because…

January is a strange month. I balance between despair and serenity. The snow that came down made all the mountains behind me loom like huge ghosts. Beautiful!

Self-esteem. It comes and goes I’ve noticed, and am happy it’s back, if maybe only for this moment. I managed to talk sternly to myself, so at least now I’m on the road towards the better I, the I who can say no, stop! It feels good, and if only the spring will come now, with some hope of peaceful living, quietly, mostly alone……The distinction between alone, and lonley is, in my language quite small. At least as I remember my language right now.  I tend to think of alone as something positive, for me that is, who isn’t spoiled with the feeling of going my own way as I please. Maybe I’m just not selfish enough, or maybe I’m just weak, somebody to walk all over. I prefere to see myself as someone who bides her time, who takes it just so far, and then…Then what? Well I don’t really know, and I suppose that’s part of what’s been keeping me in the blue shade of things for a while. It would be alright to be lonely, if that didn’t need to include that loneliness. The alone where you can’t easily chose to break it off at any given time. As usual, I ramble. Well, is it possible to have it the other way around? To live in the loneliness, but never feel alone?

A Bitter Taste of Blue

That’s what I got in my mouth after reading some of my writings here. I thought I was optimistic and well, maybe not happy happy, but contented…serene. Instead Ifound this fairly bitter, depressing person writing under my name….How can that be? Granted, since I came, read and retreated to ponder, fester and just think, I’ve been low. Maybe it’s the anticlimax of the season. Or maybe this is how it works….you write something, and that what you hold to be the  thruth, turns out to be a mistake, at best, or fiction. Or maybe it’s just plain old me, peaking out from behind that happy, contented mask. I lost my footing, but in doing so I also had to take stock of some more or less painful things. My going back to my bad habits is one, and although one can always blame ones surroundings it’s not honest, and if I can’t be honest with myself, then what? I will ofcourse get a grip. That’s who I am, was fostered to be, but it’s so hard sometimes to be good, do good…all because of what? The eternal award? The knowledge of “being good”? I don’t know, but the road is somehow already mapped out. It doesn’t really matter how much I procrastinate, I’ll get to where I’m going in the end anyway, I know.

I wanted to tell about the first girl. She who came before the young woman and the little girl, but I just can’t face it now. She’ll have to wait the next opportunity. Up on the little hill, in the forest, at the end of the old dirt-track……

Published in: on January 3, 2009 at 14:50  Leave a Comment  
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This last evening

The end of the year turns out pretty much the same as the start of the old one. And why shouldn’t it? We tend to affix names or functions to different days, but in the long run every day’s more or less the same.

Well, this year’s giving up its last breath, and I’m OK with that. Ever the eager look-out for new turns of events, I have to say that a new year’s right up there with Mondays! Ofcourse, as usual, I feel the change, but seem to be quite alone in that, at least on the homefront. The family is snoozing securely in different favourite corners, it’s 23.15……Even if I don’t really care about the new year as a celebration, I find it…..boring. Boring to celebrate alone, with my tea-cup. We’ve had champagne. We even had a good roaring fire burning old bank-papers while listening to Dionne singing Burt…..I suppose this is all I can ask from these  last hours of 2008.

When the young woman was a child the new year was the tolling of churchbells in the city by the sea, and by the different ships singing their  laments in farewell of the old year. She was a child growing up with the war at the doorstep, the ever-threathening catastrophy hanging over her first years like a shroud. It shaped her, the worry, the absent father, the coping mother. The baby sister that came along the year before the war ended escaped it all. Grew up with the taste of new prospects and new wealth in the air.

The clock is ticking, and I was thinking of maybe welcoming the new year on the terrace next door. But what does it matter? I’ve never been a new-years-celebrator, the idea is fine, but to actually muster enthusiasm is too much I think. Tomorrow is a new year, and I’ll decide then how I will tackle it. (more…)

Published in: on December 31, 2008 at 22:31  Leave a Comment  
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To find the right turn of phrase.

That’s not at all easy. Maybe because I read a lot. Maybe because I don’t really have anything to say? Still, at night, when I lie awake, I compose the most elegant prose, and quickly too. So much that swirls and turns in the dark. So many angles. Ofcourse I manage to fall asleep again, finally, and in the morning most of it is gone…Ofcourse.
I can picture the young woman. Pretty in an ordinary way, with a nose that she wanted to be more elegant, like her father’s, and eyelashes she was cursing her mother for, blondish, stubby. She was a “good” child that turned if not “bad”, so at least into a worry and disappointment. The parents didn’t understand, what parents do? And as she made her choices, trod her own path of defiance I think she sank helplessly. Into regret, into a life not really chosen, but that just happened to her. Somewhere along the line she chose however, she chose pride and she chose capability. The parents she tried to escape from, was there when nobody else was. Maybe with the inevitable ” I told you so”, or maybe not. Maybe that part was only in her own mind. Wherever it was it shaped her. Shaped her into the capable, industrious, woman with the ever-hardening shell around her…

Life is ofcourse a struggle. That’s a mantra that’s easy enough to say. To feel it is another matter I’ve noticed. The struggle of the everyday life, the choices, the excuses…it’s tiresome. I sometimes wish for less awareness. Ouch! That came out just a bit too…..I don’t know what, but what I mean is that for every new insight there’s an added burden of responsibility. To know, or understand more is to have even more choices to make. I undertake my journey within the confines of a mind too easily swayed. This sounds like an excuse perhaps, but really it isn’t. The struggle between doing right, and giving up, is a hard one, and lately I’ve seem to lose ground. Lose ground I write, as if there’s the “I” versus something else. Some external force, maybe? I think not. Rather I’ve a feeling that the “good” and the “bad” as it should be known, is within. So, I struggle with myself, and I win and I lose according to how my resolve is steadfast, or crumbling.
The young woman later told the little girl; “You looked like a little monkey, all that hair. But the nurses at the maternity ward thought you so cute, and put ribbons in your hair.”

Published in: on December 29, 2008 at 14:49  Leave a Comment  
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