I'm back in Uppsala after a quick spell in the North. And I feel that I want to write a little something here and now, cuz I suspect that I may be busy during the week.
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Going up was originally planned to bring my snowboard down here, but in the end that's the one thing I didn't manage... It will be sent to me on tuesday though, so no worries.
Getting up on friday night I learned that both of our (my parents) cars were out of order. My brother picked me up in his girlfriends moms car.. And so, instead of speeding off to a friends house, I had to subvert him into joining me at my folks. He came out and we listened to some vinyl, played cards and chatted away. Mostly, nothing seriuous was said, and time was mostly spent reminiscing about last summers turn around the north of Norway and the Lofoten islands. And dreaming about a Great Return, Norway - the Sequel. Then of course, I had to tell him about my Girl (can I call her "My"? or should it be "the Girl who I am with", or rather more accurately, "the Girl who is with me"?) and I gave him a few choice adjectives to sum up.
Unfortunately he had to leave the next day to go somewhere for a funeral.
And my other best friend living in Övik was - to my surprise and awe - missing, having descended to Dalarna for the (in)famous Vasaloppet cross-country ski race. 15000 people race in this event each year, skiing the 90some km from (eh.. forgot) to Mora, retracing the trek made by the swedish King Vasa in the whateverHundreds (if you want accurate details, I suggest wikipedia.org or why not vasaloppet.se). She clocked 10h:16min as she reached the end. I say, it's bloody insane. But nontheless, or just because of that, it's darned impressive.
Anyway, this left me without friends, or people to hang out with, and I was "stuck" with my parents. Which, I guess, was ok. In that sort of boring way. But being tired and since it was still only for one day basically, it reallly didn't bother me. And chance would have it so that this very weekend was the opening of a friend's art show in the Örnsköldsvik Museeum. So, I went to see this opening, small and intimate as it were, saw some really great art and got to meet some friends of the family that I hadn's seen in a long time.
Then we went home, had dinner and watched the disturbing and good film Hotel Rwanda. I spent most part of the film feeling ill and abused. I am, to be honest, a very badgery coward of a person. I prefer to bury my head in what I like, - smell it, touch it, - and ignore all the horrible things in the world. I say to myself it's to keep from going insane. And watching this movie was quite the opposite to this strategy. And on top of it, all these events are in a sense history, not going on right now and therefore nothing I could possibly influence or change.
And then I went to sleep, but the movie and the newsflashes about the feared bird-flu mutated and joined forces in my mind, creating my first nightmare in what must be close to 20 years. I was in a city, under oppressive occupation and ravished by a horrible and dangerous epidemic spread by birds. I had to get out before it got me. People around were both dying and preforming rebel acts, the enemies in the dream being forged together into One Great Threat. Death. No matter if it was by militia bullets or bacterial invasion, death was the outcome. So we hid in burned out buildings, holding our breath, living crowded together in rooms only accesible by rope-ladders. When finally help came it was under the guide of my professor from work, which is another strange component, and at that time something made me turn back to fetch something I cannot remember what. I ducked back into the hiding place, climbing up to fetch whatever it was. Rushing back, I reached the street but it was empty. In the distance I could se tanks and soldiers moving under a blue, bright sky. But my rescue squad had left, and I was on my own. And so, I woke up.
Weird and wild stuff, and I haven't even been able to compose it well. Also I chose to leave out some very disturbing details.
Today was spent in a car, slowly snaking down the coast in a schizophrenic weather with equally unstable traffic conditions. Now a grid-lock and snowstorm. Now sunny and flowing. Now zero visibility and icy roads.
Finally back home, the long ride made me miss my possible appointment with my Love, so Iäm bitter and bored. And tired.
This weekend I also made the mistake of letting my mother cut my hair. At first I thought, ok, that'll be fine. But it wasn't. So now, back here, I took the kitchen scissors and butchered my head even more. Can you say Bad Idea? No, actually it's better now that this morning, but I'm still unhappy.
Mr.Sweeney says to always finish with a quote, since everything's already been said and probably better by someone else so here goes:
Both from "Haunted" by Chuck Palahniuk
"Every apostle or disciple, as much as they're running to follow their savior, they're running just as hard to escape something else"
"Can you pretend to love me for the rest of your life?"
Sleep tight, and don't let the flu-virus wielding bed birds bite
