While awake...

On the topic of being drunk...

We stumbled across a harvested meadow, jumped the ditches whenever they occurred, and ended up standing behind a red barn. Within five minutes I had consumed half a beer bottle and I was waiting for the results. It was a decision I had made; I really wanted to get drunk. I knew I wouldn't get too drunk so I was not worried, just very filled with expectation. On the way back toward the hill, we met some classmates. I had never seen them drunk before. I think they were faking it. I still didn't feel anything.

I wanted to go up on the hill, but my friends wanted to check out the status down below. That's where all the bad boys and girls used to hang out - and get drunk. They would hang out there until perhaps two or one hours before the end of the evening, and then show up with flushed smiling faces and unsteady feet. They were the kids everyone would talk about on Monday morning. The kids who had already done it.

I knew most of the bad boys and girls. They knew me. I spent most of my teenage years hanging out with them, and many of them were not at all that 'bad' but definitely of a different caliber than I. I always hung out in the outskirts of the forbidden garden, and thus was able to witness many strange events.

It was a fun evening. I was not able to find any more beer so my theatrical skills had to come in handy to make up for it. We eventually made it up the hill for the last dances. We walked around in a circle hoping to be asked to dance. We didn't, and if we did it was mostly with an ugly guy. Then we went back down the hill to the bus and home.

While awake...

Easter Brunch at the 'Rannva' Residence

Petit Déjeuner
Bagels and Lox
Hazelnut Coffee

Déjeuner
Baby Romaine and Arugula Salad with Raspberries and Pekan
Portabella Mushroom and Garden Vegetable Quiche
Lamb chops with Oven Roasted Potatoes
Mimosas
Wine

Dessert
Lemon Coffee Cake with Pekan Streusel and Lemon Glaze
Birthday Cake
Coffee

Glad Påsk!

The door handle is carefully entwined with a multicolored ribbon in subdued tones. Every twist and wrapping is tight. So tight that if you pulled on the handle it would not move. The door is literally bound. Behind it are people I know. They did it. They chose to close themselves in. I am standing in the cold kitchen of my Grandma's house, and I know I will never see her or the others again. The choice has been made, and it's too late to make any changes. I am sure they tried to convince me. I am a bit scared. I still don't understand why they all gave up, already? I know this: people I know are barricading themselves behind these doors until the end of the world. They will not come out until the world ends. And I know they are very angry with me for not joining them. I think they think I am worse off here where I am. Yes, I know I am in danger, but I would not hide behind a door. I am open to danger and I'd rather face it eye to eye.

I look at the bindings on the door handles. They almost look like the wrappings on a katana sword.

Time has passed. I have stayed alive. But many have changed. I know there are children somewhere nearby. They are now cannibals. I walk toward a building together with someone who hasn't changed. I see a cannibal child. It snickers at me and tells me to make sure my 'friend' doesn't linger 'because sooner or later we tend to become huuuungry!' and then it lets out a shrill laughter and vanishes into a dark corner. I don't stay to find out if it's telling me the truth.

Back at Grandma's house I sit in the hallway. Who knows what has happened further inside.
I look out toward the road and see a handful of people walk up the hill. They look normal. It has been so long since I have seen any normal people. I walk outside. A man, a soldier, comes closer. He is not dangerous, I can sense it. He presents himself as a person of higher rank. And then, for a split second I am making the decision; hm, should I tell him I am a major or sergeant? I decide to tell him I am a sergeant. I stand up straight, walk up to him with more strength than I have had in months, and with a very calm and clear voice tell him: "Sergeant T.W., sir". Why? I have no idea. He takes my hand, completely believes me, and looks me in the eye with wonder. How the hell did she survive?

It is when I look down at my wrist that I see it. It looks like a tropical bracelet, perhaps an intricate coral bracelet. The small white worms are moving. They stay within a two inch thick width around my wrist. Crawling and moving they stubbornly stay there. I don't feel pain. I feel odd. I lift my wrist closer to my face to study this. Then I see this one worm, and how it is burrowing its way beneath my epidermis. It disappears below my skin. So they actually dig below. What is this?

I am standing in my old room. It is dark. My hand elevated and my wrist still covered in parasites. They have morphed into 'baby's breath'-like formations, white and flowery. I get a notion and quickly lift my hand toward a bright light. The lifeforms immediately wither, shrivel up and ultimately burst with a popping sound. Liquid is sprayed in a fine mist across my face. Everything happens very quickly; the reaction to light, the popping, the liquid.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror. I wash my face with plenty of water and look at myself. I think it's best to do this in case that liquid carries some kind of poison or something I would react to. Mostly I am relieved it's over.

Then I remember that time when I had that circle of 'sea anemone' shape on my ankle...

While awake...

Some of the most meaningful poems I have ever read were written by the wonderful Swedish poet Karin Boye. There was a time when I consumed poetry like, like I today consume NRO or Drudge! Hm, makes me wonder if I have regressed...

Actually I really miss that time spent reading and pondering about what each line meant. Karin Boye managed to write poetry that I could reread, and love more each time I read it. That is close to unheard of for me. I am impatient, and prefer to read through things only once (unless I will get graded for something!). It would be unfair to pick one single poem that I like the best, but instead many of them mean a lot to me. That too is close to unheard of for me. In fact, I try to convert everyone or anyone who cares for poetry to read Karin Boye's work. There are a few translations around, but the Swedish original is plain, direct, and purely true. My sister scored major points when she one Christmas gave me a collection of Boye's poems. One of the poems is posted on our fridge is called 'On the Move' ('I Rörelse')


I rörelse

Den mätta dagen, den är aldrig störst.
Den bästa dagen är en dag av törst.

Nog finns det mål och mening i vår färd -
men det är vägen, som är mödan värd.

Det bästa målet är en nattlång rast,
där elden tänds och brödet bryts i hast.

På ställen, där man sover blott en gång,
blir sömnen trygg och drömmen full av sång.

Bryt upp, bryt upp! Den nya dagen gryr.
Oändligt är vårt stora äventyr.

Karin Boye (Härdarna)

Edit:
I forgot one thing. It might help if you read these poems somewhere in Scandinavia during springtime. That's all...

While awake...

For some reason I have always thought of myself as lazy. That is a very subjective opinion. I know that I am not lazy and I realize that I work pretty hard. In fact that is the problem. I am either on or off. Whenever I am off I slowly fall deeper into a state of lethargy and ignorance. When I am on I work until I nearly collapse. This had lead to a strange habit of multitasking. Whenever I get the urge to be on I seize the moment to such an extent that I begin several projects at once. There never is any doubt that I won't be able to juggle them all, because I always can. At least I know I can. And as I have started a few parallel tasks I begin to notice more things that need to be completed, and so I take on more tasks, until I am surrounded by a pile of halfdone chores. But I know I can do it. Sometimes I wonder what caused me to become such a frenetic worker once I get started. Perhaps I am trying to prove something to myself. Or perhaps I am trying to prove something to someone else.