Archive for the ‘Stuff’ Category

All the snow has half melted, half frozen.  It’s not quite black ice, but it’s solidly frozen slop.  The plowing edges (thanks, google translate) are starting to turn stone hard, and shoveling now is a bad idea.  Someone please knock some sense into my uncle so that he shovels before everything freezes.

On the plus side, I got fed up parking the car half out on the street, being in the way of the snow plow, so I parked the whole thing outside the public high school and left it there.  If we get freezing rain, I’m gonna regret it.  But right now, it feels great to not feel like The Absolute Worst for blocking the plow.  Hopefully it will do another round tonight, but I doubt it.  I would deliver dad’s old car back to him, were it not for the whole “moving house” business going on.  Sometimes I regret being the designated driver.

The icy ground is very shiny. Dangerous ground, heh.  I managed to snap some pictures earlier while the sun was glowing and lighting up some frozen flower branches, but I haven’t checked them out yet.


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My great grandfather lived through world wars and lean times, and so, he knew of hunger and starvation. He knew what it felt like to go without, and when good times of plenty and abundance came back around, he would still not bat an eye at getting your own dinner where you may. Shooting and trapping birds, looking for wild eggs, teaching the boys how to catch their own dinner; all part of the daily life. My father remembers. He likes to tell me sometimes about how they would check the starling(?) nests for eggs and bring some back to him. We are no longer allowed to shoot starlings, and they are a pest to our garden. They didn’t get the currants or plums this summer, but they are still circling over the apple trees. One hour is all they need to ruin a whole crop – tons of apples.

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Sometime around 2006, I read a bookseries where the ending was so intense, sad, and incredibly different from where it was “supposed” to go, that I ended up crying throughout the whole night, and woke up sick with horrible cramp-like pains the next day. (They were not really cramps, but located somewhere in proximity to the solar plexus (if I recall correctly… Which I might no longer do)).   I continued waking up sick with this horrible stomach ache every day for the next two months. Then it suddenly ended, two days before I finally got a doctor’s appointment, with no clue as to why.

Every now and then, the morning pains would make an unexpected return; always in the morning, for about 2-4 hours immidiately after waking up.  During the worst of the first few months, I sometimes woke up hours before school started, just so I could lie in bed with the pains running their course, before dragging myself up in time for the first class.

I started some pretty weird (and probably unhealthy) eating habits to prevent these unexplainable pains, as it seemed eating a bunch of food in the evening, especially right before bedtime, eased the ache the next morning. But I never figured out what they were, or what really caused them.

Anyways;  I vaguely recall re-reading the last chapter of the book many years later, and it wasn’t all that bad. It felt like blah fanfiction with a bad twist ending.
Debating whether or not to re-read the whole series again, since I remember loving it up ’til those very last chapters.

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Today is another sunny, windy day.  Yesterday was another heat record, and I was out all day even though I hate heat and feel like I am melting like a wicked witch every summer.  My cousin was visiting, and keeping her inside where it is cool is an impossible task.  We went sightseeing where I grew up, and entered the stranded submarine; Lemme tell you, submarines get hot when baking in the sun.  But at least the tomato plants are enjoying the weather.

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Jeg har aldri vært så ensom som etter at jeg begynte i „fast jobb“. I tiltaksarbeid, som lavbetalt NAV-slave. Misforstå meg rett, jeg valgte å prøve akkurat den jobben jeg er i, og jeg har ikke lyst til å forlate den nå, for folka der er hyggelige og snille. Men for hver uke som går, kjenner jeg meg enda et trinn ned på ensomhetsstigen, en etasje nedenfor forrige uke i trappa i livets skyskraper. En skulle tro at å tjene egen inntekt, stå opp til fast tid hver arbeidsdag, snakke og synge sammen med kjempehyggelige folk, og gjøre mange av de tingene som driver en fremover, at en skulle føle en form for fremgang. (Framgang? Vet det er en forskjell, men orker ikke Google det nå.) Så hvorfor føles det stadig som om det går nedover?

Jeg tror det var i Kristin Lavransdatter at det stod noe om at en kan være i et rom fullt av folk og likevel være på det mest ensomste, mens det å være alene ikke er det samme som å være ensom. Undset? Jeg har kjent til ordene i mange år, følt sannheten i dem ganske ofte.  Det er et annet sitat jeg hørte for ikke veldig lenge siden som passer enda bedre, det gikk litt slik: Vi bruker opp hver dag på å ønske at det var en annen dag.  Den kjenner jeg veldig på for tiden.

Jeg har kanskje aldri før brukt opp så mange fritimer på dataspill som nå. Jeg kommer hjem, og orker ingen ting. Her om dagen orka jeg ikke engang dusje, enda jeg ikke hadde vaska håret på fem-seks dager, og kommer hjem luktende som et fjøs. Jeg hadde planlagt å dusje, jeg har fått en ganske grei rutine på hvilke dager det lønner seg mtp klesvask, videre arbeid, hår, sengeskift, sånne ting. Men så kommer jeg hjem, våt og kald og så evig SLITEN, full av små og store vondter fra jobb og skuldre som tror at senebetennelse burde være kronisk for resten av livet, og orker bare ikke. Setter meg på senga, kanskje foran dataen, og orker ikke engang se på noe gøy. Setter på noe tankeløst, noe som er helt innafor, men som aldri kommer til å fenge følelser eller sette igang hjertepumpa.

Jeg bor i et rotereir. En bitteliten hule, omgitt av rot og liten plass. Jeg har èn sitteplass, og det er på senga. Den vonde og harde senga jeg ofte angrer på at jeg byttet til, men den forrige var for smal, så jeg vil heller ikke bytte tilbake. Her sitter jeg vondt, og gjør skuldre, rygg, knær, hofte, og høyrefoten med senebetennelsen bare værre. Og så tenker jeg „så sliten jeg er“ og „så ensomt dette kjennes“. Om igjen og om igjen, men orker ikke engang forlate sitteplassen, skulle bare ønske jeg kunne sove. At det var torsdag kveld, den eneste kvelden jeg sover skikkelig, eller søndag morgen, ofte den eneste tiden jeg ikke har noe å gjøre resten av dagen.  Bruker opp hver dag på å ønske det var en annen dag.  Har vondt, men orker ikke gjøre noe annet enn å sitte der. Er ensom, men orker ikke engang tanken på å snakke med noen, ikke engang skriftlig. Orker ikke tenke. Vil bare sove.  Får fremdeles ikke sove.


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New Year’s

It’s the last day of the year.  Less than 3 hours are left, over here, and I feel slightly lonely at the moment.  The others are downstairs, listening to concert after concert on the big TV, while I took myself and the laptop upstairs to be more in peace.  It’s been several hours of this, and it feels slightly… off… to spend tonight separated from people like this.  Had I been home alone, at least I could go out and find a hilltop to watch the fireworks.  I asked if anyone else wanted to go with me to the fortress nearby, that would be a fun new place to watch the lights from, I think.  They said no.  I wish I had better outdoors clothes.

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I don’t like bus rides very much, but it’s something quite cool about it when you sit there looking out the window and autumn is finally looking its part, the trees all look different and you’re not quite sure where you are, and Welcome To Jurassic Park is playing in your mostly noise-canceling headphones.

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