First off I would like to apologize to anyone that still reads this blog. My latest absence has been inexcusable. I haven’t even been particularly busy! But you know when you keep looking at your page and you just can’t muster the will, the energy, the guts to write another post? That’s where I’ve been. Also, there has been more of a social life in my current situation than I’ve had in a while. Excuses aside, here’s another post. I’m going to talk about that magical, mystical “it” and the difference places in which it appears.

The One

Maybe you are in love, maybe you have been, maybe you will be soon. But did it occur to you that with love, past the attraction and all the logical reasons why you like someone, there’s that “it”? That “love at first sight” factor, which many discard as mere attraction, or a desperate need to find a soul-mate? I have a firm, deep-seeded belief that there is an “it” that makes some people stand out more to us than most. And it’s not just with romantic love. Sometimes you see a stranger at the platform waiting for the train, or in the grocery store, or on the dance-floor. It doesn’t matter where, even if you see this person out of the corner of your eye, you get a tingly, strange sensation that tells you there is something special about this person. Something that draws you to them, that makes you want to get to know them, that makes getting to know them a little easier, almost like it’s natural that you should. I am a firm believer in this kind of “it”, it’s happened to me a few times. If you get a chance to talk to the “it” people, it usually results in good friends, great relationships or just a very exhilarating conversation that leaves you blown away for the rest of the day.

The Artist

Some of them just have “it”. You might be looking at some disgusting modernistic painting that you would usually hate to the point of using it as a makeshift litter-box for your cats, or giving it away to your dearest enemy, but in this particular case you find yourself liking it. You don’t know why. The painting is garish, disturbing, clumsy, and yet there’s something about it which appeals to you. Or maybe you turned on the radio in the car on your way to work and caught yourself bouncing around on the seat to some new, technoish beat that you’d rather die before admitting, even to yourself, that you like it. But there you have it. Some artwork just has “it”, usually because the creator does. There are some patterns too deeply ingrained into our ancient brain-systems to even comprehend. But for some reason certain things just appeal to us, and we can’t stop them from doing so any more than you can stop the rain from falling on your newly straightened hair. We will often refer to these songs or works of arts as “guilty pleasures” – if we even mention liking them around someone – but what is wrong with liking something because it’s considered too popular, too tacky, too wrong in some way or other? Chances are you can’t help liking it, because to you, it has the “it” factor.

The Moment

Time being an object can certainly be debatable. I still consider time to be the fourth dimension. If we can move along a timeline, it stands to reason that there is such a thing. Without time everything would be at a standstill. At absolute zero even time freezes. So for me, a certain moment can be a thing all of its own. Moments are very complex though. Consider the myriad of things that you experience in a single moment; your surroundings with their objects, sounds, smells, the light, the temperature, then the people around you, if they are talking, what are they talking about, how does that make you feel, what are you sitting on, or standing on, or lying on for that matter, whatever you were thinking about, tasting, the music you hear… there will be moments where you get filled up by such a strange sensation, like you couldn’t be more alive, like you are bursting with pain, joy, energy, all at once, and like you want to stay there always. To me, that is an “it” moment. I treasure them and stow them away in my head. For the hard times.

Defining the It

I would like to know if you can do that for me. Because maybe you are of the persuasion that the “it” is merely a combination of several different factors, and the “it” doesn’t actually exist. But for me, sometimes the reason you feel something can’t be explained. Try as I may, I believe that there are “it”s out there, and that there will be many more, and that there is something that sets them aside from just being happy, or just getting along with someone, or just liking something for… well, whatever reason you may want to come up with. But then tell me if you think I’m wrong, and explain the “it” to me, if you’d be so kind. Or maybe you’d like to share an “it”-moment, or talk about when you met an “it”-person? I’d love to hear about it.


Was I asleep? Had I slept?

A Belmont sent to me out of that love that only respect brings about and a Corona bought at the liquor-store out of the sheer wish to have something that I once drank in the place where drinking became something else than a wish for alcohol. Two such simple elements and yet the silence on the balcony turns into a blaze of memories; a fire-pit at 4am, where I shared moment upon moment of bone-numbing, surreal clarity with two of the people I love the most in this world… a backyard where wailing cries of “I want to go camping!” fell on deaf, exhausted ears… a Cinco de Mayo where I learnt of my surprising resistance to tequila… moments that have a magic all of their own, and that I wish to never forget. They somehow manage to come alive in the fall air which has taken on that curious quality where you can actually smell the cold itself. But it is much more than a scent, and seeps into the apartment where I wear the dressing-gown on top of my clothes or do sit-ups in silent waiting for the radiators to do their job. The darkness falls faster. It will not be long until the clocks go back. I read books from long ago; “Mister God, this is Anna” by Fynn, “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” by Richard Bach. The words turn me inside out in the light of flowers as I struggle for peaceful sleep in the wee hours. I never know what the morning will bring; another attempt at finding work, more school-work, home-made apple-sauce with ginger and lemon, or like this morning (I think it was this one) when the sound of the neighbours drilling into their cement walls drove the kittens to hide in horror under the covers with me, as I cooed my comfort to them and hoped that the rapid beating of my heart could not be heard by their sensitive ears. The uncertainty of what the morning will bring is not what disturbs my sleep. It’s the same reason that I seem to see everything just a little bit clearer yet at a distance, that sounds come to me uninterrupted yet distorted, and my head is filled with a fog slowly lifting. It’s because I walk around in that state of sleep just before you wake from a dream. I just pray that when I wake up it will be on the right side.

For the time being

I think it’s been long enough of a forever by now that I can write another post. I used to have this down to an average of one post every four or five days. I don’t know what happened. Life maybe. It’s not like I don’t have the time to write as often, I think it’s the energy that’s fading. This post is just going to be a bit about a couple of things that have dominated my life of late with their presence or absence.


I have treated myself horribly in the sleeping-department the past couple of weeks. With a maximum of seven hours per night being the average, when I allowed myself to go to bed without setting an alarm, I woke up twelve hours later… at 4:30 pm. I’m worried that I am returning into the same old habits that I used to have when I lived on my own in Sweden for what seems like a miniature lifetime ago now. Back then, I averaged at four hours of sleep per night, so in a sense this in an improvement. At first I thought it had something to do with how my bed was placed. I moved it further into the room, then I woke up with a nightmare and turned myself around in the bed. When I still didn’t sleep any better I moved it next to the window. It will probably stay there, I don’t think it’s the bed any more. I don’t know if you guys have any theories but I have a feeling it’s this restlessness, this worry combined with the feeling of never doing enough, this feeling that I should probably be some place else and three steps ahead instead of sitting where I am and just enjoying the moment. Believe me though, I try. I consciously stop myself sometimes and force myself to just enjoy the moment and let go of any “whatifs” and “hastobedones”. I’m just really bad at it, but maybe with a little practice, I will be able to sit down and just watch a show or read a book without getting up ten times in the process to fix something or do something else.


God has there been an abundance of kittens in my life of late! The two little crazy bundles of claws and fur and ginormous eyes have made my life so much brighter and cuddlier but also a lot more hectic. When you’re trying to get a paper done that needs to be turned in the following day, battling two kittens that are doing their best to chew off the numerous cables and wires sticking out of your laptop is very distracting and far from helpful. When you step into the bathroom only to discover one of them has decided to try their hand at modern art on the floor with their own excrement as paint, it does not exactly make you bubble with joy (I still kind of smile at the memory though). But yet these two, at only ten weeks of age, came into the 95 square metres that me and my room-mate had recently installed ourselves into. And they came into it so naturally, without any complaints, they started playing around the first evening on eventually after long discussions and arguments the little turtle-patterned female Saga realised the error of her ways and started using the litter-box as well as her ginger brother Selon. Never have I known two kittens from the same litter that have such different personalities! I mean, they’re both playful like mad, bloodthirsty, climb anything they can and can’t, cuddle and purr like nothing else… yet they appear to have two very different kinds of intelligence. When running after the cat-toy, Saga waits and calculates to then pounce and snag the mouse-like appendage with skilfulness, whereas Selon just bounces after it and often has his paws on it but let’s go too soon. Saga is a bit of a gourmand, whenever we eat she gets extremely curious and often-times after Selon has started munching away at whatever has been put down in front of him his sister will move over to the stove and start mewing in the most pitiful way she knows how. “Why do you want me to eat that crap? I know you have something better. Selon is busy eating so just give it to me. He’ll never know.” It’s still the best feeling in the world when a sleepy kitten crawls up on your lap and curls into something oddly ball-shaped, and then just falls asleep there in a relaxed lump with no resistance at all, somehow trusting that your warmth and size gives them the safety they need to sleep with abandonment. Well, the only thing more heart-melting might be when said kitten makes its way up your chest to nuzzle your face. That might do it.

School work

So much reading and writing. The lack of sleep does not make it easier. I think when you write a lot for school it makes you want to write less for anything else. But the worst part is over soon. When I hand in my paper on a book by a Swedish working-class author tomorrow that is the last thing I need to do for the first stage in Swedish. The second stage starts in two weeks but even a temporary respite is a welcome one. Then I only have to spend four days straight reading and writing about the conflict in Northern Ireland. That should be fun. Great fun. I, who never gets affected by what I watch or read, and who do not get severely depressed when reminded about the stupidity of mankind. I have to do this. Great fun. At least with the English class I don’t have any extra school work burdens; we get barely any home work at all, which might well be one of the many reasons that the class isn’t going anywhere. I can’t wait for university. I’ll get to learn things. *faint smile of hope*

That has pretty much been it for my life of late. What is there too much or too little of in your life right now? What engulfs you, what occupies your time and makes it impossible to do other things?