Personal problems with procrastination. The following two weeks are planned to the hour, but it remains impossible to adhere.

This week we ferried our way across an ice laden Baltic to Estonia. Tallinn is a city of surprising, simple beauty, made all the more so by golrious sunshine and the company of International
Committee’s (cutest) Fadders, plus a few.  Back to Västerås on Friday. It feels like spring - at last! And just like spring there is an endless list of things to renew.

Apartment move, scribbles in the pub, exams and birthdays coming up.

One of the conditions of being this animal, is that, like all other animals, we are essential ruled by the hormonal ebb and flow. There is no avoiding the fact that these organically man-made chemicals dictate our behaviour and capabilities. They tell us - it is time to eat more (or less), it’s time to mate, run, relax, cry, wash your hair (the placing and quality of which is also reliant on a few of these little compounds) because it got damn greasy and that this little irritation can now Fuck off! It all sums up to mood. Admittedly it can be hard to ignore the swing sometimes. Gowing with the flow does not mean being relaxed every day!

But hormones, despite the usual monthly mention, are fabulous things. Today adrenaline paid a visit; in association with some carbon fibre, a huge clunky pair of boots, a generous helping of snow and good company. Welcome to the International Committee ski-trip. Oh what a day!  Me an Tomas, my arm wrestling, table clearing, dirty minded, fellow Arien spent a worthy hour at snowboard school before stuffing our bellies with hamburgers and hitting the slopes (occasionally more literally than necessary). Today is going to be one of those wonderful innocent memories. The sheer excitement of learning something new and being able to put it into practice. Hysteric laughter about our unbecoming, clumsy falls, and exhilaration at completing sections without a fall. Green, blue, red… the colours of our chosen pistes will soon be reflected in my butt.  This little one is happy!

when the fight is for the good life

De här är dagarna var man kan allt. Eller, man vågar allt. Eller, man vågar mer än förre. Det finns otroligt mycket kunskap som man aldrig kommer att ha, och detta bör man bry sig inte om. Så länge som man försöker med nåt blir livet rörande. Jag kommer inte ihåg den sista gången där vi hade det verkligen tråkig, fast grammatik lektioner blir lite sömnig ibland. Vi har brist om tid, och brist om ordförråd. Att förstår det abstrakta behöver man rymma genom språket som smältvatten.

Smältvatten. Det kommer! Våren börjar vissa sig. Hon pekar med solen och uppmuntrar fåglarna att vakna oss tidigare varje dag. Så det bit tvätt och städning och nya hopp. Garderoben har tomts, och idéerna ordnar sig. Nu finns det en hög med randiga tankar mitt i hjärnan. KAOS blir aktuellt igen. Det känns bra att hålla penslar och nöja av färger som spridda sig över duken som glädje. De rensar bort smuts av spända musklar och får man att andas.

Snart ska jag ute och köra igen. Om det är modigt vet jag inte. Men för att jag har tillgången till bil då vågar jag prova. Till och med vågar jag gå ensam till fest, det finns människor som jag vill vara med! Det är snart vår.

Läxan:

Recension av Man har skjutit ett lejon av Maria Wine

Barn memoar är en växande genre, särskild bland historier om olyckliga dysfunktionella familjer eller dem med störande mediska problem. Maria Wines Man har skjutit ett lejon instämmer den förre, fast historien är inte alls nutida. Boken hade sin första utgång 1951 och uppdaterades vid sjuttiotalet. Trots det, berättelsen läses fortfarande fräsch och aktuellt.

Lilla flickan Karla (Wine) lämnades av sin mamma på ett barnhem när hon hade fyllt just fyra år. Historien beskriver grymt personligt Karlas uppväxt på hemmet och snarare, hos hennes fosterföräldrar. Efter sådant utmönstring kände den stackars flickan att livet var hemskt och orättvist och det lät ofta så. Genom barnens ögonen ser vi hur mobbning och naturliga rädsla ger form åt ens uppförande samt personlighet. Däremot, det som skadar ett barn kan göra den blivande vuxen starkare. Som den metaforiska lejon, hittas Karla så småningom sin stryka och glädje i livet.

Författaren skriver suveränt från barnens synpunkt. Även om inledning är betydligt invecklade historian blir snart strömnig och med så vackra framställda upplevelser att man är tvungen att hålla i sig. Den korta delen var författaren berättar om snattade svartvinbär som ”svarta tårar” som ”smakade som den godnattkyss från min mor”, och följande smärtan av samvetet, är en strålande exempel av innersta naturen av barnens tankar. Boken är understruken med passager av lika sanslösa rörande språk. Den är lätt att läsa men förutställer återkommande starka bilder.

Man har skjutit ett lejon är, enligt min åsikt, en ytterst fin beskrivning av en olycklig barndom. Den exemplifieras till och med hur barn påverkas av, och upptäcker sina omgivningar. Skrift stilen är tydligt samt känslomässigt och framför läsare försvarslös insikt till Wines erfarenhet som ungdom igenom både sorg och jubel. Den påminnas av Laurie Lees Cider With Rosie och är en måste för alla intresserade av mänskliga historier.

To be swallowed by fever and sleep and descend into the great darkness is to travel to a polar opposite to the continued sunlit snow outside. The fool relaxes and the succumbs to this sweat dripping, alternative reality. Dry throat and a layer of glue spreads across receded eyes. Needles dance over hunched rush-hour shoulders, small sparks of electricity from the overhead wires race along taught muscular channels.  Concentration lasts… long enough to acknowledge the changing light and footsteps pushing great slices of white from the sky.

It’s been a good one! School, and Pers perverted porno, meditation and a few shed tears. Lunch in Kåren with key collections and kladdkaka. Laundry,  library, cleaning and so we scribbled. Florian is my new favourite teddybear. More snow and four tyres moved from Folketshus to Gideonsberg. The robot boy is officially moved and now has my kitchen (at least my order!) He is packed and jets of for Japan tomorrow. I believe the wardrobe flower is th best kind of inspiration. Sometimes small stories make great days wonderful. It has been 18 hours on the go but my head is still buzzing. Swimming at 11 tomorrow. Time to shut down.

I’m back, and it feels oh so good to be in my own kitchen again! Scrubbed throught layers of dust and found beneath the grime something that looks like home.

Time for tea and the last few chapters of ‘Den Hemlige Kocken’. Enough to put you off eating for good.

I’m not entirely sure whether it’s the cold weather or the impending birthday but I am starting to feel decidedly old.  Unfortunately the hip is still providing a healthy dose of pain, even after a week of careful light exercise. All the more annoying considering these seem to be the days where physical capacity is otherwise infinite. Push ups, crunches, swimming, hand stands and backwards bridges from standing. Without this necessary layer of sealskin my stomach would be something broaching washboard.

Ahh, but sealskin, blubber to you and me - today there is nothing better! In the early morning rush I neglected to check the thermometer before running out the door. On arrival at the bus stop (roughly 4.5 minutes later) my gloves were covered in a healthy growth or ice crystals and the rim of my thermos looked rather more like a giant airline ice cube, complete with twizzle stick hole. On arrival at work I was promptly informed that the temperature was an accommodating -28… accommodating for polar bears perhaps.  It was actually a joy to be stuck behind the counter with four fridges blasting out post cooling warm air. Cold weather also means culled customers and it was possible to proceed with a little spring cleaning. Keeps Clover cheerful. Scrubbed doors and windowsills. Danced with Lilla and laughed at Emil. Easy work. Kåren is a good place to be.

Lunch, laughter and toilet humor go hand in hand; at least in my circles of friends. We waded our way through tales of our first forays into the world of curse words, the problem with Turkey joining the EU (it has to do with organ size… oh yeah, politics) and the general downfall of men, before carving a path to the library and completing a tasteful text about carpentry.  Slid back to Kåren with minutes to spare before måndagsmöte number three.

These meeting are something else. An exercise in patience and Swedish, but not of Swedish patience. I have come to the conclusion that these people are so typically untypical I can’t help but love them.  There are easy laughs and irritations. Meetings drag on unnecessarily over minor details and I am always late for capoeira, but this I will stick out.  Two weeks of alteration and effort are changing the face of things. There are bright days on the horizon. Roll on spring!

A long chat with Burak about everything and nothing. The importance of being… part of the environment, I guess. Here and there and everywhere. Situations are different and we occasionally have the luxury to choose. Past twenty five he needs a job and a wife. But I am reaching the hieght of my life. Though somewhere there, at the back of the mind, are children, education and plans.

In newfound company there are old names to explore. Tonight was not quite intergalactic, but I made it to Pluto in any case. Unsure what to expect; it appeared to be, none other than - a night club. The music was too loud. The drinks too dear and the dancing of that uptight, scared about sex and reputation type.

Borrowed too may cigaretts and filterd conversation.

Made my escape at 1:30 and legged it home in the snow. Pitch skys and sweet lonesom silence.

Somehow weeks that are not meant to be chaotic become so in any case. But constant activity is good, especially when it comprises several apparently unrelated activities.

Today I have completed another step of Swedish integration. I have signed a FIRST HAND rental contract with HSB, meaning that; as of the first of May I an well and truly in the system. My rent goes down (along with my apartment size) but hopefully my capacity to save will increase slightly. Rather dependant on finding a full time job now - especially as Hubert (thank you sir) has signed himself away as guarantor, and has to shovel the shit if things go wrong. But it is good to have outsider reliance, it boosts the motivation.

Today has also been both study-worthy and creative. Three hours of plugg before bussing it down to town and then several sweet lonesome hours up here in ‘LF’ rummet. Just me and the Scribbling Society. We now have a 1 meter logo on canvas with all the usual recklam. Must stop this blandning av svinglish. Language skills are getting confused and are of use only when speaking with fellow swinglishers.

Kåren becomes increasingly a part of life, as work and play integrate.  Free condoms, kladkaka and company.  All I need now is capoeira. One more layer of paint and I’m outta here.

Toodle pips