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

Time to rest my weary head and make a few more triple zeds. The weeks expand like years and then fall back. Black hole. Concertina. If you want something done, ask a busy person. Days have no balance - they are either busy or full. Muscles outperform joints and the hairs on my arms keep standing on end. Cold, tired, content.

It’s echoing peel has been the punctuation of this week. Me and Mahgol have laughed so hard that at one point we were almost forcibly removed from a grocery store.  We have cracked our ribs over the childish, the immature, and the down right hormonal. The renovations (and resolutions (to take less responsibility)) have offered up an extraordinary week, filled  with saunas,  meditation, mass convergence on the swimming pool and a 20+km hike in waist deep snow, to offer but a slice.

This evening I find myself sat in the plush surroundings of Dimi’s apartment. A sjyst lia indeed. We were invited to dinner earlier in the week. After a stressful and Kåren smelling day, to walk through these doors and find a looking glass world was quite something. The place makes my Mexican stripes and miss matched crockery look armature. Globules of flowing purple wax cover the bathroom floor where candle lit baths have been left to cool. The air is perfumed and trailing plants line the stairs. Each room is a small celebration of colour and a riot of sensual fun. The table laid so deep it was impossible to sample the succulent fish and salted almonds that lay on the other side. Bread was ignored in favour of herb crusted potatoes and handfuls of fresh plumb tomatoes. Feta with spiced paprika and chicken in a rich oily sauce. We ate to the sounds of Brazilian samba and were soon lost in Dimi’s tales. At some point in the evening there appeared a cigar and a bottle of enviable rum. There appeared also an offer of unwaited generosity, and her spare key was attached to by growing chain. So now, instead of a week of the gypsy life I am making the most of this little piece of heaven.

It has been so wonderfully easy with Mahgol, it is so comfortable to share her little 12sqm abode (hon har bra åsikte… eller utsikte…) to sleep when needs be, to eat and drink tea. To feel a part of the small Iranian family. It makes me feel ungrateful to say that I need my own space, but it is a part of my soul. It feels good to be alone in a building sometimes.

Yesterday was a remarkable day. We hiked, we laughed, we shared, we ate, we introduced, we showered, we slept, we drank tea and ate cookies, we faced the fear and walked with a hand on the dog, we talked and played pingpong with bits of plaster board. We hugged and kissed and felt a little worse for wear. Mealou, swimming though snow, like a troupe of tiny tomte in the worlds biggest bakery store. Flour and icing sugar. Wonderfully cold, with warm hearts. Responsibility in achievement. And three true gentlemen. There is such liberation when accept ion is. Time holds no bearing. Just this leg and then the next, with a smile on your face and a boot full of snow. After emptying my pair of private swamps the dry socks felt like heaven. A cotton cocoon. Adrenaline and endorphins. There is little better.

Last week end it felt as if my body had been hollowed. A thick latex shell with nothing but wasted thought and memory rattling arround inside. This evening I swear that my soul is threatening to burst through the seams. It is welling behind my throat, and half way down my arms. Warm expansion as my eyes roll back and… and… and…

There is laughter, love and life.

Last month was officially exhausting. There are no ifs or buts. It was to the core, 100%, soul drainingly exhausting.  Lessons learned? I doubt it!

After the weekend’s minor nervous breakdown I appear to have completely lost my mind. At the very least, the ability to act sensibly with a certain group of friends. I have decided to find myself a gun belt in order to transport my daily banana rations to school and go everywhere with a luxurious supply of toilet roll (explained away by allergies and bladder problems… so perhaps the lack of running water in my apartment that is contributing to this (hopefully) temporary madness). Yesterday me and Mahgol were almost forcibly removed from COOP-extra when we dissolved into uncontrollable, gut clenching laughter at the checkout. We later collapsed into aching fits of giggles in the kitchen, Afshin’s room, the corridor… the bus on the way to school this morning…  Kåren at lunch time… pretty much anywhere the two of us were in earshot.

We meditated again yesterday after class. 20 minutes of breathing before my shift on the baguettes. The sudden realisation of tenseness. I thought I had relaxed a little, but in fact my muscles were so taught I was sitting three centimeters taller than normal. My calves and thighs in some tight competition. Breathing was a pain, and when I finally cleared my head it was filled with the smell of long waving dry grass and the sensation of holding my mothers hand as I walked. A strawberry haired three year old in a hay field. Grass, sun, a breeze in dry air, and my hand in another’s. It turned up again.

I miss my mum, and I miss my bathroom. In different ways of course. On Friday I was rudely awoken but a builder removing my bathtub. By 10pm  Monday my bathroom had been reduced to a mass of concrete and more dust that you would consider possible. Cold water can be found in the stairwell and washing facilities are a short trek away (delightful in today’s blizzard conditions!) Planning toilet trips is one of those irritations that makes us realise how lucky we are most of the time.

We also talked about fathers and that unending trust. They are strong men. Invincible. Unbreakable. Unbelievably wise. Both Mahgol and I miss the protection we used to feel; being with THE man in our lives. But we have grown. And now my heart keeps thrashing around like an oxygen starved fish, desperate to find it’s way back to water. Drowning in the atmosphere. A battle between protection, intellect and sex.

And now it is time for more studying. The Swedish verb for studying is ‘plugga’. I think it is the most wonderfully suitable word.

Hugs to you all!