This is not another tender wish
"This is how you do it: you sit down at the keyboard and you put one word after another until its done. It's that easy, and that hard." - Neil Gaiman
If you were to ask me, honestly, what I would like to do with my life, the answer could only be one thing. I would like to write books. That's all. If I were a millionaire I'd travel the world, writing in obscure location, or just stay put where I like it, it wouldn't matter as long as I got to write. Pour my entire soul into it. Sure I'd probably do something else, just to get outside and because one needs experiences to create all that, but writing is the one thing I am truly and utterly passionate about. All my other career ambitions would be pushed aside if someone told me that I have it, that something I wrote would actually be published.
The furthest I have gotten so far it's a letter from a publisher telling me that they read my manuscript with more interest than usual and that if I was to write something else they encourage me to send them that. I am taking this as a win, because most people don't even get that. A sign that there is talent here. That I am somewhat allowed to think that I am good at what I do. That there is hope, that the dream is alive.
Not that I could stop even if there wasn't. It's hard to explain to someone who doesn't write, but for me it's a need. Something that I love and hate at the same time, because it's hard I can tell you that, but that I could never ever let go of. You don't become a writer, you're born as one, as my amazing friend Michaela says, and not to hold myself too high or anything but there is truth in that. I wouldn't tell anyone to sit down and write a book if they don't feel like it's something they have to do. If it's not a passion, not something that you love, it's not worth the effort. If it is however (something that you love I mean), all of the self-doubt and "what the hell is this?" that you feel fades when you find those passages that you're really pleased with, the ones where you can hear your own voice in the pages, see what's truly you.
This post might seem a bit much to some of you, but if you write yourselves, really write, you'll know what I mean. So I guess this was for you. Or it was for me, I'm not sure. Maybe it doesn't matter.
Yeah, welcome to my job.
Thank god it's Friday. Really. It's been a long week. Not a bad week, at all actually, but a long one. (When we had reached Wednesday I couldn't possible believed that it wasn't Friday, because it felt like I had worked for a million years.) It's about I time the weekend arrived.
It'll be a good one too. We're having a party. Everyone is. Very excited, it's been a very long time since we did lady..,party ally because the neighbors complained about the notice (we're gonna remedy that by closing the window and leaving sort of early), partially I think because there's not been any real reason for one. Now it is though, it's the "everyone is finished with they vacations and no one is happier than Sofia" reason.
Yeah...what else? No I think I'm done. Really should get to the gym today, since I skipped it and bought a dress for the party instead yesterday. Work is good. That's about it. We will talk later. Have a good one guys.
Coffee. The black gold. The thing that keeps me going on too little sleep.
Sometimes it feels like it comes with the being a girl package, never quite being satisfied with what you see in the mirror. It's certainly something I have worked on for a long time. And don't get me wrong, it's a lot better these days and it's not like I spend every day being displeased, but it's still something of an issue. I still stand I'm changing rooms not quite wanting to look at myself in underwear, at least not for more than a couple of seconds, still compare myself to girls that have a body that I physically am not able to achieve and can't actually seem to realize that I am not where I used to be.
You have to let that go. True worlds by my very smart little sister. I used to be quite a lot bigger as a child see, and even though it's...oh I don't know, 15 years ago? (fuck I'm old) I can't seem to completely let it go. It bothers me, the fact that it still gets to me. A lot more seldom than it used to, just every now and then these days as opposed to like every day before, but it's a factor and I really shouldn't be. I mean I do think this you're allowed to want to change things about your body, but you should also appreciate where you are. I'm strong now, and fit, and I wasn't always.
Yeah...I'm a mess I know. But a lot less so than I used to be. I really am happy with myself these days, truthfully, I just have some stuff left to work on. And they say talkin about things is good...so that's the reason for this post I suppose. I'm done now. Over and out.
So as you all must know by now, I live in a rather large collective living (or however one is suppose to translate it). As you also know, I completely love it. The reaction I get when I tell people about my living situation, however, is not "oh how awesome that must be". It's more like "OMG you poor thing are you okay, do you need to be rescued?" (or alternatively "what the actual fuck is wrong with you?").
It's sort of funny to me actually, that people seem to think that the home that means so much to me is somehow a bothersome place to be. But I suppose I can understand why they think the way they do. To counter this though, I thought we'd go through some "myths"/preconseptions that people have, and see if they are true (hint: most of them are not).
Hell to the now. I live there. Heh, no but all jokes aside my family (yes I call them that) are actually quite neat. We're (sort of) adults after all, we want to live in a place where you can actually cook in the kitchen without fearing food poisoning.
This is what you picture, right? People everywhere.
This is our home. Parts of it at least. Space! (Also: notice the cleanliness.) Mine and Miia's room is as big as my first apartment.
You get no privacy.
Sure you do. Granted it's not a whole lot, but there's not always people and you are free to go in to your room you know. Also there is always the bathroom. Eh...no but seriously, I get all the alone time I need.
People take each others' stuff.
No one steals from anyone else in our home. Sure we borrow, but we always ask. And if someone takes something without asking first they always replace it. Also: would you ask your close friends if you could have some butter for your sandwich?
I doesn't feel "homy".
When you think collective living you think a long hallway with doors along the side and a crappy kitchen and/or common room, right? Well you've seen the pictures, that's not our home at all.
You don't get to pee/shower/whatever in peace.
Well of course you do. And there is never a line for the bathroom either. The only time we share space is when we get ready to go out and such things, but let's face it it's more fun like that.
Some things though, I must admit, are true. Like these:
There's never any toilet paper.
This is true. To quote Supernatural: "Hoard it. Hoard it like it's made of gold." Because, we're never totally out, but we're nearly always almost out. There's a chicken race going on at all times regarding who can wait the longest before the feel like they need to buy some.
Everybody knows everything everyone does.
Yeah pretty much. At least I would venture to guess that there is nothing that has happened since we moved in that not one person or another knows about. We are in each others business a little bit, and we do know very much about what goes on in the lives of the rest of us. Not that this has to be a bad thing.
And last but not least, the perks
There is always someone to talk to/hang out with.
You get a very big support system.
If someone fucks with one of my roomies, they fuck with me too.
And if you're real lucky, you get what I got. A place you long for when you're not there, a second family away from the one you were born into.
Morning loves. How's life? Mine is good. I'm waiting for the train, acoustic country in my headphones (yes I like that, so sue me) and the crisp morning air in my lungs. It's chilly but bit too cold and I must say that I like it a whole lot better than the heat. Autumn really is a great season, I'm not so patiently awaiting the time when the leaves turn orange. That's my element. It's going to be a great fall, I know I have said it before but it's a very good feeling to have so it can be said more than once (or twice it five or however many time I've said it). Yup, and now my train is here and I'm gonna take a nap. Talk to you guys later.
It turned out good. I'm pleased with myself.
I'm making a...stew? Pot? Don't know what one suppose to call it, but I'm making it anyways. Will update in how it's turning out. Can be amazing, can be a complete disaster.
It's Sunday. I'm sitting in the kitchen writing on my very old computer (or rather proof-reading to be exact, but one does not always have to be exact), has been since I got up this morning. The boys are having lunch and watching football, the rest of the household is working (or, in the case of Sofie, is one vacation). Should eat myself in a while but I'm actually not that hungry yet so there's no hurry. I'm actually very pleased just sitting here. Just being.
And that is it. The reason I laugh so much, that I don't like but still don't mind getting up at five twenty in the morning, and that I always always feel like I'm coming home when I get back to Oslo after having been in Sweden. Because I feel at peace here, like I am where I'm suppose to be. I've made few choices in life that can be called spontaneous in life, but they have turned out very well. The first was moving to France, which was life changing and empowering in more ways than I can count, the second was moving to Oslo. It feels like coming home because it is home, in every way I want it to be.
This is the reason I don't mind Sundays anymore of course, because just hanging out at home is a nice, peaceful thing. I'm not actually sure I can put into words how tankful I am to my Norwegian family (otherwise known as the madhouse), at least not without it being strange and overly sentimental. I suppose I hope that they know anyway, and that they understand that everything I do I do because I love them. It's going to be an amazing fall, simply because I am where I am. Yeah...and that is my cue to leave I think. We'll talk later.