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The title of this post sounds more emo than it is, I promise.
For the past week I’ve had the best sleep in a long time. The feeling of being somewhere new, doing something for myself which feels right, the air, everything! And yet, this one night when I need to sleep because I have to go to school in the morning, because I didn’t go today, because I had a political thing to attend, this is the night that my head chooses not to be the least bit tired.
Sure, my body is so fatigued it probably wouldn’t support me if I decided to get up and try doing some kind of exhausting activity, and my brain and cognitive functioning is probably at the point of forgetting simple balance and grammar. (Oh, by the way: I’m taking a linguistic class now!) But my head, also known as my mind, is running around in circles around my brainstem, pointing and laughing and probably even flipping it off, if my mind is the kind to have hands and fingers of its own.
So why is my mind so awake when the rest of me wants sleep? I wish I knew. All I know is that it happens from time to 
time, and it is no fun at all. I’m yawning, my eyes are hurting, I start feeling sick, but I still close my eyes and lay completely still and nothing. Just pain, the feeling of sick, weird thoughts and psychedelic night-like terrors such as the mental image of worms all over my body, or king crabs everywhere on the floor. And this keeps me awake.
Hopefully, if your mind works the same way as mine, now that you read about it you won’t get to sleep either due to the images of the crabs and the worms and their flesh-eating tendencies.
Sweet dreams!
-Frida
I’m on the move, people!
I started cleaning out my apartment, but it’s taking forever. Mostly because I’m trying to get rid of as much stuff as possible, which means I have to go through everything, and that takes time.
But the moving feels good. Real good! Today I got rid of my living-room table (I gave it to a friend who wanted it…), in two days the charity-shop will hopefully come pick up my fridge, television, 4 chairs, some kitchen-stuff, and whatever else I’m throwing up. I’ve sorted through all my clothes (I have A LOT of clothes) and I’m sending about one fourth of it to the local refuge-asylum. And my plan for the night: Sorting through all my shoes. And actually giving some of them away. And it hurts!
Another thing that hurts is my body after working out today, so I decided to reward myself with a glass of whiskey while cleaning out my apartment. Result: I’m sitting in front of the computer with a glass of whiskey NOT cleaning out my apartment… And I got paper in my mouth! Apparently there was paper in the glass. It tasted dry, in spite of the liquor being wet. (Duh, I know!)
I will now continue my cleaning, and you can enjoy this picture of Blonde-Frida in a near-empty apartment:
I know, I look awkward and uncomfortable. The floor was cold, and I dislike posing for a webcam rather than a real person with a camera.
-Frida
[poll id=”36″]
I have a hard time trusting people sometime. Why? I guess due to disappointments in the past. But I’m trying to be less manic, paranoid and sceptical.
When I was younger I always figured that long-distance relationships had to be the best kind. It would be so great to have the time I needed for myself and my friends and still having that one person I really cared for. It would take commitment, but I’m the commiting type. And it wouldn’t have to affect my life that I had a boyfriend. That was the best part.
Now; I don’t like the idea of long-distance. I will do it for the person I’m in love with, and lord knows I have done it. But it sucks. Paranoia eats me up, I worry that I’m not interesting enough, I worry that people are out to hurt me, to cheat on me. I guess experience can ruin any optimistic romantic.
I guess it’s all about finding the right person, and then the distance and time won’t matter. For some people 6 days away is enough to lose feeling, others can take 6 months of distance. If the feelings are still strong after 6 months, and the wait seems worth it, then maybe you’ve found someone worth it. Right?
-Contemplatingly yours,
Frida.
Title-track: I think I’m Paranoid-Garbage
New years eve:
In spite of the party going well and having fun I didn’t feel too good, and went to bed early.
January 1st, 2011: Praying for death or morphine.
Waking up at around 6 (while a part of the party was still partying in the room outside my apartment), sick and in a really bad shape. The hours that followed included me living on the bathroom floor with a fever and a head-ache, and constantly, accidentally waking my brother (sleeping on my couch) due to a very involuntary and forceful expulsion of the contents of my stomach through my mouth. (Sorry for the graphic nature of this description, I tried to Wikipedia “vomiting” to find a word that sounded less gross… I failed.)
I listened to my friends gradually waking up/sobering up and arriving to make the most epic breakfast ever. Which I didn’t even manage to eat.
The rest of the day I spent with my family, hardly eating and feeling sick.
January 2nd: The evil takes a short break to allow me to savour the smell of stale alcohol and cleaning supplies.
I felt sick, but well enough to go home and clean up after the party. Due to awesome friends there wasn’t much left to do, and even that I got good help with.
Drove home (Oh, yeah, by the way: I got my drivers license last week…) and had dinner with family. Feeling better, but stayed the night just in case.
January 3rd: The evil returns.
Went home as my mother went to work, confident that I would spend the day preparing my move. After attempts to clean out my closet I realized I needed some sleep. Woke up 2 hours later with a fever and feeling sick. Again.
Read an entire book. Slept some. Sorted through some clothes. Took a break to write this.
How are you impressed with my new year? Wishing you could be me right now?
I know, my life is glamorous…
-Frida
Also: In celebration of the fact that I’m leaving in 9 days I tried finding a song with the title “9 Days”. This is one of the songs I found, and it reminded me of Five for Fighting, which is a good thing in my book.
Right now there are a lot of people counting down, waiting for the new year to begin. 2010 is almost a mere memory, and 2011 is a not too distant future. In Norway it’s only 13 hours left of this year, and for our friends in different time-zones it’s either a longer or shorter wait left.
I don’t do resulotions for new years. I tried, but I never really understood the whole thing about making a lot of promises on one night, just because the earth has circled the sun, and then break all or most of them before the next morning. And my countdown isn’t for the new year or to see the fireworks. I don’t have 13 hours on my clock, but rather 13 days.
In 13 days I will start my new life in Tromsø. Hopefully it will be just fine and great and sweet and dandy, but like with the new year I can never quite know what it has in store for me. So I’m nervous, and happy, and petrified. A lot of good and bad things have happened this past year, and in my life so far, and it has led to the choice to move away. To start over, in a way.
I will celebrate tonight with friends, but it’s not really the new year-part of the bash I’m the most anxious about. It’s rather the me moving away, and this being my last party in Bodø-part that makes this night memorable to me. And I hope it will be.
To all of our readers, and to all my fellow bloggists on BRBcoffee:
Have a happy new year!
-Sentimentally yours
Frida
(Also: Enjoy this poorly edited picture of me and some friends celebrating tonight…)