Like moth to a nose

Around four in the morning I woke up because I felt, very clearly, something trying to get into my nose. I woke hysterically and started to slap wildly around myself, among other places, my own face, and then I couldn't sleep in fear of things getting into my orofocieses(or however you spell it).

I started a story called "My first venereal disease" yesterday, but it never developed properly. After I finish Whisper, I hope to start my third project, which hopefully will be in Norwegian. But I have totally forgotten how to write Norwegian, and I need to rediscover it, so I have a big list of Norwegian books I will try to borrow from the pathetic library where they have only books on orgasms and labia.

By the way, I still hate this blog.

Court and Spark

I just applied for a part-time job and for some reason it seems to me to be imperative that I get it. Like my life will end if I don't. Wonder why.
And my application was like serious shit as well, and I caught myself laughing at the crap that sometimes comes out of me, though through my fingers and not my rectum. The other side of the really suck-up application is of course that it is ridiculously well-written. It's like the best piece of writing I have ever done. Which is, like all other things, amazingly sad.

Currently doing Chapter 18, which is called Treacherous Ruby, and even though the writing has eased up because I feel totally uninspired when I just sit around and wallow in my own boredom, it is now finally good. So yeah, Jesus.

And I am like totally obsessed with Court and Spark, but only Court and Spark, not the whole CD. I don't think I really get it yet.

"Love came to my door
with a sleeping-roll
and a madman's soul
he thought for sure I'd seen him
dancing on the river in the dark
looking for a woman
to court and spark."

FUCKING SHIT,THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS I WANT!!!!

Strange documentaries I watched in my boredom-orgy
- With tumor for face
- Born without face
- Fat families
- 2 years and 50 kg
- Will and Grace

I am a hobo(and the thing that sounds like hobo)

I think I might have to live on the streets, which will totally ruin my manicure. And I don't really have an attaire for being on the street, anyways. So because of these two reasons, I demand that the University of Bergen should put me in front of all the other people who also need somewhere to stay.

The whole reason I selected Fantoft(even the name hints of its slightly rustic and wierd and, well, frankly, horrible nature) was because, as someone said, "it wasn't the most popular place int the world." Therefore, by reason, few people should want to live there, and I will get a place.
Too bad the world doesn't spin because of logic.

And by the way, there are like a million stories about really gross things that people met when in Fantoft. There are supposed to be a billion cockaroches there, and those reeeeeaaally gross animals, those flat lice things that hide in the wall for years and years until they come out one night, when you are sleeping, and sits on top of you, draining you of blood before they go back to their space in the wall and stay there for another eight years.

And this one woman found larva in her pillow.
Pukatronic.

I am in for one wonderful, rich year...

Cunt

Is this the moment when I say:"I think I've had too much"?

The tree and the light

I don't care if this blog sucks. I don't care if no one reads it. It will be only for me.

I was just out jogging at 2 in the morning. The clouds were heavy and the light was waning when I came upon this light, just a normal road-side light. A tree's canopy had spread around it, so when a cold, gentle breeze drifted from the sea, the leaves fluttered, the reflection in the asphalt that was newly wet by rain was so amazing that I wanted to cry.

But I am not a woman, so I didn't.

There is so much beauty in the world and I am so lucky to be alive, even though I got a fucking C on one of my exams and I might not find somewhere to live.

I need to retain my perspective on things.

The preciousness of life, the beauty of everything that is, the sheer magnitude of everything that spins into the cosmic dust of presence.

Apathy for inconsistency

I am starting seriously to hate this blog, now. Not really starting, but at the end of the long cresent of emotional development that leads just to sheer apathy over the inconsistency with which I have treated this blog.
But I don't like to think that anything is my fault, so fuck you and fuck this blog that is so boring I wanna puke.

By the way, I am eating oatmeal because there wasn't bread, and the oatmeal is really disgusting. It reminds me of brain-matter. And its sort of spoongy and horrible, swelling in your mouth like paper, gooey and sticky to the roof of your mouth.
And I added too much salt.

Maybe that is the story of my life. I add to much salt to everything.

Washings on two lines

Just before I went to bed after 13 hours on a train, 8+ on a bus and then 7,30 on a train again, I put on the washing machine. A sack full of clothes barely filled the machine, and I used a little excess of that blue softener stuff, because I am so sick of my shirts smelling horrible after the washing machine disaster in Budapest.

When I woke up, my mother had hanged them out for me. That struck me as a very great kind of kindness.

Now the clock is soon half past four, my bioclock is fucked up and I my MP3 player is strange and will not work. Plus I am sitting in my bathrobe.