On F****** Fridays

Got up too early AND too late at the same time.

It's raining.

Struggled to find the flow in the papers I had to read this morning.

Continued to struggle all day.

Spent too much money. On stuff. And food. And stuff.

Stupid papers!

Why am I freezing? My feet are icicles (as usual).

Now I'm sleepy. Wish it was a "real" Friday. One where I didn't have to work most of the night.

Bit of a stomach ache.

Cold.

Sleepy.

Want something and don't want it at the same time. Like chocolate.

Definitely don't want to read papers. But if I don't - I'll have to gobble up too many of them the upcoming week instead.

Sigh.

Next Friday will be better!

On stream of unconsciousness

"Not to be confused with stream of consciousness." Though it is rather confusing. I am confusing. And confused. Now the music stopped. Now I started it again. But one of my ear plugs are broken. The set is broken. It's mono. That is not related to the music stopping (again!), because my speakers are stereo or no-o-at-all, alternatively. I got an invitation yesterday. I already rsvp-ed.

I think it's lunch time but I feel like having breakfast. Second breakfast. I already had one. But I think I was asleep. I think I still am.

I really do have ice cream in the freezer. Having it anywhere else would be strange.

It's like this: I could have coffee. But I already did. Besides, quote from a fridge magnet in the coffee place I visited today (the guy working there is real nice, by the way, but you can't go there too often, because then he'll start making you "the regular", and then you feel obliged to always have that and always come there. I can't be tied down like that) - quote (with picture - piquote?)

Except I have no energy. Maybe this is a dream? In which case I'd like to not wake up. I probably need the sleep. Besides I'm not doing stupid things. Yes. That. I'm not doing them. That's stupid. Blinds. The blinds are stupid. And automatic. Like the blinds in front of my eyes. I should eat. Lunchfast. Breakunch. Brunch. Second breakfast. I'm not that found of LOTR, actually. But I do like a good second breakfast. Don't tell my friends I said that. The first thing. About the rings. I like rings. But it's difficult for me to wear them, because my fingers vary greatly in size according to my general body temperature, which also varies, apparently.

Paragraph.

One more.

Interesteling playlist. I didn't make it. I borrowed it from an old coworker. It's very nice, but I am very sleepy. I don't normally talk in my sleep. As far as I know, I don't have any parasomnias. Unless you count that I turn into a blabbering maniac when in lack of sleep. But you shouldn't. Count it. It doesn't fall under the right definition- I forgot full stop- Paragraph-

Foods and animals are really random.

And shampoo.

Whenever someone says "think of something random!" I think of shampoo. Which of course makes it not random at all. Random very rarely is random. Panda. Not random at all. You might think it is. But you would be wrong. Do pandas drink coffee? Probably not. Probably because they are so busy with eating bamboo and not procreate. I sometimes mix up the words procreate and procrastinate.

The curtains here are ugly. They are meant to be decorative, since the blinds take care of light regulation. But the curtains don't decorate. They undecorate. Dedecorate. Disdecorate. "Go, won't you?" I said that. And I meant it. But for entirely different reasons. ...it would be the first time.

Airplane. Swallowed by a cloud. Chewed and spit out again on the other side. The cloud didn't like the taste of metal. The passengers never knew what almost hit (or, rather, digested) them.

It's not really so that random is funny because it is random.

Fridge.

Not random.

Not funny.

But still possible to laugh at, if in the right state of mind. "Arms racing is a state of mind" vs "Arms racing is intense military competition" vs "Arms racing inevitably leads to war". The latter is wrong. Cold War case in point. Besides/ monocausal explanations to excuse personal blame for what later was to be known as the First World War (they didn't know that in the beginning, though, which is a more valid excuse)/

</fedora>

Teh food. I nneedd to go downstairs. Knife. Not of the slaughtering kind. But to eat. With. By. For. Over. Under. Around. Of. There are more. It's not important.

I'll be right back.

It took three minutes. I brought my key but forgot to lock the door.

Jack Malone is actually not the same man,
as,
he,
once was.

His wife left, or so he told everyone. In reality? He knows exactly where to find her. Six feet under a pile of dung. He planted a rosebush on top of it, to cover the smell. The rosebush has thorns.

Jack Malone is not the kind of man,
you,
want,
to get too close to.
As a narrator, then, you assign him a name, to create some distance. To keep yourself out of his head.
But Jack's name isn't Jack. And as you admit that, you feel him creeping into your head after all, speading his darkness through your veins and arteries, like a bottle of ink streaming (unconsciously) into every crease in a wooden floor, after having broken upon impact. From a desk. You are the desk. You are the floor. You are the ink. You. You are the narrator.

You thought it was me. You thought I was the one facing the problem. But you were wrong. Jack infuses you, now,


It's all very obvious. The cards are dealt. The chess board set. With the instructions in a foreign language. Someone draws a gun. Then colours it pink with half-broken crayons.

I have to go. I'm awake now. Asleep. Almost. Always. After all.

On it's not even Thursday

(it's not)

(Thursday, that is)

On everything else than what I want to not write about

Not that I want to write about anything in particular. Or not write about anything in particular, for that matter. I acknowledge that the title of this post is more than a little confusing. But then again, that's what you've come to love about this blog, isn't it? I strive to confuse. Or digress. Or something or other to do with giraffes.

Anyway. I'm not really writing this. I'm pressing my fingers against the keyboard in hope that they will produce words in seemingly coherent order, preferable in a sentence-based structure. If I'm lucky I might produce the complete works of Shakespeare. Or maybe some monkey next to me will. Not that it matters - as far as I'm aware those are already published, so it is hardly that much benefit to writing them again. You can probably download the Kindle edition for free, so it's not even worth the time.

Instead, then, a blog post. About nothing. Nothing is the deal. I could tell you about job applications - and what an expert I'm becoming in filling out online resume forms - but it would bore you. It already bores me. I could tell you about how it's nice to have "vacation" (but it's not when said "vacation" really is "between jobs"), or about how I'm not as disillusioned about finding a job as I sound (I just really hate online forms). I am fairly optimistic, still. I've had a few interviews. I find listings where I am qualified. I'm becoming a self-proclaimed expert on mixing up a quick application. (I told you it would bore you.)

But still. It's not the best of situations. I want to be in Oslo. It's nice of my parents to house me, and feed me, and provide my every need. But still. I want to be in Oslo (déja vu much?). And I want to work, now. I want to be useful, now. I want to see my friends, visit my regular hang-outs. I want to have an apartment in Oslo. Now.

Waiting - I'm not at my best game. I tend to forget to live in the moment when I wait. Limbo doesn't suit me. It goes for job hunting, it goes for temporary living, it goes for personal relationships. If I know what I'm waiting for, it's another story. I can be Patience embodied then. But insecurity? It gets to me.

I'm waiting for a whole lot of things at the moment. And while I wait, I should write. I wrote this. It will have to do, for now.

On ZOMG

ZOMG.

I have recently decided to employ this word in my vocabulary. The problem is, in the current economy it is not exactly easy to find a position for a new word. I have tried to substitute it for other words, but somehow this tends to make the meaning of my sentences less clear. The other day on the bus I gently asked a lady to get out of the ZOMG as she was blocking my passage. However, she did not ZOMG this and just kept ZOMGing at ZOMG.

In addition, some of the substituted words are getting angry. Yesterday the pronouns accused me of exaggerated silliness, and today the verbs have threatened to boycott me if I keep using nouns as verbs. The last thing I need is angry words unioning on me.

I have tried to consult the internet as well. From the urban dictionary (which is a name that confuses me greatly as this online dictionary can be accessed anywhere, including rural areas. They do have internet access there now, you know) I gathered the following:

zOMG is a variant of the all-too-popular acronym "OMG", meaning "Oh My God". The "z" was originally a mistake while attempting to hit the shift key with the left hand, and type "OMG" Also used in all-caps, 'ZOMG' is generally used in a sarcastic manner, more often than not a humiliating fasion[sic]. It is also used as a device for stating the obvious."zOMG! you r teh winz!!one!!eleven!"[sic]

(It also confuses me that an institution that claims to be a “dictionary” is so terrible at spelling, but again this might have something to do with its “urban” image. Itz never cool to zpell poprly in the ceetay.)

Of course the problem with employing ZOMG as it was intended – as an enforced OMG – is that I don’t use OMG all that much in the first place. I have been known to say OMD (Oh, My Digression), but ZOMD just doesn’t have the same ring to it (it sounds oddly like I was trying to type “zoomed” while drunk [and as fun as frunk posting is, it isn’t half as fun when you’re not actually frunk]).

Thus, I turn to you, dear readers. What shall I do with the word ZOMG? Should I give up my arduous attempts at of expanding my vocabulary in this fashion? Or should I keep flagging at the barricades, ignoring the fact that ZOMG and other acronym-turned-common-usage-words such as LOL, WFT and the esoteric FTW are made for other generations than mine? Must I accept that I am linguistically outdated at 25? 

On zzz

Zzz zzzzz zzzzzzzzz zz z zzzzzzzzz z zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzz zzz zz zzzzzz zz zzzzzzzz zz zz zzz z.


That is how my mornings have been lately. Ever since I decided to not finish my thesis this spring, I’ve stopped stressing during the day. Unfortunately, this has led to stress during the night instead.

I don’t usually have stress dreams prior to exams or other such hectic situations. I am wound together (is that even something you can say – “wound together”? When tired, I tend to make up words and/or idioms…) in a much more efficient way – I usually sleep fairly well up until the point of the exam (with the possible exception of the last night), but then there is payback afterwards.

I’ve been known to wake up in the middle of the night, convinced that I have missed an important deadline, weeks after I made the deadline just fine. Once I very nearly murdered my flat mate for keeping me awake all night so that I missed an exam. Only she hadn’t kept me awake, and I had passed the exam days earlier. It was only a dream (which I fortunately realized just as I was sharpening my butcher’s axe).

While this is exhausting, it is usually relatively unproblematic, seeing as the incident that caused the stress is already over. I think it is a way of dealing with stress. My body may not be able to ignore stress, but it postpones it until I can “afford” to waste my strength. This, after all, is better than breaking down when I need that strength the most.

This time, however, I am not so sure how fortunate it is. Since, technically, I don’t have to stress as much anymore, my body apparently thinks it’s okay to catch up with all the accumulated tension. But right now I can’t really afford it. Because I still need energy and focus to work on my thesis, even if the deadline is much further away. And I can tell you that is very hard to do when you barely sleep at night.

This week I have been chased by a crazed serial killer with needles; I’ve been trapped by adorable but poisonous mini kiwi birds (!); I’ve been invaded by noisy teenagers; I’ve babysat a demon spawn; I’ve made life-changing discoveries (only to discover they were not as life-changing after all); and tonight I found out I was responsible for the Holocaust. All while asleep.

It is terribly exhausting, because the dreams both make sure I don’t sleep as much as I’d like (and need) to, and they are also not allowing me to relax as much when actually asleep. (Or could it be that the fact that I wake up more often and relax less is what makes me have these dreams? Either way it’s connected.) The result? I find myself collapsably tired (as I so eloquently put it in my Facebook status yesterday) all the time. Last night I almost feel asleep while doing the dishes (*splash*). This morning I nearly missed my tram stop because my eyes were closed (but I wasn’t sleeping. No, no. Well, yes I was).

Hopefully, it’s a phase that soon will pass. Often, when I’m sleeping poorly over time, I eventually do collapse, and that one 14 hour night of pure coma is enough to put me back on track. If that is what it takes, I sure hope it’ll come soon! Otherwise, I fear that I will end up as a splatter movie script writer. I certainly have the material to start plotting in thus direction!