Friends they're coming friends they go, nothing really lasts for ever.

You can tell alot about a person by looking at their friends. There are, offcourse, some things you can not tell from looking at one's friends, but as a general rule I think your friends can pose as your most important accessory when it comes to setting a social standard.

When i met my man he had beautiful friends. Even the women, they were gorgeous. And diverse. And it didn't end there, they were artistic too. And most were intellectuals. The most amazing pictures would roll from their hands, and i was honoured to be chosen part of these circles. There was, like everywhere, the odd bad apple, but nothing to make an adoo about. Infact, i found that him being surrounded by all these amazing people, that being chosen by one of them was very attractive.

After returning home however, i realise that they are all somehow long gone. Some are part of something grand that we cannot be invited to, while others have just vanished into nothing. And in their place, in their place, i find these inadequate, uninspiered avarage-and-below-looking replicas. And worse han that, worse than anything, they have no manners. None to speak of atleast, and they will not give a new person a fair chanse while conversing on about their dull little lives, about their average-and-below little jobs and people i do not know. Some of them will pretend not to recognize me when i show up even though it's evident that they do, and they will keep their ill-mannared conversations about people i do not know nor wish to know going above my head as if i wasn't there. Then they will whisper giggle at me if i'm left to myself, and from the perfect gentleman i have for some reason chosen to live with, i am left to myself like that most of the time while he's having a heart-to-hole with one of his needy new aqueintances who, belive it or not, is having relationshiptroubles and hole-ache yet again, that is just-too-hard to talk to their significant others about. So there i am, the perfect little wallflower, with my perfect little head watching my perfect little life be reduced to the joke of the day by people who are posing as the accessories of our lives. I am not enjoying a second of it, but if i leave my lonely presence, god forbid, i am deemed the bitch of the century. So. Be.It. Thank you and goodbye.

So this is my advice if you need to escape quickly; first of all, sneak out. If you can, bring your personal belongings. If followed by insulted partner and yelled at, drop weight. Phones, purses and rings all slow you down. So does any shoe with a heel, including his mothers wedding-shoes that she may or may not have passed on to you. Throw the phone angrily to the ground. Use force, so it smashes apart, and leave him to puzzle it back together, then randomly throw the other stuff around to confuse him. A park you may or may not pass trough on the way home is a good scene. Not wearing shoes is extremely important, but keeping pantyhose on to keep your steps even more silent and protect your feet while you run is very good. If you by any chanse should be wearin a long, gothic dress, grab on to the sides and feel like you fly (it's very liberating). You should be gone in no time if you're not scared to go trough all the places druggies go to shoot up. Don't worry about your feet, super-pantyhose will protect you, atleast till the next day. Then run like the wind.

Since you had to sacrifice the phone to escape, you can't contact any friends and the best way to run should now be home.

This might be a late point in time to think about hiding keys somwhere on your body or atleast leave a spare set by your door. If possible, grab a newspaper and try and have a nap in the garden. If this proves hard, wake up someone you know in the building and have them let you in to the hallways, just as lifepartner returns. If lifepartner still isn't humbled by your ovbious superpowers, and possibly failed to bring home anything but the phone, go to bed i the livingroom alone.

Awake early to the sound of messages from random man who found your purse (for security-reasons i advice that you leave a card with your number in your purse at all times). If random man on the phone who has your purse doesn't also have your shoes, ask him where he thinks they are. If he has happened to have spotted something shoe-like ouside of a church, don't hesitate to enter said church and ask employees there if they have seen them after looking a little. Your shoes should be situated neetly by the stairway outside. Don't be surprised if noone knows where your ring is though. Valuables are easily lost when tossed around like that, but it might be worth it to prove a point you can almost recall the next day.

Some girls are bigger than others

Christ, the days go by slowly. I'm not starting work until monday, which is all hunky dorey, but when i was expecting a full rush from day one even just one morning too much watching morning-rain alone to the sound of people-who-refuses-to-wake-up-and-spend-time-with me leaves me walking around myself like a wounded animal. I have these days. I want to do something with them! Espessially now that i am in a state where i can actually be up and walking.

And i desperately need to work out. Which should sound easy being back home, but i don't have a gym now, and i don't know where to go with whome. I am gaining _alot_ of weight, and i don't now if it's the thyreoditis showing it's ugly face again or the patch, me almost not smoking anymore or me actually getting better and my lifestyle catching up on me in it. Either way, i really wanted to gain some, it suits me better, but i never actually want what i want and now i am terribly unhappy and feel like my every move is being handicapped by bodymass i don't know how to control. Whining about it in real life is useless, because i'm not exactly a dancer anymore, and so i don't really know anyone who could relate, espessially when i've been away for a year and most of my friends here have just seen me at certian times of my life and don't know what's natural to me. Noone likes non-fat people who whine about their bodies, but well, i hate mine more than i have done in many years. I think that if you have that in you, the ability to really despise the way you look, it can so easily catch up on you and eat you up and turn you into one of those shallow people you really don't want to be. It's like a desease, you have to fight hard to keep your perspective. Your body doesn't matter as ong as it gets you where you need to be! It's not cool being a perfectionist. I can't remember the last time i was genuinely happy with myself, and seriously bleeping up a year of studies hasn't exactly helped my sense of self. Maybe it's those years of being told i was shit every day. Which in which case, would be a terribly pathetic thing to still clutch on to after all this time. I like to think i'm beyond that, that those things are small stuff compared to what i've lived after, infact i Do think they are, but i have to wonder why i can't internalise my general view of what's important onto myself.

I.Just.Want.To.Travel. When i can take off and go i am liberated from all of that. From the small-town mentality that's inheret in me and the need to keep my image intact. And maybe i am escaping, it could be that i am not bigger of a person than that, when i feel like i am doing something right when i end an era and move to something new and promising. Being here scares me. I have a name here, i don't have anything exotic (apart from my experiences in life which aren't too average anywhere, but they aren't visible) i don't have anything too different, i have history which people judge. I carry all my failures on my body. I don't even have a pretty face here, although i never really needed it to et what i want from life.

So it's a money-issue. And a matter of responsibility. Needing to do the right thing, which is a damn cursed and time-consuming feeling. I am looking foreward to going back to work. I love my job, but it's also extremely stressful, both physically and mentally and i guess there is a part of me that is scared that i will have to let that go too, that my illness will catch up with me even if i tell myself to keep going. So i will do this for a few months. Pay down some debt, take some classes, learn something, se what the superiour system can do for me this time. Yes. I am one bad revolutionist. Catch me i am falling.

Some people have asked me about my blog-titles. They are song-lyrics or titles, mostly, and if you don't recognize them, you can probably goodle them and find out where i was feeling when i wrote these words. "Some girls are bigger than others, some girls are bigger than others," and he goes as if making one word "some girls' -mothers are bigger than other girls' mothers" and he makes it sound like he's saying "smuthers" Today, like so many other days, The Smiths (the queen is dead) are featured, and although to the point, should let you know that i have a sarcastic view on my own whining. In case you didn't realise (in which case i have to ask; Why the hell are you still reading?)

Norway has more colours than any place i have ever seen. Not just the people of Bergen. It overwhelmed me the second that plane was coming down, over the spring, in the norwegian sun and i thought to myself that it's the greenest place i've ever known, with the bluest sky and the way the colours brake together on sunny days can't be re-told. They say Ireland is the greenest place in the world. I can't wait til the day i can go see it. Nothing beats lying in green grass with a book and fresh fruit under the sun. (well perhaps the second when you realise you can warm your frozen feet on someone who'se asleep, or the following; when you move them to a new spot of skin because the pervious one had gotten cold too.)

Some girls smuthers...

And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people

I never thought Id need so many people



I'm 25. I'm in someone elses Cairo-bed, currently homeless, pretty content with life.

I've been back in Jerusalem, back in Hebron (and finally made it to Jordan too this time), back in time, back to see people, people people. It was hard to be there without my father. And easy to be there. It's a strange feeling to get that slap in the face that reminds you of who you are, why you are some of the things you are and not being able to tell that one person who would understand. So i'm telling myself. Remember the feeling of why you chose this region, this language, these people. Remember the peace. Remember to let your hair down, breathe.

Let people go, you don't have to love everyone, just make sure you have enough love to go around. Remember to tell the people you do love how you feel. You never know when you'll get the chanse to again.

I am saying my last goodbyes to Cairo, to my friends here, I'm at Camille's, i've seen Samy, and the town is emptying up, filling up with strangers, our gorgeous penthouse is emptied and left over to others, and i will once again be a tourist in my own city, do the Khan with Lisa, get harrassed, get mad, fall in love and back out again, and get on that plane, get on that plane back to what once was home and do the job that i once loved there and become myself all over again.

That's all for sentimentality 101 for tonight, thank you for joining, it's been real. It's been bloody real.