I have two dreams. Two conflicting dreams. One is here in the town i made my home with the man i made my own working to optimalize this close-to perfect system trough political engagement and spend my nights continuing my super-hero-life pointing no fingers wihout gloves and smashing attire. Spend my afternoons over pots, pans and books and commit to obligations that will tie me even cose to this place, as petrified as that may make me feel at this moment. (More) pets, a(nother) morgage, a coffeshop, a backpackers hostel, children.. Until it's all so tangeled up that i can't see my way out or know who i am without it.

And then there is the part that wants to go away from this circus. To a place where i am actually needed. To places where i just have to live to learn. To be a bollywoodstory or dried-out scripts in the sand. A song around a campfire. Where i can just grow to understand people. Where i can wear my dusty sandals till the fall apart and never think about my bulging closets back home unless i want to sell them out to pay for someones hot meals or schooling or surgery. Just move around without thought for titles or loans or paychecks. I don't need much. Frankly, i don't even want much. I don't care if i never make perverse amounts of money and i don't care for a man who does. I don't need to be regarded by others as terribly sucessful as long as i can help people

But there's one thing I've learn from studying with americans. The world isn't like here. In the world you're nothing without a title by your name and wearing a heart on your sleeves will only leave it more vounrable to those prepared to abuse it. So i guess my dreams are not only mutually excluding, one is allready ecluded by it's very content.

..and Annie-Dog she drags her leash

Being young and beautiful. Fancy wine. Dandyism. Closing time. Brown bars. Red beer. Old friends. Closing time. Afterparty. Dizzyness. Dry eyes. Daylight. Tumbling home. Falling asleep across the bed, randomly wakng up to a bite of pizza. Waking up, still dressed. Realising someone is asleep in the livingroom. Getting up. Feeding your men. Laughing at stories about your plump friend drunkenly eating sausages. Sitting in bed. Staring at an empty screen. Shower. Move outside. Get on bike. Get soaked by rain. Rush across the bridge you love so much to hate. Get to yogaclass. Lose balance. Realising the yogi has some of the best-looking abs you've seen on a male homo sapiens. Sending your own lacking ones a critcal look. Feel depressed. Almost sufficate under your own breasts weighing down your face. Feel more depressed. Stretch. Breathe. Realise you're still soaked, still chubby, and still not home. Get on bike. Across the bridge you love so much to hate. Wonder how the hell you ever became so jaded. Contemplating skipping tonights party.

Free as a bird

First day back to work left me with a shoulder in a badass lock. That was monday. Today is friday, and i had my second shift. And now i am only two twelve-hour shifts away from having survived the weekend. Between monday and now, i've done nothing. Or fun stuff,. Or hanging out. Last night we went out to play a swedish game in the park with, you guessed it, some swedes, Paul and an englishman. Oh and a few other norwegians. Turns out i suck at throwing sticks at things, which is why i try to fill my days with more meaningful things like, say anything but throwing sticks. So we all had fun, even though i was the underdog and we got eaten by mosquitos. I was a good girl, preparing for my late-shift today, and only drining light-beer (which means light in alcohol). We moved on to a pub, and i had but one beer and was ready to call it a night when swedos sweet sister asked if i was ready for shots. I politely told her thanks but that would be impossible since i had work this afternoon. She then proceded to beg me to celebrate their last night out before moving to Sweden and i realised the shots (plural, for each of us) were allready payed for and on the table. Drinks here are really expensive, so when someoe spends a whole fortune to celebrate, it would br pretty tasteless to turn it down. So a slippery nipple and some tabasco-sambuca-shot later, i was just waiting for the tipsynes to kick in, while our mate celebrated his well-functioning gag-reflex. It ended as it had, with me waking up prematurely this morning, with housands of little men dancing around in my head. With clogs.

I made breakfast forever, failed to wake up my man and still had to eat alone. Went to work just as i was almost able to go back to sleep, trough the gates, got my keys, came to the department, just to realise i was supposed to be in another. Great day to learn new routines. Just splended. Besides, this wasn't as high security, which might sound great, but in reality means interacting with more clients at once. I started out a bit clumbsy, but apart from some massive fondeling with my keys i did ok. And sick as it might sound, it's cool to see some people again, and see that they are moving on in the system and aren't stuck on high-security for life. Some of these blokes are nice people, and they love sitting about having a chat. And they invite you in to eat with them, which isn't happening when people are on single-cells with no common-room. People find it funny that i'm not scared to find myself alone and seriously outnumbered in the same room as 6-20 convicted criminals, between those who have killed and raped and some less offensive crimes. The truth is that i am not scared. I enjoy my job very much. And like most other men, for each that is willing to harm you, there are 20 that would fight to protect you. "you should have told me you went to the middle-east", one said. "I would have lent you my house, it's just standing there now, my family could have helped you". I reminded him that that letting my connection to him be known would mean breaking my wow of silence, and thus being impossible. That didn't bother him, he said, as long as i didn't tell his relatives.

Another recognized my uniform-shoes as being the same i wore last year, and the group i was in charge of for the day discussed how they wished they could paint some walls outside, and fancy up an area they didn't get to use much, due to it not being securely fitted to spend time without close supervision. Money, i said, it all comes down to money, and how our politicians distribute them. And i told them how my american friends are amazed to hear about their cells with TV's, and how i've i vain have tried to explain that loss of freedom, loss of freedom is punishment enough. What we need is rehabilitation. And mark my words, lack of freedom alone does not rehabilitate. "They say that," one said "because they don't have a clue about what it's like before they have been here". So i gave them time for an extra cigarette before i locked in for the evening and gave some extra thanks to the fact that i am messing up my life on the right side of this law we've created to protect our society. From men like the one who poured me coffee today.

Pamela, Pamela jeg tror jeg elsker deg.

Borat is the scariest film i've ever seen. I was close to crying several times, and was interrupted atleast twice from the sound of my own gagging. Something drove me to keep watching it, maybe he hopes that it would all be sorted out in the end, but it turned out to be the most painful two hours of my life. I don't deal well with social misfits and men with bony feet in bad socks. I have also, since watching it, developed a fear of overweight naked men, something that has created a few ackward situations later on.

I have also discovered that some people i thought i knew, i didn't know at all, as they turned out to be nothing but a series of Borat-lines.

Sleep will not come to this tired body now, peace will not come to this lonely heart

I hate the fact the it's 5.37 am and i still haven't had a moment of sleep. I am going back to work in a few hours and it would be *really* nice to just be rested for once. Sleepdeprivition works like alcohol-intocication. A few hours short is like a few pints down. And concidering i spend my life mostly tipsy and sleep-deprived, it's no wonder i get a little weird now and then. Ok, very weird, shut up.

So i've spent the past hours twisting in bed conteplating the vast majority of men i've known in my life. Some men are good people, in spite of their general reputation. I honestly prefer the company of men rather than women 90% of the time. Unless they are hopelessly and unreturnably attracted to me though, that sucks i hate needy men. It just struck me today (like so many imes before) that i keep attracting weirdos. And not always the good way. And certain types of weirdos.

Like The Geezer. I somehow seem completely irresistable to old men. Don't get me wrong, i don't mind some years behind their ears, but when you're pushing that 4 5 it might be time to get some new ambitions in life. Seriously, if you haven't outgrown me in 15 years, chanses are i'll outgrow you in one. Besides, did it ever occur to you that even Lolita turns into a dragon when she's PMSing? Still, they love me. Maybe i am pushing it, what the hell do i know, give me a jobinterview with a man in his 50s and i'm hired. My friends fathers would have me watch my friends for them while out and about in our teens. As if i was Mother Theresa. If they only knew...

And then offcourse, there is the loser. I was probably nice to him a some point, possibly out of pity, likely over the internet, and now he just can't get over it. There is a possibility that i thought he was gay (hell, there is a possbility that he is, and just hasn' realised it) and wanted to go shopping with him and watch bad tellyshows with pretty shoes in them. He could be some guy i hooked up with once in the 90's, who never, in all those years managed to ever meet someone who could match up with me in any way and now he kind of wish he hadn't dumped me. He thought i was such a wonderful, reflected teen, and doens't have a clue about how much i hate the teenage-version of myself or how pathetic it is to not having been able to move on. He's ready to be a perfect doormat and he's not afraid to tell you. There is a possibility of this guy also being a geezer, atleast at this point. Most stalkers belong in this group.

And lets not forget the misinformed. The guy who'se seen me at the club, at the gym, or at work, and thinks i'm runner up for the Domina 2007 award. Or that i am secretly just longing for the saviour before whome i can let my guard down and let out my inner animal and be thankful to forever after. Possibly sob a little in the corner of his arm, the full deal, you know it. Or that i want someone who will pay for me or order my dinner, nod at everything i say as if he cared and never disagree with anything. Any guy who thinks he can pull off pink and still attract women. Man, if you're waiting to be saved, you might possibly drown.

A last, there is the psycho. And i'm no just talking about those desperate moments where you do moronic things, i'd be a hypocrite if i didn't forgive those, but the hands down, fullblood psycho. He could belong to either group, but there is a big fat chanse he belongs to all, and i'll leave it at that.

I keep asking myself why we even fall for them. See, this is where the problem is posed; you, out of being misinformed, think you fall for one of them, so you act like the stupid-teen-version of yourself and turn into a psycho. And the only reason any semi-sane man would fall for that is if he belonged in one of the above groups. The best men i know i've met while being drunk, when people get honest and transparent. Apart from my father whom i met whe i was born (sober i think), bless him, noone can match up with him. I always was a daddy's girl.

I was once kissed by a guy that didn't have a soul. I don't even know if i belive in soul, but if it exists, i'm pretty sure he didn't have one. It was quite weird, it was like kissing a stepford-wife. He was handsome, funny, and a great guy to be around. And when he kissed me there was just noone in there. He wasn't a bad kisser, it wasn't that, he wasn't cold or ipassionate (can you say that?). It was just the least amount of connection i've felt with anyone and it was rather scary. Kind of made me wish i'd had a drink first, or better, run off and have a drink with a friend while discussing the philosophy of souls.

So. When we actually do connect with someone (who insha allah posesses a soul), when you find someone whose company you enjoy, who shares your ideas, laughs with you and lets you spend the night on their shoulder, why the hell do people leave eachother? It's beyond me.

Yay

New camera. Yay. Just so you know. Haven't uploaded any pics yet. Working on a project on my life with Billie. AND new book-shelf. I never realised we have so many books! And SO many i haven't gotten around to read (keep your sarcastic thoughts to yourself, thank you). Oh, if i can only keep my focus for just a little while now, i can expand this little brain of mine. That would do the world some good.