I’ve spent my time playing Jan Johanson on the piano, doing an incredible amount of dishes, and being told with several superlatives just how ridiculous my economy is. Looks like I’ll have to find a job this summer in addition to the one I’ve already got, just to sort things out. Maybe I can write during the night or something, it should be possible. My mother bought me some food, and Hanne did too, so at least I won’t starve just yet.
My parents’ garden is green and full of flowers, it smells like summer.
(Det' min dirren
Der sitrer i koglerne, raklerne)
I drink tea with my grandmother and she tells me about her trip to Paris with her 90 year old friend. The tourists have invaded since she was young, but apart from that it was mostly as she remembered it. I wonder how the world will be when I’m 87, I probably won’t like it.
(Og tiden er sprød)
I really don’t need much to be happy, despite a lot of things. I’m listening to Under Byen again, and wearing the blue-green sweater Caroline gave me, it smells so good. Like soap and cleanness. I’ve done what I’m supposed to do and handed it in, and I know I’ll past my exam on Friday (unless I break my hand or something). And there’s a lot of rhubarb in the garden. Maybe I’ll make a cake.
Now I’ll go and make a cup of tea. Then I’ll write while I still have the time. I’m pretty happy with what I wrote on Sunday, it’s really getting exciting now. Strange things are happening and right now they’re having a narrow escape from two scary men. I wish I could write every day (Og alle ved at jeg er syg af længsel), writing is about the only thing I do which doesn’t make me wish I was doing something else.
No comments:
Post a Comment