This is my final non-hurrah on summer

Disclaimer and TLDR: I’m tired, allergic and a little pouty. Fall and spring are my seasons, yo!

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It is upon us again. Regardless of blistering heat or grey, rainy days, I trudge through the days with crippling allergies that make sitting up a strain on my oxygen supply. I down an allergy pill buffet for breakfast while nursing a calf-sized lump of horse-fly bite that got inflamed because I'm allergic to those fuckers as well. The UV-rays shining upon my corneas throughout the years caused one of my eyeballs to develop a bump just before Midsummer's Eve. 6x6 millimeters of pure fear shaped as a yellowish-white nodule decorated and chafed my left eye for two days, constantly reminding me of the frailness of my worldly body. According to medical resources, said bump could either disappear or in worst case make your vision do the same. Luckily, it went away, but once you've got it, you're more likely to get it again and risk surgery, again.

My complexion is riddled with rosacea and being near the warming beams of the sun, mind you, not even IN them, makes my face turn into the lovely colour of a screaming new born-baby, prompting questions from everyone that doesn't know me very well. Have I run all the way here? Have I burned myself in the sun? Am I angry? Why am I so red?

When I happen to forget sunscreen or just happen to be outside more than I intended and happen to tan my face a little, it tans unevenly and causes spots. The whole "tan and the acne goes away" does not apply to my special sensitive kind of skin. My skin does whatever it wants to do. And while others bask in the golden goddess glory of a freshly tanned summer skin, I'm in the background, red as a beet, uneven complexioned, sweating with rubbed raw inner thighs, sleep-deprived and looking like a teenager with spots all over my face. Needless to say, I don't fit in with the glorious summer crowd.

I do appreciate a bunch of aspects of summer, of course, I'm not whole-heartedly a shadow dweller. BBQs, hanging around outside, reaping the fruits of the season, not having to wrap myself in a survival-burrito just to fetch today's mail by the postbox at the end of the short driveway.

Growing up, I spent my summer breaks bathing in the nearby lake, fooling around outside with friends until our parents ushered us in because it was getting late. Lieu of horseflies, I can appreciate dipping my sweaty, red, chafed teenagery revelation into the brown waters of regular Swedish lakes (there are crystal clear exceptions of course), and watching fresh batches of birds learning how to fly is one of the most endearing practices I've spent time on.

Midsummer's Eve is one of my favourite holidays and the light evenings are magical. That said, the point of this post is none. I'm just worn out, having spent weeks not doing anything because I can't. The allergy to everything out there takes a toll on my immune system and makes me tired, all the time. To follow up those meaningless weeks, I have had to cancel trips to favour a fever, snot and not sleeping at all for days. Whether it has to do with allergies successfully tripping my immune system or not, we will never know. But I do know that it's August, and somehow, even though I always look forward to fall, this year I need it. Now.

I don't want to be the Negative Nancy that complains along with other summer-haters, but I'm spent. So tired, so allergic, just wishing for some energy and be able to breathe again. The crisp winds of fall arriving will bring me relief and my body the break it craves.

The rustling leaves beneath my feet will tell the tale of me surviving another summer. Yes. Yes they will!

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The Pro-crastinator.

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I am not a writer. So if I'm not a writer, I can't be besieged by writer's block, right? Well, how come I am then, Mr. Semantics?!

All these post ideas, all this time, and no words.

I mean I COULD just write posts that are really straight forward and to the point, but that's no fun. I want to make up words and write sentences that are "too long". I want to tumble down the linguistical grassy knolls with a witty lover and get myself private bits-deep into the ugly synonym swamps of the West Germanic heritage. I seek to subdue the lingua franca and inherit the world in a language that is not my native one, and I want to carry on the storytelling legacy by reciting my own measly life adventures in a way that evokes joy, emotions and preferably, a little laughter here and there.

So, you know. No pressure.

Side note, I'm this far into this post and Grammarly is already shouting at me to change eight "writing issues", of which nature's I cannot see until I pay them 123 dollars upfront, or 30 dollars a month. I, on my individual vocabulary quest, should, of course, accept this terminological teacher's hand on my shoulder, but I will not! Because I'm crazy and puzzling in my life choices! Hee!

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Is this were I start caring about what Grammarly is trying to tell me? Naw! Another day!

Back to my main objective - blogging about blogging. I hear it's a lucrative business. What? So this kind of blogging about blogging ISN'T the lucrative kind? Oh well, just like the ways I do everything then; unpaid, unwanted, and just good enough for me because I made it.

And you know what? There's nothing wrong with living life that way as long as it makes you happy!

BUT! Back to my main objective once again. I procrastinate, I collect ideas and roll around haunted by mosquitoes in the grass to get that good snapshot of what an absolute trainwreck the old neglected vegetable patch in the garden is now compared to the mowed lawn.
Then I go inside again, patch up my wounds and... you know, do anything else than write. For days. Because writing is hard. And then, suddenly, I realise I haven't posted in two weeks. Again! Dangit! I am going to blame it on the complex nature of man and our kind's approach to deadlines, aka, "my humanity makes me procrastinate!".

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Trainwreck. But the bumblebees love it, so win!

- 40 minutes of silence-

Okay, so I'm back. I took the time to read up on procrastination, snapped a few photos, got myself cookies, cleaned the kitchen counters and googled redcurrant recipes instead of writing. What were we talking about? Oh, right, procrastination...


As Monty Python says; GET ON WITH IT!

What I am trying to say is that I need to get my writing shit together. Just do it, just like I am right now. Because it's fun, and doing fun things makes your life better. So writing should make my life better. Why am I avoiding it then? Now is the time you say; "Just like you're avoiding dealing with your eating habits, your health issues, your come-and-go depression, your childhood traumas and painting that dang kitchen because you know that when you've done that, you have to work on the curtains and that's going to be a bitch in the kitchen?".

I mean, you didn't have to get so SERIOUS... but... yeah. All of the above.

The point of this post isn't really to promise you or me anything in particular. It's just what I happened to think about today. And a post came out of it! It just happened!

Have I cured it?! Have I?!

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Winter's back, dangit

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Residing in the freshly sorted dining room, I stare out the window. The grey blanket of clouds outside bathes the room in cold, stingy light. Beyond the window glass, in the flattened, sad looking greyish brown garden about a 1000 chaffinches are wandering about, looking for food by promenading over the lawn and turning leaves. Some get the luxury of catching the few bugs that have regrettably managed to crawl their way up into the surprising cold that this mid-April Sweden has to offer.

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The weather reports are alluring, tempting, with the ample temperature of ”Just around freezing” the coming six days, without as much as a hint of that long wished for warm, soothing sunlight. One of my gently cared for cucumber plants have already frozen on the patio. I can admit that my attempts of keeping the patio at about +15C with the help of a heating fan has failed because the icy gale celebrates the coming of “spring” by refusing to relinquish any of its powers. I haven’t totally failed because even when it was a bit below freezing out, the patio kept a temperature of +10C. But this is, of course, way too cold for cucumber plants, dangit...

I feel like wandering out on the lawn, getting on my knees and, with fists turned to the dark sky, beg it to forsake it’s cold grasp and let us gently into the spring season. I mean, the lawn had JUST gotten rid of the last remnants of the thigh-deep snow and now snow is flaking down from the skies in true guy-in-the-grocerystore-queue-that-scrathes-his-scalp-that-tad-too-much-manner.

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I guess that images of wonderful, messy times (aka, last week) on the patio will have to do, while we hold our breath for spring.

Needless to say, I am not pleased. Last year we went from winter to summer in a week, it was all very confusing and very much Monty Pythonesque. And while I do love Monty Python, I prefer my seasons a little more… balanced and predictable. But now I’m being silly, what’s more predictable than a fucking freezing April in Sweden? Nothing really. Do you know who the original April fools are? Lemme tell you. Swedes believing that they can go outside in thin jean jackets and those fancy new vans they’ve excitedly bought in anticipation of warmer weather, just because it’s hot and sunny a random April Tuesday. They’re the fools. Year after year they do it. And year after year, they get caught in the literal ice cold realization, as the sun is starting to set, that it was all an illusion, a prank made by nature and the sun in a devious, probably very entertaining, scheme.

Now, the reason for my moaning is of course the fact that I filled all my windows with little plants that then needed bigger pots and then all of a sudden, I had too much plants and too few windows, so out on the patio they had to go, especially since I need to start planting the next generation of seeds that demand their space in said windows. You could say I should have foreseen this event, but sometimes I like just living in denial, okay? I’ll solve it till next year (okay so I probably won’t, but just let me live a little!).

Because, even if I’m not one to wear a jean jacket until the end of May, I am too a forever hopeful April’s fool.

 

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A little advent update

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Well fuck me. We have survived!

After being three people working full time emptying the house for two weeks, yes, two weeks, we moved in. And we have waded through our own stuff since then. And by “waded”, I mean actually waded, tipped over, rummaged through, slowly sorted and repeatedly lost everything we needed and then found it again, and eventually just found homes for the stuff we have.

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Over the last few days the sorting have picked up (aka, gotten down to a small enough amount of stuff to just put in moving boxes under the basement stairs until the party have come and gone, ahem), and yesterday the red sea of stuff just parted like Jebus himself had stepped down from the skies and made the stuff go away. Now, of course, it’s my blood, sweat and tears that lay the solid ground for the order in this house, being a home-all-day-person, so Jebus can’t take the credit for this one, lemmetellyathat.

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The next obstacle before I’m gonna crash on the couch and not move for weeks, is the house warming party this weekend. In October I made the obviously crazy decision to combine the house warming party with my birthday party because... why not, right? Well, you could say that “But that only leaves you guys two weeks to get your shit together, that’s why!” and you would be entirely correct in your assessment of the amount of crazy. But October-Ellie just brushed that off and exclaimed; “But that’s December-Ellie’s problem!” and went ahead and invited 70 people anyways.

Fortunately, December-Ellie can announce that only half of the invitees have accepted. Cough. Gulp.

“Only”.

I’m looking forward to it though! And, most important of all!; We managed to celebrate the first of Advent as well, after the great parting of the stuff-sea. We dressed the tree and lit the first of four candles in the Advent wreath. Of course, the Christmas decorations went up as soon as I got the chance to. You guys know me. Hee hee.

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I'm moving again

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Looking out my window, the rooftops glisten white. Winter threw itself over us with what felt like little to no warning. Autumn was short and intense, after five months of unprecedented summer that stretched on for what seemed like forever.

When I joked around the last time about not being able to stay in one place for more than two years, I didn’t know it would be true this time as well. My little apartment was my fort, my safe zone, MINE. I was to stay here for a long time, not to lay my place to live in the hands of another. I wasn’t supposed to spend my time in a home that I was allowed to dwell in by the good graces of another person, being able to rip it from me at any time just by using a couple of words, like “It’s over”.

But as the first snow crunches underfoot, my apartment is in disorder. I’m packing, and I’m leaving my safe spot. I’m moving to a house, with a man and his two kids. If you told me this in June, I would have old-lady-cackled at you and said “Yeah that’s not happening!”.

Yet here I am. Moving to start a life with a family, with a little yellow house to tend to, a garden to plant things in, space to DO things and kids to hang out with.

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Space and a feeling of home has been my main gripe since I lost my first real home-home (the feeling of really belonging somewhere) three years ago, and ending up in small rooms in crowded apartments. Don’t get me wrong, I’m forever grateful for the open arms I’ve stumbled into these couple of years, but I’ve missed the house. Missed having space. Missed having MY space, large enough to live life as I wanted to. Missed having a garden to whine about weeds in, watch flowers grow, feed birds. Missed having a fireplace to warm my senses when fall comes along. Missed having somewhere to invite people for dinner without getting cramped. Missed the connection to nature that is so much more apparent when living in a house instead of an apartment.

So, having gone through three apartments in three years, I’m now moving to ground level. With a family.

That’s why it’s been all silent here for a month. With parts of my health being shaky, seven exams and a move within a few couple of weeks, it’s going be silent here for a little while longer. Then I’m back, hopefully with returned vigor, because I’m going to have a real kitchen again. A living room. A CRAFT ROOM. Shit. I’ve already got a long list of things I want to do, craft, cook and decorate.

Oh, and I’ve also, in pure anticipating and joy, brought back my inside-outside header. Because soon, I’m gonna have an outside again. Let’s hope it’s for the long run this time.

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The lovely Easter celebrations of 2018

Maybe it’s presumptuous of me to assume that not many of you missed this – but recently, it was Easter. And like many other quasi-heathen non-God-fearing Swedes out there, I took the opportunity of this Christian tradition and its off-workness; and got drunk in the company of my (grown-up) family at 3 PM on Easter Eve after already having 1½ days off of work.

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Along with singing songs and downing spiced booze one milliliter at a time, we ate pie and then the classic Swedish princess cake with the only holiday-difference that the marzipan was dyed yellow instead of green. Entangled with the eating and the drinking was talking about life and its mysteries, and getting to take part in my father and my boyfriend getting along very well. After the intense eight hour family dinner, I ventured on to another gathering that plied me with Dragon’s Blood (which is the onomatopoeic version of “Oh God what did I do last night?”) and I got to talk loudly about ancient monuments with a person that was actually interested!  

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Spot the Fireball and the hand of future regret

Later on, much like the miracle of Jesus, I succumbed to the celebrations (being drunk sometimes is my cross to carry) at half past three on Sunday morning after being out and about for thirteen hours, and came back to life on Sunday afternoon. Well, I wasn’t gone as long as Jesus, but hey, no one’s perfect. And, like a miracle; I wasn’t hungover when I woke up! If that’s not a sign I celebrated the right way, I don’t know what is.

A little more than “lagom” level of celebration, I’d say!

Ellet goes international

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Yes! It's time. I thought I'd just branch out just a little and make myself eligible for creating contacts extending outside the borders of Sweden, so I'm gonna start writing in English. I can't promise that Swengrish won't get into the mix, and I do realize that I, like the native Swedish speaker I am and by media inundated by both American and British English, will mix both versions of English because I most often don’t even consider what word is of American or British persuasion. I hope you swedies don't mind the change, it's gonna make my presence on the internets just a tad easier and easy is the way to go nowadays. 

Little by little I'm gonna translate the current posts on the blog into English and sort through and tidy up a little. I have to change all the labels and buttons and stuff, so that will happen over time too.

I've been thinking about this for a while now, and I think it's the right decision. Let's hope I don't change my mind and have to redo everything again later on. 

Cheerio! 

Should I break up with Instagram?

One of my favorite medias on the internet, second after the blog, has been Instagram. It’s been something that’s just nice with Instagram. Pictures posted by people on the fly, or pimped out ones taken with DSLR’s, which ever. I could find anything, follow interesting accounts and put up my own material there. I can still do this, but it’s heading south as fast.

I have bitched about this before but it’s time for it again, sorry. When I found out that Facebook were buying Instagram, I was genuinely disappointed. I know what happens when Facebook get their hands on things; It turns to shit. Because even though I do understand the whole idea with the social media method of capturing people and getting them to spend even more time on there to get as much commercial exposure as possible, I think that Facebook has refined the annoying elements of this business plan to the point of uselessness.

Facebook in itself I use only because of groups and events. The rest is unusable because of all the spammy crap that’s added to my feed. Now, a couple of years into Facebook owning Instagram, it’s started there too.

I got angry yesterday when I finally realized that my beloved Instagram is ruined. I once again got a push notification about a user answering a comment on a post that I had commented on. The problem with that notification, and all the other ones I get at least once a day, is that the poster isn’t answering MY comments, just other people’s comments. Why do I get a notification about that? I’ve looked through the settings, there’s no option to shut that shit down without shutting the notifications on when people actually answer –me- too.

The Facebookification in its most useless form.

Of course, the whole thing started when they introduced the algorithms that are supposed to sort my feed for me, which makes me miss out on things I actually want to see but it’d had to fly because I had no other options.
But yesterday, in the fit on annoyance, I went through my feed and did a count. Every seven post is an ad. If you then add the algorithm that sorts FOR ME (hah), the “Recommended”-posts, “Suggestions”-posts, “Look, here’s the stories that you willingly skipped out on a few seconds ago!”-post, the things that I actually WANT TO SEE is totally drowned out – my friends’ posts!

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Oh...

I have complained before, but I do think it’s done now. I can’t handle it, it’s too much stuff clogging up my feed. For God’s sake, there’s an ENTIRE TAB just for posts from people I don’t follow, why don’t put that shit there instead of people cutting into sand or mixing glitter into slime? I would GLADLY go into there often to check and see if I could find something new and exciting to follow, but now that shit is forced down my through in my feed instead, when I just want to look at my friend’s pictures.

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But why?

It’s just too difficult for me to get what I want out from the media. This may sound like a trivial problem but Instagram has been my most prominent space on internet since 2010. I’ve had a blog in different forms since 2005 but the mobile medias are obviously much more popular among people in general.

But if I lose Instagram, what do to then? Will I make it with just my blog? Will I be lonely?

Oh, Facebook, you assholes. Why did you have to do this to us?

The New Years Revue

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Yeah, here come a thorough walk-through of the year 2017!

I got my own apartment. That is all. Thank you, thank you.

No okay, but it’s almost true. It’s been a calm year, and it’s been in my taste. I’ve gotten to know new wonderful people, been moved to tears by loved ones, made a fool of myself, celebrated life, gotten my own apartment and worked. And gotten a little drunk now and then. Perfect! Now we throw ourselves out into the unwritten void that is the new year and see what it has to offer.

The Christmas sacrifice

You’re supposed to show your best sides around Christmas it’s said, and give of yourself. People give money and presents and to charity. But I would like to direct your attention to my sacrifice.

I got a huge blister cutting the rocky road candy for the Christmas celebrations with my family.

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I'm not gonna lie. I feel a little closer to Jesus now.