Cabin fever

Do you know what drives me right up the walls? Or sorry, do you know what hinders me from driving myself up the walls because of frustration and cabin fever??

How about awakening my inner organization-fascist (the organizing spares NO ONE!) with a vengeance and having me getting into making shit happen, just to have my back post a letter that says "Fuck you" and then personally delivering it to my door and then slapping me in the face with said letter and a surprisingly rough glove at the same time.


I’m SO CLOSE to getting shit together in the bedroom! So close! And it does look like chaos, and it will continue doing so because its a basement, but it’ll at least be an organized basement.

The letter arrived in a timely fashion just as I had gotten that famous thumb out of my ass and actually started the little ol' project we have in the house called "Rearrange the entire basement". It's a sequence of events that need to happen to get some order down here in the shadow dwellings. Everyone who has had a home where anything had to be done, you know the drill.

For us to be able to get some order in the garage and a sewing table for me in the basement, we needed to move the huge table from the garage but before we get the table into the house we need to move the hutch in the... in-suite* (and I mean that in English, not French) craft room, but in order to move the hutch we need to move the cabinet but to move the cabinet we need to move the hanging clothes in the bigger room and in order to move the hanging clothes I needed to move a shelf in the bedroom and to move that shelf in the bedroom I needed to shuffle all my clothes to a new shelf and to do that I needed to dye the shelves and to do that I needed to be outside for hours and hours and to be outside for hours and hours it needed to be at least humanly friendly to be so, and it wasn't. For many reasons.


Oh look there’s me, in a glorious time of my life where I could actually do anything at all.


But! When the shelves were finally dyed, I couldn't place them until I painted the pipes and to paint the pipes I needed to clear the space out and to clear the space out, I needed to put things everywhere in the rest of the cellar, which just makes everything go round and round.

But, finally, the day came! I cleaned the old (and new, bah) cobwebs out, took things off of the walls, we bought paint and I painted the pipes AND the wall to eliminate the terrible foresty green mess. I do like green, most often, but here, this way and in this shade.. no.

I had already dyed the shelves and they'd had time to dry so I put them into place and mounted the clothes hanger and sorted my clothes and was just about to move the clothes from the room that needed to go in bedroom order to make room for the cabinet... and my back went out.


Gold and beige instead of forest green, white, black, rust and more green. Live that extra life, guurl! I know there’s like three people who has parts of my interior taste as their rolemodel, but I don’ know if this is the end of that era…

Right out the window it flew, like a scared bird having seen way too much when accidentally flying into a human bedroom. A had to cook and bring the food to me personally like a man-servant that night because I couldn't stand up in any orderly fashion. While I do appreciate the gesture, or rather, having him keep me alive when I'm not able to do so myself, having a man-servant isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

And here we are, three days later. That dang bird hasn't returned yet and my cheek is still chafed from the rough glove. I'm still waiting for a nicer letter of explanation because I've ever been broken up by someone just leaving before and I need a reason, dangit.


So my craft/sewing room has a toilet and a washing machine in it? So? Are you implying, like our friend’s five year old son did, that our house is weird?

The best place for me to hang out is, fortunately, or unfortunately, in my computer chair in front of my computer. In the basement. Staring at everything that needs to be done. It's mocking me. Mocking!

The only lesson I can gather from this sudden and quite unexpected back crisis is that the Universe is trying to punish me for whining so much about not doing "anything". Okay, that and that I should probably get a gym card. I get it, Universe. THIS is what it feels like doing nothing, and not the hours I actually spend every day doing things like laundry, dishes, or projects. I get it now. Can we just get this over with? Can we just unite in the fact that my whining is a... quite accomplishment-driven angst over being a waste of flesh and not really me whining about the changeable fact that I'm not doing more with my life seeing as I know I should take this time to heal mentally and physically from an impending burnout? Please?

Although, yesterday wasn't completely wasted. I did spend seven hours writing the blog post about digital and physical planners. Yeah I know, I'm not proud. It's like my mind went into some slow zen-state of wasting time to heal my back while not toppling over with boredom and/or cabin fever.


So the electrician has to access the walls of the garage so we had to bring the table in even though I’m not at all done with anything. It’s not scary at all having a huge slab of table just resting there, ready to tip over at any second, crushing you under its laminated weight of death.

So here I am, eating cheeseballs in front of my computer, feeling a little forlorn while getting tipped by youtube to watch videos about people playing the Untitled Duck Game. It's a lovely game, that's for sure. I do love ducks.

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!


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!


How to do DIY yourself! (yes, it's supposed to be read that way)


If you’re anything like me, you’re a stubborn, home-decorating DIYer with a flair for the fun instead of the fancy. Aka, you persist on focusing on projects that are bordering on or hover just above your general level of knowledge, skill and for the most part, laziness, and just DO IT ANYWAY.

Maybe I should call it ”DIAer”…

Because even if the simple spice rack is built from like eight bits of wood that have just been sawed off right in the middle, they’re still not equally long, straight, nor even. The thing didn’t even fit right but I... made it fit. Hehehe. *whirrs electrical screwdriver and winks* One shelf leans outwards (I have no idea why) so it’s just a matter of time before the salt and pepper grinder starts sliding closer to its sudden doom. But, if that happens, I’ll just nail a little wood strip there and TADA, problem solved and the spice rack is back to fucking PERFECT again.


Don’t let anyone fool you. The kitchen table is a perfectly suitable spice rack until YOU say otherwise!

So hey! Here’s my guide how YOU can be as awesome as me in doing home projects and get pleased enough by the result that you’re inclined to make tutorials on the internet!  

1. Wander about your own home, stare at sections of it and feel slight feelings of discontentment. Or get angry with messes and stuff that has no homes, that’s the most efficient one.

2. Research what you want instead. Dream big, gurl! Do you want to paint your entire bedroom a forest green and place build storage perfectly adapted to your needs and add copper piping just because it’s pretty? Save that shit in your inspiration folder. The things you do later on may look nothing like it, but NO ONE CAN STEAL YOUR DREAMS! 

3. Make an actual plan of what needs to be done. Measurements of the place of project, its needs, your needs, prep work, materials, how you like it to be, where you can shortcut the shit out of it (this is important for us lazy people). 


The importance of having a proper place to DIY is just propaganda from the workbench lobby, I swear.

4.  Invest in or gather all that paraphernalia that you need for your project to go through. I would say that good quality tools are a great way to start, but that makes me sound like some kind of professional person and we don’t want that!

5. This is the most important step; Lower your standards. I know, I know, but the rule of not lowering your standards cannot apply to DIY’s because even the most skilled ones that make magical things the general public drops their coffee cups in awe over, are displeased afterwards. Yes, we’re JUST LIKE the awesome ones! We can do it (on our level)!

6. Do it. Make it. Swear over it. Shove that shit together even though it’s not really fitting together anymore and you don’t understand why. If needed, use screws and glue and tape and industrial straps. If being reaaally careful and finicky isn’t really your thing, just wing it when it feels good! It’s all fine! 


Some say that need is the mother of invention, but
one should not underestimate the importance of laziness.

7. Fasten your stuff properly; you don’t want your projects to meet their doom in loose screws getting detached from the wall. If anything, they’re gonna end their lives by you getting fed up with them. Install that marvel and finish it off, don’t leave half assed projects lying around. What? What’s in the corner? Oh it’s just the drawers I’m supposed to assemble… later. All those framed pictures on the floor? They’re going up… soon. Hm, what? Oh, that’s just boxes of stuff we’re donating.. shortly.

8. Enjoy your work of DIA-art and use the hell out of it! It’s AWESOME! YOU MADE IT! Yeah, so I COULD BUY a spice rack but why would I want to when I could make it myself and get it… well not exactly as I wanted it, but pretty dang close because everything I make myself automatically gets added awesomeness and forgiveness, and also I lowered my standard! 


9. Post that piece of wonder on the internet. The internet needs more pleasantly passable DIY’s, more tolerable storage solutions, more decent interior home projects of the ”not bad” persuasion.

10. And don’t let anyone convince you otherwise!

(11.) And keep the fuck away from plumbing and electricity; we're not made for that.


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.


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

Grocery store dementia

Sometimes it’s nice to have someone that is just as bad as you are for company. Other times, it’s nice to have a friend that meet your weaknesses and make you stronger. The latter would have been preferred in the context of this post, because when my ex-roomie and I pass the little paddle gateways to grocery stores, something happens. I mean, we have both managed to survive thus far so I know we HAVE the ability somewhere, it just disappears when we’re together.

It’s like the cover falls down over the bird cage. The Homer Simpson brain monkeys start slamming their cymbals together. The Finding Nemo-seagulls stare mindlessly at things and yell “MINE!” when they see tasty things and put them in the shopping baskets. If we managed to grab any baskets, that is. Because most often we make it through half the store before even realizing we haven’t grabbed any baskets, or any food stuffs that we were supposed to collect. We’ve just been talking, looking at things.

When we’ve tried to focus on not talking as much, AND brought a list of things, even then things have gone to shits. Once, we even reached the register without having picked up ANYTHING. We had to walk all the way back and start over.

Like yesterday. We were getting sour cream. Sounds easy right? We were stood right in front of the shelf with sour cream. Looked at it. But from standing right in front of sour cream, to saying “Hey, over there is lactose free sour cream”, and making our way the ten feet over to the shelf with the lactose free sour cream, we’d forgotten all about the sour cream and my friend picked up a liter of milk instead. I looked on. Satisfied, we left.

So, now I sit here at home, without sour cream. And without milk. Because when I looked at my friend picking up milk, I didn’t register that milk was on my list too.

That little fact, I managed to forget.