So, 2009 will for all intents and purposes be over and done with in about 11 hours. It was a weird year, a year where I felt I didn't know myself half of the time and felt I knew myself too well half of the time (deep, profound thoughts eh?). I've always been one for summing up the year gone by (past?), and I've decided to do it here, but in a new way (i.e. not just describing it like "In January I moved to Gothenburg..."). Instead, I will do it in book quotes and provide some background information as to what was going on in my life at that point and blah blah blah, you'll get it when you read it. It's very play-by-play. Be prepared for (or beware of) a lot of Drabble.
JANUARY, FEBRUARY, MARCH
"Our lives are one endless stretch of misery punctuated by processed fast foods and the occasional crisis or amusing curiosity."
- Running with scissors, Augusten Burroughs
"I had been crouching inside the walls of my consciousness terrified to move too far or too violently in case they collapsed and left me looking at wild beasts."
- A summer bird-cage, Margaret Drabble
"I felt my existence was tainted, in some subtle but essential way."
- The secret history, Donna Tartt
Background: Moved to Gothenburg for three months, was absolutely miserable.
APRIL
"I remember saying things, but I have no idea what was said. It was generally a friendly conversation."
- Sex, drugs and cocoa puffs, Chuck Klosterman
"Just as we cannot think of spatial objects at all apart from space, or temporal objects apart from time, so we cannot think of any objects apart from the possibility of its connexion with other things."
- Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, Ludwig Wittgenstein
Background: I met a boy.
MAY
"It wasn't that he suddenly changed, or anything like that, it was just that I saw too much of him and too little of anyone else. It was being abroad that did it, because all the people we ever saw were his friends (...) and I had to spend hour after hour, meal after meal being civil to people in order to get them to do obscure things for him."
- A summer bird-cage, Margaret Drabble
"She kept teetering on the brink of love with him, and even spent blissful hours in the zone of extreme fondness. But all it took was one flabby joke, a botched illusion, a moment of strained sincerity, and she felt a leaden seal forming in her gut, cutting her off from the suddenly former object of her affection as swiftly as a pair of scissors severing two sausage links. Back to square one."
- The private lives of Pippa Lee, Rebecca Miller
Background: Yeah, it didn't work out.
JUNE
""You have a lot of friends," she says.
"Not a lot", he says. "You don't need many if there's no rotten apples.""
- The blind assassin, Margaret Atwood
"The most poetic of endings to love affairs isn't apology, excuse, extensive investigation into What Went Wrong - the St. Bernard of options, droopy-eyed and slobbery - but stately silence."
- Special topics in calamity physics, Marisha Pessl
Background: I went out a lot with my friends. I love them. I was a bit sad on my own, had some accidents etc.
JULY
"I suddenly thought that perhaps I could take it and survive. I had thought this before when drunk but never when sober; up till that moment I had been inwardly convinced that too much worry would rot my nature beyond any hope of fruit or even of flower. But then, however fleetingly, I felt that I could take what I had been given to take. (...) I knew now something of the quality of life, and anything in the way of happiness that I should hereafter recieve would be based on fact and not on hope."
- The millstone, Margaret Drabble
Background: I came to my senses.
AUGUST, SEPTEMBER, OCTOBER
"She enjoyed this removal from her surroundings even as she was immersed in them. She felt mute and contented, loaded with potential, yet entirely unproductive."
- The privates lives of Pippa Lee, Rebecca Miller
Background: I moved to Cambridge.
NOVEMBER
"Ghosts? Sure.
I know all about ghosts."
- The green mile, Stephen King
Background: The boy turned up again, but only for a day. I enjoyed seeing him though, to an extent. He does do a lovely impression of a boy called Josh. who literally talked like Mickey Mouse (you know, like "Steamboat Willie!" and "Gosh darnit!"). However, this has led to me being unable to play Mickey Mouse on my Playstation because man, all I see in front of me is Josh haha. Whatever, it's a boring game anyway.
DECEMBER
"I can't help worrying," I said. "It's my nature. There's nothing I can do about my nature, is there?"
"No", said George, his hand upon the door. "No, nothing."
- The millstone, Margaret Drabble
Background: My nature will remain unchanged. It doesn't matter what year it is, what day or month it is. Won't change, will always be like this, forever and ever. In a way, it's nice.
20091231
20091226
I WALK AWAY FROM HIM. IT'S ENORMOUSLY PLEASING TO ME, THIS ACT OF WALKING AWAY. IT'S LIKE BEING ABLE TO MAKE PEOPLE APPEAR AND VANISH AT WILL
So, as I said in the last post, now I will write a bit about some of the books I've read. I'm a bit hungover so you'll have to excuse my English, but anyway. I seem to recall talking way too much about sex, falling over outside the club and singing way too loud to La Roux. Class all the way. Anyway. Books: I'll start with the best ones. Won't be like proper reviews, 'cause I'm terrible at them. Will probably just end up with me writing "This book was awesome!"
Curtis Sittenfeld - American wife
Curtis Sittenfeld is, in my opinion, one of the best writers out there today. The way she writes about being a woman is amazing, because she always taps into those little things that you don't really think about but, when you read it, you go "Right! That's exactly what it's like!" I also like reading a story which details someone's whole life (there is a word for this yes?). Anyway, read it. This book was awesome (hahaha).
Elisabeth Kostova - The historian
Read it during July, and it really is one of those books you should read during sunny, idle days where you do absolutely nothing of value. It's about Dracula, but in a new, exciting way. It was scary too. Plot summary from Wikipedia: "The Historian interweaves the history and folklore of Vlad Ţepeş, a 15th-century prince of Wallachia known as "Vlad the Impaler", and his fictional equivalent Count Dracula together with the story of Paul, a professor; his 16-year-old daughter; and their quest for Vlad's tomb. The novel ties together three separate narratives using letters and oral accounts: that of Paul's mentor in the 1930s, that of Paul in the 1950s, and that of the narrator herself in the 1970s. The tale is told primarily from the perspective of Paul's daughter, who is never named."
Margaret Drabble - The millstone
Just read these quotes and you'll understand why it's so bloody awesome (if you don't: it's basically about me and since I'm in all likelihood the most awesome person who's ever walked this earth the book is bound to be great as well) (also, I like how I mixed the extremely English "bloody" with the incredibly American "awesome"):
"I thought how unnerving it is, suddenly to see oneself for a moment as others see one, like a glimpse of unexpected profile in an umfamiliar combination of mirrors. I think I know myself better that anyone can know me, and I think this even in cold blood, for too much knowing is my vice; and yet one cannot account for the angles of others."
"I really cannot look back upon that week. I had thought myself unhappy as a child, obsessed by unreal terrors, guilts and alarms, and as an adolescent, obsessed by myself, and as a woman, obsessed by the fear that my whole life and career were to be thrown into endless gloom by an evening's affection."
"I had never, however, managed to get over the fact that we had once known and loved each other so thoroughly (...) I would suddenly be assailed by sharp memories of his lips and teeth and naked flesh. They were not memories of desire, for I no longer desired him; rather they were shocking, anti-social disruptive memories, something akin to those impulses to strip oneself in crowded Tube trains, to throw oneself from theatre balconies. Images of fear, not desire. Other people do not feel this way about old lovers, I know. It must just be another instance of my total maladjustment with regard to sex."
""I can't help worrying", I said. "It's my nature. There's nothing I can do about my nature, is there?"
"No,", said George, his hand upon the door. "No, nothing.""
Lionel Shriver - We need to talk about Kevin
We need to talk about Kevin is about a family, but not your average family: Kevin, the 16-year-old son, is a so-called "school shooter" who shot up his school shortly after his 16th birthday. The book is written from his mother's perspective; she writes letters to her husband who, for some reason, is not there. In this book, Shriver deals with motherhood and the fact that some women don't want to have kids. What happens when you don't really love your child or know to deal with it? Can you be blamed for the child's actions? This is (obviously) about the worst-case scenario, but anyway. I don't think I want kids (although I'm just 20, so I really don't have to think about it for another 10 years) so this book and what the protagonist, Eva, goes through and her thoughts on children is completely relatable to me.
Margaret Atwood - Cat's eye
Quotes, there is also one I would like to elaborate on, add my own story to why this particular quote resonated so well with me.
"You don't look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away."
"I sit in the darkness and beer fug and cigarette smoke, getting a little dizzy, keeping my mouth shut, my eyes open. I think I can see them clearly because I expect nothing from them. In truth I expect a lot. I expect to be accepted."
"I know what is dangerous for me, and keep away from the edges of things. From anything too bright, too sharp. From lack of sleep. When I start feeling shaky I lie down, expecting nothing, and it arrives, washing over me in a wave of black vacancy. I know I can wait it out."
"I'm beginning to feel that I've discovered something worth knowing. There's a way out of places you want to leave, but can't. Fainting is like stepping sideways, out of your own body, out of time or into another time. When you wake up it's later. Time has gone on without you."
This summer I fell down some stairs and fainted. I woke up just seconds after, but something happened to me which is kind of like what Atwood describes: For about two minutes, I could not remember much about my life. The week before I had been in London, visiting someone who I think would agree that week didn't go at all as any of us had planned. For me, it had just been too much drama, weirdness and general confusion; when I got home I felt numb. And then seven days later, I couldn't remember any of it and it it felt like bliss. My parents asked me questions like "Where were you last week?" "Who did you visit?" "What did you do?" and I could not remember any of it. When I was told what the guy's name was, I literally could not remember what he looked like. I just had some vague recollection of very sunny days (it was practically summer) and watching The inbetweeners with someone. But that was all. And it was like being given a time-out: for two blissful minutes I didn't feel bad, I didn't feel confused, I didn't feel hurt. Then my memory returned and with that, the headache and concussion. Then I felt bad for a much more vaild reason, haha. Anyway, while Atwood talks more about the actual fainting and how that allows you to leave a place you don't want to be in, I believe it can be applied to my situation as well. Because I wanted to get out of a state and feeling I was in. And fainting allowed me to do that for a while.
OK, this will have to be part 1. Have already struggled one fucking hour with this post. Need to take a break. I'm gonna go play Playstation because I got one for Christmas! Yeah, I know, I'm 20 and wished for a Playstation. Whatever.
Curtis Sittenfeld - American wife
Curtis Sittenfeld is, in my opinion, one of the best writers out there today. The way she writes about being a woman is amazing, because she always taps into those little things that you don't really think about but, when you read it, you go "Right! That's exactly what it's like!" I also like reading a story which details someone's whole life (there is a word for this yes?). Anyway, read it. This book was awesome (hahaha).
Elisabeth Kostova - The historian
Read it during July, and it really is one of those books you should read during sunny, idle days where you do absolutely nothing of value. It's about Dracula, but in a new, exciting way. It was scary too. Plot summary from Wikipedia: "The Historian interweaves the history and folklore of Vlad Ţepeş, a 15th-century prince of Wallachia known as "Vlad the Impaler", and his fictional equivalent Count Dracula together with the story of Paul, a professor; his 16-year-old daughter; and their quest for Vlad's tomb. The novel ties together three separate narratives using letters and oral accounts: that of Paul's mentor in the 1930s, that of Paul in the 1950s, and that of the narrator herself in the 1970s. The tale is told primarily from the perspective of Paul's daughter, who is never named."
Margaret Drabble - The millstone
Just read these quotes and you'll understand why it's so bloody awesome (if you don't: it's basically about me and since I'm in all likelihood the most awesome person who's ever walked this earth the book is bound to be great as well) (also, I like how I mixed the extremely English "bloody" with the incredibly American "awesome"):
"I thought how unnerving it is, suddenly to see oneself for a moment as others see one, like a glimpse of unexpected profile in an umfamiliar combination of mirrors. I think I know myself better that anyone can know me, and I think this even in cold blood, for too much knowing is my vice; and yet one cannot account for the angles of others."
"I really cannot look back upon that week. I had thought myself unhappy as a child, obsessed by unreal terrors, guilts and alarms, and as an adolescent, obsessed by myself, and as a woman, obsessed by the fear that my whole life and career were to be thrown into endless gloom by an evening's affection."
"I had never, however, managed to get over the fact that we had once known and loved each other so thoroughly (...) I would suddenly be assailed by sharp memories of his lips and teeth and naked flesh. They were not memories of desire, for I no longer desired him; rather they were shocking, anti-social disruptive memories, something akin to those impulses to strip oneself in crowded Tube trains, to throw oneself from theatre balconies. Images of fear, not desire. Other people do not feel this way about old lovers, I know. It must just be another instance of my total maladjustment with regard to sex."
""I can't help worrying", I said. "It's my nature. There's nothing I can do about my nature, is there?"
"No,", said George, his hand upon the door. "No, nothing.""
Lionel Shriver - We need to talk about Kevin
We need to talk about Kevin is about a family, but not your average family: Kevin, the 16-year-old son, is a so-called "school shooter" who shot up his school shortly after his 16th birthday. The book is written from his mother's perspective; she writes letters to her husband who, for some reason, is not there. In this book, Shriver deals with motherhood and the fact that some women don't want to have kids. What happens when you don't really love your child or know to deal with it? Can you be blamed for the child's actions? This is (obviously) about the worst-case scenario, but anyway. I don't think I want kids (although I'm just 20, so I really don't have to think about it for another 10 years) so this book and what the protagonist, Eva, goes through and her thoughts on children is completely relatable to me.
Margaret Atwood - Cat's eye
Quotes, there is also one I would like to elaborate on, add my own story to why this particular quote resonated so well with me.
"You don't look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away."
"I sit in the darkness and beer fug and cigarette smoke, getting a little dizzy, keeping my mouth shut, my eyes open. I think I can see them clearly because I expect nothing from them. In truth I expect a lot. I expect to be accepted."
"I know what is dangerous for me, and keep away from the edges of things. From anything too bright, too sharp. From lack of sleep. When I start feeling shaky I lie down, expecting nothing, and it arrives, washing over me in a wave of black vacancy. I know I can wait it out."
"I'm beginning to feel that I've discovered something worth knowing. There's a way out of places you want to leave, but can't. Fainting is like stepping sideways, out of your own body, out of time or into another time. When you wake up it's later. Time has gone on without you."
This summer I fell down some stairs and fainted. I woke up just seconds after, but something happened to me which is kind of like what Atwood describes: For about two minutes, I could not remember much about my life. The week before I had been in London, visiting someone who I think would agree that week didn't go at all as any of us had planned. For me, it had just been too much drama, weirdness and general confusion; when I got home I felt numb. And then seven days later, I couldn't remember any of it and it it felt like bliss. My parents asked me questions like "Where were you last week?" "Who did you visit?" "What did you do?" and I could not remember any of it. When I was told what the guy's name was, I literally could not remember what he looked like. I just had some vague recollection of very sunny days (it was practically summer) and watching The inbetweeners with someone. But that was all. And it was like being given a time-out: for two blissful minutes I didn't feel bad, I didn't feel confused, I didn't feel hurt. Then my memory returned and with that, the headache and concussion. Then I felt bad for a much more vaild reason, haha. Anyway, while Atwood talks more about the actual fainting and how that allows you to leave a place you don't want to be in, I believe it can be applied to my situation as well. Because I wanted to get out of a state and feeling I was in. And fainting allowed me to do that for a while.
OK, this will have to be part 1. Have already struggled one fucking hour with this post. Need to take a break. I'm gonna go play Playstation because I got one for Christmas! Yeah, I know, I'm 20 and wished for a Playstation. Whatever.
20091224
OH! SUCH A LACK OF TASTE. HOW DO YOU RISE ABOVE?
I stopped reading Allt because it was just way too pretentious for me. Got bored of Blonde, don't know why. Started re-reading Donna Tartt's The secret history, did not finish it. Basically: have read nothing in a week except introductions. Don't know why I love introductions so much but I just do. "Victor Hugo was born in 1802..." I especially love reading the introductions to Iris Murdoch's books because, the people who writes them, always discuss how utterly implausible the story lines are. And yet they are so good. Like that.
Anyway, today it's Christmas. I need to wrap Christmas presents which I'm unbelievably bad at but, before I do that and since it's almost the end of the year and and an era and since I most likely won't read anything more in 2009 since I'm planning on getting and staying drunk starting from tomorrow (by the way, what's up with my English right now?), I'm going to post a list of all the books I've read this year. I realise this is of little interest to anyone except me but whatever. I'm going to write a bit more about some of the books in another post, the best ones and the worst ones. Anyway,this is what I've read and re-read this year:
BOOKS IN ENGLISH
Richard Yates - Revolutionary road
Iris Murdoch - A fairly honourable defeat
Curtis Sittenfeld - American wife
Curtis Sittenfeld - The man of my dreams
Curtis Sittenfeld - Prep
Albert Camus - The outsider
Ariel Levy - Female chauvinist pigs: Women and the rise of raunch culture
Margaret Drabble - A summer-bird cage
Margaret Drabble - The millstone
George Orwell - 1984
Steve Toltz - A fraction of the whole
Oscar Wilde - The importance of being earnest
Alex Garland - The beach
Alex Garland - The coma
Elisabeth Kostova - The historian
Alice Sebold - The lovely bones
Eminem - The way I am
Anthony Thornton and Roger Sargent - The Libertines bound together
Peter Welsh - Kids in the riot: High and low with The Libertines
Michael Collins - The secret life of E. Robert Pendleton
Margaret Atwood - The blind assassin
Margaret Atwood - Cat's eye
Tom Wolfe - I am Charlotte Simmons
A.M. Homes - The end of Alice
David Ebershoff - The 19th wife
Nic Sheff - Tweak: Growing up on methamphetamines
David Sheff - Beautiful boy: A father's journey through his son's addiction
Lionel Shriver - We need to talk about Kevin
J.K. Rowling - Harry Potter and the half-blood prince
J.K. Rowling - Harry Potter and the deathly hallows
Augusten Burroughs - Running with scissors
John Niven - Kill your friends
Jonathan Safran Foer - Extremely loud and incredibly close
Rebecca Miller - The private lives of Pippa Lee
Chuck Klosterman - Sex, drugs and cocoa puffs
Chuck Klosterman - Downtown owl
Chuck Klosterman - Chuck Klosterman IV: A decade of curious people and dangerous ideas
Tobias Wolff - Old school
Ben Elton - Chart throb
Ben Elton - Dead famous
Marisha Pessl - Special topics in calamity physics
Claude Houghton - I am Jonathan Scrivener
Stephanie Kuehnert - I wanna be your Joey Ramone
Helen Fielding - Bridget Jones: the edge of reason
Tom Perrotta - The abstinence teacher
Dave Cullen - Columbine
Mitch Albom - The five people you meet in heaven
Alasdair Duncan - Metro
BOOKS IN SWEDISH
Linda Skugge - Men mest av allt vill jag hångla med nån
Linda Skugge - Lindas bästa/värsta
Jonas Gardell - Ett ufo gör entré
Jonas Gardell - Jenny
Bodil Malmsten - Hör bara hur ditt hjärta slår i mig
Bodil Malmsten - Kom och hälsa på mig om tusen år
OK, a) it's amazing that, in between reading all these books, I managed to find the time to work, go to London, live in Gothenburg and Cambridge, get a CPE and get drunk as much as I did, b) cannot believe I read some of them, like John Niven - Kill your friends? Why did I even buy in the first place? It was awful, c) why the fuck didn't A fraction of the whole win the Booker Prize in 2008? Preposterous and d) well, if you look at this, one could be forgiven for thinking I detest my own language. I probably have issues, hatred of own country, language, traditions, whatnot. Also, I might be schizophrenic.
Anyway, today it's Christmas. I need to wrap Christmas presents which I'm unbelievably bad at but, before I do that and since it's almost the end of the year and and an era and since I most likely won't read anything more in 2009 since I'm planning on getting and staying drunk starting from tomorrow (by the way, what's up with my English right now?), I'm going to post a list of all the books I've read this year. I realise this is of little interest to anyone except me but whatever. I'm going to write a bit more about some of the books in another post, the best ones and the worst ones. Anyway,this is what I've read and re-read this year:
BOOKS IN ENGLISH
Richard Yates - Revolutionary road
Iris Murdoch - A fairly honourable defeat
Curtis Sittenfeld - American wife
Curtis Sittenfeld - The man of my dreams
Curtis Sittenfeld - Prep
Albert Camus - The outsider
Ariel Levy - Female chauvinist pigs: Women and the rise of raunch culture
Margaret Drabble - A summer-bird cage
Margaret Drabble - The millstone
George Orwell - 1984
Steve Toltz - A fraction of the whole
Oscar Wilde - The importance of being earnest
Alex Garland - The beach
Alex Garland - The coma
Elisabeth Kostova - The historian
Alice Sebold - The lovely bones
Eminem - The way I am
Anthony Thornton and Roger Sargent - The Libertines bound together
Peter Welsh - Kids in the riot: High and low with The Libertines
Michael Collins - The secret life of E. Robert Pendleton
Margaret Atwood - The blind assassin
Margaret Atwood - Cat's eye
Tom Wolfe - I am Charlotte Simmons
A.M. Homes - The end of Alice
David Ebershoff - The 19th wife
Nic Sheff - Tweak: Growing up on methamphetamines
David Sheff - Beautiful boy: A father's journey through his son's addiction
Lionel Shriver - We need to talk about Kevin
J.K. Rowling - Harry Potter and the half-blood prince
J.K. Rowling - Harry Potter and the deathly hallows
Augusten Burroughs - Running with scissors
John Niven - Kill your friends
Jonathan Safran Foer - Extremely loud and incredibly close
Rebecca Miller - The private lives of Pippa Lee
Chuck Klosterman - Sex, drugs and cocoa puffs
Chuck Klosterman - Downtown owl
Chuck Klosterman - Chuck Klosterman IV: A decade of curious people and dangerous ideas
Tobias Wolff - Old school
Ben Elton - Chart throb
Ben Elton - Dead famous
Marisha Pessl - Special topics in calamity physics
Claude Houghton - I am Jonathan Scrivener
Stephanie Kuehnert - I wanna be your Joey Ramone
Helen Fielding - Bridget Jones: the edge of reason
Tom Perrotta - The abstinence teacher
Dave Cullen - Columbine
Mitch Albom - The five people you meet in heaven
Alasdair Duncan - Metro
BOOKS IN SWEDISH
Linda Skugge - Men mest av allt vill jag hångla med nån
Linda Skugge - Lindas bästa/värsta
Jonas Gardell - Ett ufo gör entré
Jonas Gardell - Jenny
Bodil Malmsten - Hör bara hur ditt hjärta slår i mig
Bodil Malmsten - Kom och hälsa på mig om tusen år
OK, a) it's amazing that, in between reading all these books, I managed to find the time to work, go to London, live in Gothenburg and Cambridge, get a CPE and get drunk as much as I did, b) cannot believe I read some of them, like John Niven - Kill your friends? Why did I even buy in the first place? It was awful, c) why the fuck didn't A fraction of the whole win the Booker Prize in 2008? Preposterous and d) well, if you look at this, one could be forgiven for thinking I detest my own language. I probably have issues, hatred of own country, language, traditions, whatnot. Also, I might be schizophrenic.
20091221
BUT WHAT IS LOVE WITHOUT LOSS?
More of my writing, as always from CotMWM:
"I always forget things after I have broken up with someone. Leave stuff. I always try to take everything with me, all my movies, clothes, letters, all the things that I had taken with me when visiting the boy’s place but somehow I always manage to forget something; a book, a spiral pad with my thoughts in it, a dress. Once I forgot a black scarf, my favourite one. That was annoying. I never go back to collect the things either; with the scarf, I couldn’t even if I had wanted to. We lived in different cities, different countries. Jump on a plane just to take it back? It was bad enough I jumped on a plane to see Oliver in the first place. I didn’t want to see him again and most of all, I didn’t want to be a guest in his life, someone’s who just picking up something as opposed to being a natural part of the scenery itself. Why would I want to go back to just doing a cameo when I used to be in the starring role? It seemed undignified. So I left it there, just like I left five CDs at Avery’s and four books at Sam’s. But what bothers me the most isn’t necessarily the lost items per se. Sure, it feels fucking stupid to have to go out and buy Marianne Faithfull’s Broken English when I know I used to have it. But I can replace stuff; I’m not precious about objects. What really gets to me is the thought that these boys use the stuff I’ve accidentally left behind; Maybe Sam takes the book with him on one of his camping trips, Avery might listen to the one of my CDs while doing the dishes, perhaps Oliver wears the scarf when it’s cold outside. The idea of it really, really, to the core of my being, bugs me. Bugs me to death! Some girls would probably like it; in some perverse way, they would think “Well, at least he’s thinking about me.” But I’m not one of those girls. That was my scarf, my CD, my book. In a way, I guess, I am precious about objects, but only because they are mine; they don’t cease to be mine just because I left them behind. I don’t really think Oliver thinks about me when he’s wearing the scarf either; he’s probably thinking he looks great in the black scarf, and the “the” will soon be replaced by “his”. Or when someone asks him about it, he’ll say “Oh, it belonged to some bird I dated.” Actually, maybe that’s what’s bothering me the most; even though it was mine, Miranda’s, a scarf I wore on every fucking day we spent together, I’m still reduced to being just “some bird” when leaving it hanging on his door. "
- The creativity of the mess we make, Julia Melin
"I always forget things after I have broken up with someone. Leave stuff. I always try to take everything with me, all my movies, clothes, letters, all the things that I had taken with me when visiting the boy’s place but somehow I always manage to forget something; a book, a spiral pad with my thoughts in it, a dress. Once I forgot a black scarf, my favourite one. That was annoying. I never go back to collect the things either; with the scarf, I couldn’t even if I had wanted to. We lived in different cities, different countries. Jump on a plane just to take it back? It was bad enough I jumped on a plane to see Oliver in the first place. I didn’t want to see him again and most of all, I didn’t want to be a guest in his life, someone’s who just picking up something as opposed to being a natural part of the scenery itself. Why would I want to go back to just doing a cameo when I used to be in the starring role? It seemed undignified. So I left it there, just like I left five CDs at Avery’s and four books at Sam’s. But what bothers me the most isn’t necessarily the lost items per se. Sure, it feels fucking stupid to have to go out and buy Marianne Faithfull’s Broken English when I know I used to have it. But I can replace stuff; I’m not precious about objects. What really gets to me is the thought that these boys use the stuff I’ve accidentally left behind; Maybe Sam takes the book with him on one of his camping trips, Avery might listen to the one of my CDs while doing the dishes, perhaps Oliver wears the scarf when it’s cold outside. The idea of it really, really, to the core of my being, bugs me. Bugs me to death! Some girls would probably like it; in some perverse way, they would think “Well, at least he’s thinking about me.” But I’m not one of those girls. That was my scarf, my CD, my book. In a way, I guess, I am precious about objects, but only because they are mine; they don’t cease to be mine just because I left them behind. I don’t really think Oliver thinks about me when he’s wearing the scarf either; he’s probably thinking he looks great in the black scarf, and the “the” will soon be replaced by “his”. Or when someone asks him about it, he’ll say “Oh, it belonged to some bird I dated.” Actually, maybe that’s what’s bothering me the most; even though it was mine, Miranda’s, a scarf I wore on every fucking day we spent together, I’m still reduced to being just “some bird” when leaving it hanging on his door. "
- The creativity of the mess we make, Julia Melin
20091216
YOU PUT THE FUN IN FUNERAL, YOU'RE THE ONE IN ONE-DIMENSIONAL
Read one of the blogs that I read every day but I hate it hate it hate it which is why I read that blog every day. Capisce? Anyway, today she had posted pictures of some boy taking pictures of himself in various "O-M-G! Look at me! I'm such a poet/inspiration/model and I'm so whimsical/quirky/thoughful" poses and she wrote about his "amazing cheekbones" and skinny arms etc. Like, vomit! So tired of all these boys and girls taking pictures of themselves dressed in skinny jeans with nothing on top (boys) or long t-shirts with nothing underneath except knickers (girls), smoking a cigarette and looking oh, so thoughtfully out of a window, which (obviously) should lead us to assume that they are having a deep, profound thought about the mysteries of life. Discovering some eternal truth that sadly would have gone unnoticed had they not taken that picture, posted it on their blog/flickr/facebook and added a quote from Camus' The outsider (which they've never read) (another popular choice is something from Peter Doherty's repertoire because (gasps) "he is a propa poet, that boy is, a propa hero"). What baffles me is how people still seem to find these people interesting. I'm yawning just thinking about them.
(Note: I figured I could put this rant on my book blog because, even though blogs are not books, it still involves reading, right? Oh, like anyone cares except for me, I can just post this wherever the fuck I want, it's just that I'd like for this blog to be strictly about books but since I'm not strictly about anything specific, my blog probably won't be either. I'm constantly side-tracking. Now that I'm on things that I've read but not in books, according to Cosmopolitan I'm supposed to get involved in a relationship next year that will be "unlike the stressful situations you've faced over the last couple of years." I will, apparently, not get scared away either when this prospective love of mine talks about commitment, flats and (the dreaded words in my book) moving in. Well, dear Cosmopolitan, as lovely as this horoscope sounds, I have to say it's unlikely. First of all: me making sensible choices? Unlikely. Second: Me not freaking out over commitment things? Nah, unlikely. And three: me in a relationship? A proper relationship? Living together, sleeping together, waking up together? Hell to the no. I also think you wrote something about it being romantic. I don't do romance. I'm the least romantic girl in the world. I just cringe, avoid, look away, get bored, feel embarrassed. I know, Cosmo. This means that I'm not a Cosmogirl because every Cosmogirl likes a bit of romance, Twilight and Colin Firth. Yet again something I'm missing out on. Not a proper woman, really. Bitterness is not becoming).
To get out of this long pharenthesis, I have no idea what I'm bitter about but it could be:
a) that I'm not in London
b) my generation
c) girl magazines.
Summed it up quite nicely. However, could also be that I'm tired. Seems likely.
(Note: I figured I could put this rant on my book blog because, even though blogs are not books, it still involves reading, right? Oh, like anyone cares except for me, I can just post this wherever the fuck I want, it's just that I'd like for this blog to be strictly about books but since I'm not strictly about anything specific, my blog probably won't be either. I'm constantly side-tracking. Now that I'm on things that I've read but not in books, according to Cosmopolitan I'm supposed to get involved in a relationship next year that will be "unlike the stressful situations you've faced over the last couple of years." I will, apparently, not get scared away either when this prospective love of mine talks about commitment, flats and (the dreaded words in my book) moving in. Well, dear Cosmopolitan, as lovely as this horoscope sounds, I have to say it's unlikely. First of all: me making sensible choices? Unlikely. Second: Me not freaking out over commitment things? Nah, unlikely. And three: me in a relationship? A proper relationship? Living together, sleeping together, waking up together? Hell to the no. I also think you wrote something about it being romantic. I don't do romance. I'm the least romantic girl in the world. I just cringe, avoid, look away, get bored, feel embarrassed. I know, Cosmo. This means that I'm not a Cosmogirl because every Cosmogirl likes a bit of romance, Twilight and Colin Firth. Yet again something I'm missing out on. Not a proper woman, really. Bitterness is not becoming).
To get out of this long pharenthesis, I have no idea what I'm bitter about but it could be:
a) that I'm not in London
b) my generation
c) girl magazines.
Summed it up quite nicely. However, could also be that I'm tired. Seems likely.
FEVER RAY
Home. Feels a bit weird. Miss England. Planning on moving to London next year. Would love to live in Bayswater, always been my favourite place in London. Places I refuse to live in: Brick Lane and (probably) Camden. They're way too "we so fashion, we so hip" for my taste.
To get to book-related topics; Blonde is still as lovely as it was before, but I might take a break from it and read Allt (translation: Everything) by Martina Löwden instead. Seems good.
20091210
NEVER BEEN GOOD ENOUGH BUT I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THE BEST
Exams are over! I'm so happy, weight off my shoulders! Will get drunk (or tipsaaay) tonight! On Tuesday I'm going home! On Saturday I'm buying myself a Moleskine to celebrate my own awesomeness! Exclamation point! On Sunday I'm going to London with my Mom, two days there and then I'm going home! Sweden, how I have missed you! Weird year, boring year, everything yet nothing happened year, 2009 I will not miss you! Best thing: all the books I've read! Best reading year ever! So happy! Exclamation point!
Look funny! Don't care! Full stop and exclamation point! High on life (haha, OK, need to stop before this gets worse)! Mom calls on Skype! Gotta go!
Look funny! Don't care! Full stop and exclamation point! High on life (haha, OK, need to stop before this gets worse)! Mom calls on Skype! Gotta go!
20091207
THE BOTTOMLINE IS THAT IT'S COOL TO SMOKE AND YOU ALL KNOW IT
I was planning on blogging (sentence?) yesterday, but I was so hungover I could barely get out of bed. Seriously, even when I fell asleep around midnight I still had a pounding headache. But I had a really good night, I drank red wine, I climbed in and out of windows while smoking, I danced on the street and I seem to recall standing in the middle of a room full of people and singing Soko - I'll kill her (best line: "She's a bitch you know, all she's got is blondeness, not even tenderness, she's clever-less." Oh, and also this: "I said it was a love story, but you don't wanna get involved. I said it was a love story but you're not ready for that (beat, beat, beat) ME NEITHER!") That whole "standing in a room singing while everybody is watching" seems to be my thing when drunk. Well, I guess it's everyone's thing when drunk but me more so than others. Unfortunately, I cannot sing. Fortunately, I wasn't alone. Maeva sang as well. She's great. I'm gonna miss everyone so much.
Today I was approached by a nun who wanted to give me a book on Hare Krishna. First she said she wanted to give it to me for free, then she wanted some money for it. Haha, the sneaky ways of the believers! Anyhoo, I politely declined and then cursed her because I missed my bus. Note to self: when someone asks you if you speak English and look like they will most likely talk to you about religion, the environment or mobile phones: just say no.
Anyway (to get off this sidetrack and actually write something about books), I'm reading Blonde at the moment. In August I blogged about how I would probably never read it, but thank God I decided otherwise. It is lovely. Quote:
"Never can you climb over this wall, you're not strong enough; girls aren't strong enough; girls aren't big enough; your body is fragile and breakable, like a doll; your body is a doll; your body is for others to admire and to pet; your body is a luscious fruit for others to bite into and to savor; your body is for others, not for you."
Basically what girls are told from the day they are born.
Today I was approached by a nun who wanted to give me a book on Hare Krishna. First she said she wanted to give it to me for free, then she wanted some money for it. Haha, the sneaky ways of the believers! Anyhoo, I politely declined and then cursed her because I missed my bus. Note to self: when someone asks you if you speak English and look like they will most likely talk to you about religion, the environment or mobile phones: just say no.
Anyway (to get off this sidetrack and actually write something about books), I'm reading Blonde at the moment. In August I blogged about how I would probably never read it, but thank God I decided otherwise. It is lovely. Quote:
"Never can you climb over this wall, you're not strong enough; girls aren't strong enough; girls aren't big enough; your body is fragile and breakable, like a doll; your body is a doll; your body is for others to admire and to pet; your body is a luscious fruit for others to bite into and to savor; your body is for others, not for you."
Basically what girls are told from the day they are born.
20091203
I DON'T DO ENOUGH CHARITY, I DO A BIT, BUT YOU CAN ALWAYS DO MORE. BUT I LOOK AT IT THIS WAY: IT'S A PAIN INNIT? NOTHING IN IT FOR ME!
Finished reading Cat's eye two days ago, reading Blonde by Joyce Carol Oates now.
20091202
NO WORRIES, I'M GOING TO...
This is one of my favourite poems, from spoken word poet Bradley Hathaway. Do take the time to read this, it really is lovely. I have it on my iPod and it always calms me down when life seems too overwhelming. I don't believe in God but I don't mind the Christian element to his poems anyway.
" Wait, wait, wait!
Stop the press.
I woke up today without that
five million pound boulder of stress on my chest
and now I feel blessed and can rest.
Oh, to rest these weary extremities
that have been inflicted with infirmities
unseen or experienced by them before
So tell me
what does the future have in store?
(I don't know.)
But I'm just going to let today be today.
I'm going to wake up this morning
with a smile on my face
look in the mirror
brush my teeth and
not wrack my brain
wondering if she's going to call me or not
because when a girl says
"Let's just be friends",
what she really means is:
"I'm never going to talk to you again."
Accept it.
Move on.
I just did.
And then after that
I'm going to
put on my play clothes
go in the front yard
and climb that pecan tree
like I did last week
but this time
I'm not going to get halfway up there
and start debating
whether or not morality is:
A social adaptation.
A product of evolution.
Or put there by God.
I'm just going to climb the thing
and have fun like I did when I was a kid.
And after that
I'm going to go to
vertebrate zoology class
and listen to my
boring
lifeless
instructor
talk about how
there are fifty different species of minnows
in Arkansas alone.
But I'll smile
and nod
and show interest
act interested
because that really is interesting
if you think about it.
(Think about it.)
And then after that
I'm going to go home and have lunch
the same ol' lunch again!
Two more frickin' frozen El Monterey jack bean and cheese burritos
with a glass of distilled water
and an orange.
But I'll give thanks
that I do have food to eat
because so many people don't.
And then after that
I'll go to work and paint
but I'm not going to paint that
boring
eggshell
white
on that old lady's wall
like she requested.
No, I'm not going to do it.
I'm going to pretend
like I'm a
juvenile Leonardo Da Vinci
and paint a stick figure masterpiece
of a young couple
frolicking in a field of flowers
with little butterflies and gophers
popping up here and there.
(I'm sure the old lady will appreciate it later in life.)
And after that
I'm going to go have dinner with my Paw Paw
and when he cries to me
about how his arthritis is bad
his own daughter rejects him, he's sad
I'll put my arm around him and listen
watch his old weary eyes glisten
as he experiences
my love for him.
And after that
I'll go home
sit on the floor
and start singing songs
to the one that gave me this joy
that I am feeling
but it's more than just some
fleeting feeling
it's eternal truth
in which I am reeling.
And then at night
I'll lay my head to rest
without the slightest
bit of fright or fret
knowing I made the day the best I could.
And that God truly is good."
No worries, I'm going to... - Bradley Hathaway
" Wait, wait, wait!
Stop the press.
I woke up today without that
five million pound boulder of stress on my chest
and now I feel blessed and can rest.
Oh, to rest these weary extremities
that have been inflicted with infirmities
unseen or experienced by them before
So tell me
what does the future have in store?
(I don't know.)
But I'm just going to let today be today.
I'm going to wake up this morning
with a smile on my face
look in the mirror
brush my teeth and
not wrack my brain
wondering if she's going to call me or not
because when a girl says
"Let's just be friends",
what she really means is:
"I'm never going to talk to you again."
Accept it.
Move on.
I just did.
And then after that
I'm going to
put on my play clothes
go in the front yard
and climb that pecan tree
like I did last week
but this time
I'm not going to get halfway up there
and start debating
whether or not morality is:
A social adaptation.
A product of evolution.
Or put there by God.
I'm just going to climb the thing
and have fun like I did when I was a kid.
And after that
I'm going to go to
vertebrate zoology class
and listen to my
boring
lifeless
instructor
talk about how
there are fifty different species of minnows
in Arkansas alone.
But I'll smile
and nod
and show interest
act interested
because that really is interesting
if you think about it.
(Think about it.)
And then after that
I'm going to go home and have lunch
the same ol' lunch again!
Two more frickin' frozen El Monterey jack bean and cheese burritos
with a glass of distilled water
and an orange.
But I'll give thanks
that I do have food to eat
because so many people don't.
And then after that
I'll go to work and paint
but I'm not going to paint that
boring
eggshell
white
on that old lady's wall
like she requested.
No, I'm not going to do it.
I'm going to pretend
like I'm a
juvenile Leonardo Da Vinci
and paint a stick figure masterpiece
of a young couple
frolicking in a field of flowers
with little butterflies and gophers
popping up here and there.
(I'm sure the old lady will appreciate it later in life.)
And after that
I'm going to go have dinner with my Paw Paw
and when he cries to me
about how his arthritis is bad
his own daughter rejects him, he's sad
I'll put my arm around him and listen
watch his old weary eyes glisten
as he experiences
my love for him.
And after that
I'll go home
sit on the floor
and start singing songs
to the one that gave me this joy
that I am feeling
but it's more than just some
fleeting feeling
it's eternal truth
in which I am reeling.
And then at night
I'll lay my head to rest
without the slightest
bit of fright or fret
knowing I made the day the best I could.
And that God truly is good."
No worries, I'm going to... - Bradley Hathaway
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