It was a relief to return from Copenhagen to Malmö. For the first time, opening the door to our flat felt like coming home, and that filled me with that great feeling of contentment, kind of similar to that well fed feeling after eating just the right amount of food.
And the weeks go by with ever increasing rapidity and I still find pleasures in conquering small feats in the strange new land. These thrill me when I have achieved them but also makes my stomach churn contemplating it beforehand. Perhaps when you are in your early twenties it is the worst time to move to the other side of the world, with none of the boldness and recklessness of the teenage years, and a continuing burden of worry and responsibility. Not having planned a career path like a driven young professional, and the thought of 4 years of university debt like a dormant volcano in the back of your mind. Caught between holding onto the carefree spirit of a 17 year old, and the knowledge that you are starting to act like you are closer to 30.
Maybe I have become too timid or analytical or dull or nervous. Possibly all of the above.
Upon rereading that paragraph I wonder perhaps if I am spending to much time reading hardboiled murder mysteries and trying to romanticise my life. Well, I probably am, maybe I should do it more often.
The soundtrack to Sweden continues in top form with Otis Blue, Astral Weeks, and Dusty in Memphis making me feel like . I feel like Spring has crept up on me and taken me unawares.
And while I wile away days in a pleasant, unassuming way, I watch my hair grow longer. Seriously, its better than watching paint dry.
