The new year.

Starts with me being bored out of my skull. Blogging is a bit of a last resort, I don't feel like it, really, yet it does have some therapeutic value and let's me kill time in a way that tricks me into thinking I am being productive. Oh well here we go:
New year's eve was adequate. It involved red wine, a little tequila and then some champagne. Oh and lots of tobacco. More on this a bit further down.

There's not much going on in my life right now, or well there is, it just does not feel like there is. If I try to pull some pieces of recollection from the drunken mist of last week, or the last ten days rather... I ought to find a couple of things of interest.

If we start with last Tuesday, as that seems a good place sort of in the middle of the current 'situation' which can describe the slope my life is currently tumbling down. (Will the life of Adam come to a gentle rest or crash and burn like Michael Moore's cardiovascular system after reaching for a Snickers bar from the top shelf? Who knows. Stay tuned and find out!).

Anyway, last Tuesday me and a couple of friends went to the pub/nightclub however you want to classify a place with two bars and a tiny dance-floor crammed with drunk people.
One of these friends is a lovely blond girl. She and I decided to share a bottle of red wine. Said and done. A bottle becomes two bottles and given the current state of my liver and the amount of beer I gulp down on the side pretty soon I am but the slightest bit tipsy. (Yes folks that's irony right there)

This is when my friends decide to leave. They have places to be. I don't. So I stay, and go on to have one of the most, as I felt at the moment, entertaining nights of the past year. There was a blond girl to dance with. Another blond girl to kiss and touch in R-rated places, and a third blond girl (who seemed really sweet and a bit shy) to thoroughly check me out while being comfortably surrounded and shielded by a circle of friends. Friends who were (equally thoroughly) entertained by seeing their friend look at me with STEAK DINNER written all over her face.
Then the place closes and I somehow wind up in an apartment together with a (not so blond) girl from Stockholm who later follows me over to my place. All of this seemed like a welcome boost to my confidence in a time when such are much needed. One could also describe it by saying that I'm a drunk male whore.
Not sure which position I myself take on the matter.

Wednesday, I don't remember. Probably in recovery.

Thursday: My second to last day at my now former job. Place was falling apart due to intense service demands and too little staff. It pleased me no end to see our employers begging everyone to extend their shifts while at the same time cutting down on personnel. Poetic fucking justice was a term which sprang to mind. Later in the evening there was a gathering at Åsa's place meeting a lot of not-so-long lost classmates, I've seen some of them the last 7 months but hey, It's always nice to spend an evening with some familiar faces from what in some ways was a very different life. They all seemed alive and kicking, which feels good to know now that I think about it.

Friday: Back at the same pub as Tuesday. I'm not as drunk, though that does not mean sober mind. Or as slutty. I'm there with Rolf, we meet a couple of his 'acquaintances' who are both female. I spend most of that evening conversing with one of them, with the net result of me giving her a phone number (my real number). I go home thinking "Hey that's a nice girl. No way she'll use that number for anything else than as a novelty keepsake".

Saturday: I do nothing, bored as I am now. However, the pretty girl from yesterday does text me. Oh the joy one feels when furthering loose 'acquaintances' with beautiful people.
Do realize that I'm at this point looking forward to the prospect of sitting down for a cup of coffee with this person. Just sitting down for a cup of coffee, and thinking that it would be enjoyable without any sexual undertones. Then I think "Oh fuck, you actually like her a little bit you dumb bastard. This ain't ending well". And the story continues;

Sunday: Visit to my mom. It's not horrible. Oh joy. Decides to go on something which would seem to be suspiciously close to a date but officially ('cuz she said so) A date with tall pretty blond girl from Friday. It was to take place Wednesday. Was looking forward to it.

Monday: The last day of 2007. The agenda: Getting drunk and fed in Degerfors at a serious sausage-fest. Worked out all right. Still legally drunk from that. Wicky was pissed at me for no reason, in her typical way. I'm mean to her in return. Proper mean. Rawr, makes me feel like a big man. *sigh* I want to be left alone as I'm drunk, tired, and not in the mood to 'dance' with an obnoxiously drunk Wictoria. Clearly lying on a sofa minding my own business and wanting to be left alone is a brutal offense warranting further abuse from an all too masculine woman who thinks people will listen more intently to what she's saying when she tries to sound like Barry White. Now I love Wictoria but for someone trying to be exquisitely aware of whats proper and politically correct she can be about as tactful as a orangutan drawing pictures of genitals, using feces, on a hundred thousand dollar oriental carpet.

Tuesday again: Here we are. I woke up to a text message from tall-pretty-blond girl saying that our Wednesday 'thing which was not a date' is off. Apparently she's now dating someone she's know for the past six years. I'm not surprised, I'm not mad, and I find myself wishing them well even though that sort of relationship is blacklisted as a No-No in my book. There's something about the transition from just-friend to boyfriend/girlfriend that seems to, from my own perceptions and experience that is, to fuck up whatever you try to do hence. I guess it's hard to build something else in the same spot you preciously had firmly allocated to a warehouse storing used parts and old slag products from for example, past relationships.

Oh well a little disappointment on top of the black month of December -07 won't push me over the edge. I laugh a bit at the fact that my timing when it comes to 'these things' ain't exactly hellacious.

Spoons are the ultimate eating tools

MMmm. Spoons.

Another week

And so much more alcohol. Really I cannot wait for this year to be over, going from health fascist to smelly derelict has been a hard and tiering process. I've only got two more days left at my current place of employment and the new year does hold great promise for betterment in pretty much conceivable category.

Aim is to move to Oslo, get a better job, meet new people and pull myself back together. Which means chaning back to a more constructive and less alcohol related lifestyle. Put the focus back on the body etc. It's going to be a hard couple of months at the (a new one) gym to get back to where I was towards the end of the summer. The upside is that I'm bristling with motivation.
My level of self loathing eventually reaches a fulcrum, I know since previous episodes of similar states of mind, and I'll swing back towards my previous sense of character and start acting accordingly again. Then again this autumn has been the most extreme episode as of yet. I've been throughly self destructive.
If I did not feel this blooming desire to do something about my situation I'd be seriously worried, yet certainty that I'll swing back instills confidence. Then yet again that might be a thing to consider in and of itself, I do tend react with a corresponding level of force to any issue I encounter. Pulling myself together from my current state is going to be a fast process. Which by implication means that I'm going to be rather harsh with myself coming the new year. It's got nothing to do with any sort of new years resolution, for me it's rapidly becoming an urgent psychological necessity to climb back up and seeing how far I feel I've fallen...

There is a lesson in this too, I don't particularly regret the way things are as I have a brighter tomorrow in front of me. The path is set and all that, it's just the work that remains and that comes much easier. The lesson I'm thinking of is that sometimes good thing come from firstly 'falling' a bit so to speak. For me I needed a great big kick in the balls from good ol' fate to get me going somewhere. When I think about it being stuck in wretched monotony at my now thankfully former workplace (even dissregarding the direct physical impact such as losing A LOT of weight and feeling like crap as soon as I wake up in the morning) that would probably be the worst thing I could do.

I'm off running towards the rising sun again, and with a bit of luck I'll find a happier tomorrow.

What about tuesday?

Firstly, I called in sick. I'm not sure if this is dishonest behavior on my part or what not since I'm feeling so much like a pile of crap that I can't even tell if It's my psychology messing with me or if my stomach is subject to an actual infection.

So what do I do? I go down and get a piercing. A metal stud through the eyebrow: A momentary distraction from psychological pain. Too bad it didn't last longer. Funny how the collective of mind and body tend to let physical pain override mental anxiety. Must be an evolutionary advantage in there.

Secondly, I've imbibed alcohol yet another night of the week, which makes for a total of let's see... four of the last seven. I don't think I should be worried yet but one does come to think of spare time alcoholics. New situations begets new understandings.

More precisely I went out and had a couple of beers with Viktor. Had a great time all in all. We got our fair share of complaining (well that was mostly me) and nostalgia out of it. Then I come home (time of this post) and my monstrous Winamp playlist tosses this song at me:

Puddle of Mud - She hates me

Met a girl
Thought she was grand
Fell in love
Found out first hand
Went well for a week or two
Then it all came unglued

In a trap
Trap I can't grip
Never thought I'd be the one who'd slip
Then I started to realize
I was living one big lie
She fuckin' hates me
Trust
She fuckin' hates me
La la la love
I tried too hard
And she tore my feelings like I had none
And ripped them away

She was queen for about an hour
After that, her shit got sour
She took all I ever had
No sign of guilt
No feeling of bad, no

That's my story
As you see
Learned my lesson
And so did she
Now it's over
And I'm glad
Cuz I'm a fool for all I said

I laughed, and laughed and then laughed some more upon hearing this.
Is this the workings of a talented songwriter able to jizz out something a lot of people can relate to or is it another sign that my current mental state truly is a stereotypical one?
Don't know, don't care, but by coincidence finding something so applicable to my current situation plus the fact that it's a mainstream oriented song amuses the hell out of me.

My personal pain ain't special. If I walk down the street getting honest answers out of people about their romancing experiences I'll find that what I feel ain't NOTHING new. People will say 'bin there done that'.
And the irony of that again makes me laugh, and laugh and laugh.... all the way to sleep.

Some quotes in my native tongue.

"Du är bara bitter för att du klantat dig med min bil, jag dissar dig och du har blivit av med jobbet....jag är ledsen för att du beter dig så jävla barnsligt just nu"

"Du är en sån där människa man bara mår dåligt av att träffa"

"Jag stör mig bara så mycket på så många av grejerna du gör"

"Så jävla pinsamt att du ringde och skämde ut dig förut, jag hade ju smsat till dig att jag inte ville bli störd"

And she thinks I'm mean to her.
And why do I hurt so easily?

Loss of appetite

I really don't know if it's the stress, current state of unhappiness or some actual sickness that's been gnawing away all of my appetite these last few days.
Neither alternative is very heartening since I find it gravely disturbing that me feeling like a discarded toy may actually have a real physical impact on my poor poor body.

I find myself thinking of Jake Gyllenhaal's character in Jarhead, I usually have a standard solution for when physically feeling like a piece of crap (no will to eat = no calories = no energy). For example: If sick, then rest and eat as much as you can. Go back to the gym, take it easy and slowly recover.
But now, I feel sick because my current state of min reflects badly on my body. I want to scream at my pituitary to stop stimulating the release of stress hormones but I just can't bring my psychology around to complying with my rational state of mind. It sucks not to be the boss inside ones own head.
Now I've felt depressed before, but never like this, and it scares the shit out of me. Still I'm not worried that I won't recover and end up as a sad broken shell of a man. It's not that bad.

What I'm saying is simply that I think I start to understand how people can lose the will to go on with their lives in any direction. I understand how someone might just lay down and give up.
That state is still far far away for me personally. I'm just saying that I've glimpsed a fraction of it towards the other end of the valley next to the future sunshine I hope for.

Knock Knock

I really need to meet a girl that's insane in the same sense I am.
Cuz' when I meet ones that's of a wholly different brand of crazy then someone gets hurt. Usually me.

Delicious Venting (Part 1)

The last two weeks have consisted of some of the worst days of my life. This is not an understatement. I need to vent.

.....but instead of venting and in doing so, by all that which is probable, end up regretting posting something all too personal in a decisively public place I think I'll write about a related topic in a wholly unrelated way.

Adam is going to talk about sex.

So what about it? Everybody wants it, some of us have it and some are scared by it. Regardless of which category one belongs there lies a constant at the bottom of it. Sex frustrates everybody.

I'm 19. I state this because it underlines the fact that I by no means have some sort of sagely knowledge on the subject.

However I do feel that I'm sufficiently experienced to tell the difference between good sex and the kind you wish to commit ritualized suicide after having the displeasure of experiencing. Apart from this fact I think that I know something about all of the different positions (no pun intended) one can view the sex-issue from.

I'm horny as hell, which certainly means that I know about wanting it. I occasionally have it which means that I've managed to get a taste of the varying complications that ALWAYS seem to spring from it. Which incidentally are the same complications that often have me scared shitless. Thus I want it, have it and am scared by it.

Wanting sex is only natural right? I mean there's absolutely no sense to fighting your biology and biology has sex pinned right next to eating and taking a shit. Let's face it we're built for it. Denying it is the same as denying a part of our humanity which is an issue that's in itself a huge bag of worms. Sex needs, like most things, needs to be approached with the understanding that it's a part of everyone and that no amount of denial will change it. Let's just accept it and build from there.

So how does one build from the fact that I as a human being both want and need sex?
If I'm pretty, I can get drunk stumble and fall with my reasonably turgid meatrod (alcohol can do this or so I am told) into a more or less pretty and more or less drunk fellow human being. A night on the bar is as we all know a socially perfectly acceptable way to spend some or most of the days of the week and intercourse with a perfect stranger either above you or below you on the scale of of pruettyness is an undeniable source of amusement for either the own ego or that of your like-minded friends.
If I'm ugly I've been recently blessed with the introduction of free internet porn that any fourteen year old with half a brain can dive into in drink until it spills out again through every orifice.

Let's stop here. I just want to state that I'm freakishly aware that I'm a presumptuous ass for suggesting that everyone fall into one of the two above mentioned categories. Generalizing people into the ugly and the beautiful when considering what's politically correct is a huge no-no so before you start sharpening your various lynching accessories stop to consider that I may actually have a point.

I myself have occasionally ventured into either of the two avenues outlined above and what I've discovered is they both lead the afore mentioned frustration.
At least for me neither of the two paths lead to much satisfaction. The first path firstly leads to the kind of crappy sex that makes you want to put a very sharp blade into you abdomen and watch as you guts curl up in funny ways in places they just don't belong. Secondly there's probably nothing worse than waking up next to something you just don't want closer than ten feet away and fully clothed.
About porn I think there's much reason to dislike it because of the inherent lethargy of it. How can watching people do something that you yourself would kill to experience ever measure up to actually doing it yourself.
I sound overly judgmental, not all one night stands need to be horrid experiences and I don't cry myself to sleep after watching Rocco violate some east european girl.
But the point is this, by pursuing a fundamental need people get in all sorts of shitty situations not to mention states of mind. We've taken care of the problem of having a constant food supply and we've introduced water toilets yet we just keep complicating sex.









I'm going to continue this I promise. But for now I'll finish with a personal statement underlining just how fucked (oh the puns) my own personal view on sex can be:

I love women. I love sex. Obviously I want good sex.
Yet I do not like women that know have to have good sex.
Because the fact that they know how to have it, disturbs my sensibilities.

Contradictions cause conflict, and within the own mind they led to pain.

Goodnight.

I can't believe....

It's been another whole month. Time's got wings I tell ya. When there's nothing memorable to weigh it down it just goes and steals another month from my life here on this little blue ball.

Last Saturday I passed by Uppsala (City) on my way to Arlanda (Airport). And since I have a couple of former classmates living there I brought my fluffy red-haired friend Olle along and dropped in for a visit. Visits like this one tend to make the beast of anxiety called nostalgia sprawl within my chest. By seeing my old friends, I reflect upon the life I had before contrasted by the life I now lead. I don't feel that there's anything strange about this. I am sure most people put in similar situations would agree.

I feel like I'm being tugged between what's old and what's new. Something something. I'll try to finish this when I'm sober and in a more controlled state of mind.

As for the medieval people mentioned in my last post, I think that they must be truly enigmatic in their nature. On one hand they receive infinitely less stimuli than a modern day man. On the other, they must be more absorbed in the things that are directly relevant to their day to day existence. Fewer problems, (will the crops grow, will the local lord rape my daughters?). And also fewer joys. He can't get any instant gratification from picking up a new Ipod in the mail now can he?

Which raises the interesting question, does this make his joys and hardships more profound? Starvation is clearly a greater hardship than buying a couple of jeans of the wrong size, not much question about that. So what's interesting about the question is the part about his joys. Is the joy and pride he feels over his children for example more profound than the joy of an equally committed modern day man feels? Because his joys are not diluted by Ipods and whatnot?
Reflection is key, maybe the capacity for joy for one man is limitless but still his time to appreciate it certainly is not. Will one be happier with few profound joys with no other minor things to play as distractions that take up time better spent rejoicing over what's really important?
I think that is why some people like myself bitch about all the utterly irrelevant things, because we are distracted from what ought to be the true joys and sorrows even in a 'modern' world. Realizing this may well be a first step on the path to leading a life with something labeled 'meaning' attached to it. The second and much harder step is to put aside all those irrelevancies and pursue that elusive happiness.
Stay tuned for when I manage to take that step.
Kisses and sweet dreams.

Mandatory update

Seeing as my (minuscule) readership seem to shrink if I do not update this site regularly, I'll now post a mandatory update!

I'm tired, yet feeling fine. Work's a bitch but hey, I ain't the first guy to voice that particular opinion. Wonder what people used to bitch about back in medieval times. (I'll elaborate on this with a theory in my next post). Stay tuned.

Mother of christ....

This has been one of the worst nights ever. Period. Murphy's Law people, Murphy's fucking law.

The background is that there is this very pretty girl whom I've been flirting a lot with at work for some time now. We both think it would be fun to get together sometime yet our schedules (Hellspawn that they are) has made this more difficult than what a perfect world would allow.

Yet we're certainly not living in a perfect world now are we? After getting off work at 22:00 I stand to get on a buss at 22:40 which means I'd be home after midnight. Fine, that sucks but I can live with it.

Today though, flirting by text messaging leaves an opening for me and the pretty lass to get together for a late night stroll. We decide this about 5 minutes before my buss leaves. Texted and done. I don't get on the buss and I'm feeling both excited and very happy about meeting the still somewhat anonymous girl. She gives me a call to tell me exactly where I'm supposed to go to meet her and..... BAM. Phone's out of battery.

The words 'Oh fuck' leaves my mouth and a feeling of disbelief comes over me, meaning that I at some level realize how crappy my situation just became but still don't want to fully acknowledge the fact of it. I try to squeeze a little more juice out of the phone and swear at my folly in getting a pretty but useless designer phone.

I then walk around for somewhat in the neighborhood of 40 minutes, pretending I have any idea of where I'm going. Finally facing facts I walk back towards the bus stop. I've got an idea.

(Mind that I've by this time realized that my very pretty girl must think I'm a total idiot that stood her up. Which ain't exactly helping my mood)

Boldly I stroll into the the still (for about 5 minutes) gas station next to the bus stop. I ask if they have a charger for my Nokia 7500, of course they don't. Yet they are so kind to lend me their phone, I use it to dial a grumpy old hag of an operator and ask for the girls number. She can't find it.

Now it would seem prudent to accept defeat, so I reluctantly walk over to the bus stop to wait for my one hour late bus. Then I start reading the bus schedule. The next buss apparently will only take me about one third of the way home. I start cursing so loud the few people still out at first start to look at me, and the quickly look away.

Anyhow, I manage to make it home, after only about two and a half hours outdoors in the bitter November cold. I'd not be surprised if I wake up sick tomorrow... And I sincerely hope the pretty girl will accept my apology and understand that there would have been absolutely nothing I would rather have done for the past few hours than put my arms around her and give her a big kiss for saving me from the cold.

Alas it's most certainly not a perfect world.

Goodnight.

I guess...

I guess I must be bipolar, since I love my friends so much and firmly hate a great part of the rest of the world.