My mother said

- your brother asked me yesterday if everything was ok with you. He felt you looked a bit sad.

We were out "shopping" - which mainly was an excuse to hang out and be out of the house ourselves.

I wasn't sad. Not really. And definetely not for the reasons my mother hypothesized.
When we continued shopping I found myself becoming sadder.

- Maybe I am sad, I said to my mom.
- I don't really know why.

It dawned on me that some part of it may be not telling any of them most of the things I really think about these days.

Another part is the stress of waiting for emails*. Which is another aspect I haven't told them - well ok, my brother briefly about the fling, but not the email part.

Not really feeling like myself when I'm away is another thing.
Homesick. I guess.





* I am in the process of pursuing an email communication with a man I met a few weeks ago and who I would like to meet again. Three days from Monday to now is beginning to get to me... ;)

Bridges never burnt

I'ts night
and I tried to post this in another forum
in Norwegian
it failed
and my words are sleepy
and smiling

but I am in Bergen
and the drizzle covered my glasses in fog
when I walked the few hundred meters
from there to here
in the very velvety darkness

and as I walked
in the wet
with a lightness in my step

I thought of bridges never burnt

of friendships that have been hard
and wounded
and sore
but never truly abandoned

and of apologies
never truly spoken
because to speak them would be
to speak of the hurt
and

since we know that
the hurt was never solely caused by -
and never actually intended

speaking it would be to name the beast
and this beast named
would be a harder beast to slay.

And now the wounds are gone
the differences forgotten
and the only thing remaining is a passage
free
and trusting

which is why my step was light
and why I pondered
the bridges never burnt.

Holiday blogging...

Having a computer close - and nobody around to look at the computer log - has proven beneficial to the overall creativity. Or, maybe we should call it garbage. Emptying of garbage.

It's certainly true that whenever I make this trip I go back to whatever unresolved conflicts with my youth and background that visits me first. No wonder I prefer to hide between my mothers impressive hedges, having tea in the office and venture to the neighbour for coffee.

It's not that I object to nice houses. I like nice houses. I find, however, that I like the clutter of ours, the skewness of Bremers villa, the accessibility and welcoming feeling older houses and apartments have. The lack of emphasis on new tiles, fresher wallpaper and wood floors in all rooms, no less. The kids are three and have their own room. Ok, I'll stop ranting.

Maybe I'm just estranged.

As I mentioned earlier, having time to let the feelings and thoughts in is also a part of this.

Ok, men.

I did a silly thing on Friday, I did the lover's comparison horoscope for both men I've been in touch with recently. Strangely enough both conformed with my thoughts in advance, with more passion, drama and potential conflict with the artist-cum-bicycle-repairman at home, and a smoother passage with the economer that I've gotten in touch with on the internet. Since the tone in messages and on msn have been very friendly, and the meeting was more because of my presence in town, rather than the "relationship" being ready for it, there's no pressure on the potential romantic and/or physical part (as far and I can tell). Anyway, there's some compatibility there. And not just a little.
If I think about that I could get freaked out. Lucky I don't.

In this atmoshpere of villas and two cars per house, I find myself leaning more towards the passionate, quite likely totally hopeless venture, than the other. In a romantic sense, not the friendship, I might add.

Ah, this is a messy blog text. No spark, no edge, no spice.
What it comes down to is - if we're blunt - I want to be wanted. And a tad scared by things that could get serious. That about covers it. I'm a serious kind of girl. With a healthy taste for play, one should hope. Hah.

Post-doctoral depression, anyone?

What a weird, weird day.
I came home - home, that is, as in childhood home - yesterday. Noone is home. The parents are in Spain on holiday, the brother lives further north, and the grandmother has been gone for near two years.

This reality hits me somewhere between Sandnes and Stavanger, and the melancoly stays with me all through the evening, night and morning.

Solitude, chosen, ensures my inner dialogue. Feeling.
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
Somewhere, a rawness that I hadn't foreseen.
Not lonelyness, but ungrieved sorrow, solitude, need. Unfocussed unrealized unthought need. Or -
I honestly don't know.

The headstone wording is pretty carelessly carved.
[I need to go change, I'm going out]

And the absence of continued distraction, in the shape of the email I want and wait for prevents me from procrastination on these matters, tears unwept.

Somehow it seems fitting that Rig emails me to say that she is SAFE from the London terror.

They talk about post-doctoral depression. This isn't depression. This is just unfelt emotion catching up. And July, the time of departed loved ones, though old.

I am in danger of smoking.

Easy...

You know the joke:
The rooster was chasing the hen.
The hen thought "if I stop, I'm easy. If I run I won't be gettin' any. Better if I fall."

I'm easy.
Easy like Sunday morning.

Kiss and tell?

Even though the previous post is unfinished, events take place and change the focus of things. Actually, the two posts are connected, in a way. The common denominator is looks, or attraction.

I kinda want to tell all, and kinda not.
I kinda want to write something about double standards, and also something on the theories about one-night-stands leading to something or being a dead end.

I'm always ambivalent to going home with someone. Even when I know that I most likely will and want to, I put up the obligatory "nah, I don't know"-talk.
Which is silly.
But I AM ambivalent. Simultaineously, I'm of the opinion that some actions are part of something more, and that even though the right to say no is mine all through the non-reported event, doing so after a certain point is downright silly and a bit cruel.

And then there are other concerns, but I don't really want to tell all.
What I do is envision a pair of smiling eyes.
Not too bad.

Insight - draft

Earlier this week, I was accosted while buying lunch. Ok, perhaps accosted is the wrong word. What happened was that a man asked me to eat my sandwich at his table in the diner rather than eating at my desk, which I did. Upon leaving I was asked if he could call me.

The idea was less than pleasing, in part because of the apparent age gap and the fact that he was - not very attractive to me.

And then I ask. What is attractive? I know for a fact that I'm not a total age facist. Part of the non-attractiveness was that aforementioned man was too eager, related to the known facts - at least the way I perceive them. We can get back to that.

I've also been in touch with internet people. That is, men that I know through various internet sites, not necessarily geared towards dating. And I do confess, once I get to like their minds, thoughts and words, a bad picture inevitably will disappoint me.

Let's face it - I have STANDARDS for looks. Connected to this is the obscure feeling that I oughtn't.

Looking back on crushes and loves, I wouldn't say that I am totally hooked on the model man, or that I have a very confined set of likes. More often than not it's to do with the feeling. Carrie says in one episode of Sex and the City. Was he good-looking? I don't know. I never do when I like someone. And that may well be the case for me too. I've had crushes and realized long after that they were considered by others to be "hot".

A nasty part of this is that I am, or have been, afraid that others will judge my selected man based on appearance and say "how can you like HIM". Sometimes I judge my friend's men or women, but I would generally judge a personality much harder than looks. First and foremost, do they make my friend happy?!

So, why this internal double standard?