I´ve been in court for 4 days and I’m beat. The intensity of the case drained me of what little energy I’d manage to build up and now I’m back to square one. Lying in bed, coffee beside me, listening to the janitor mowing the lawn outside, I can’t help but think how fortunate I am to be a freelancer. I have an entire day to myself and nobody can take that away from me. I don’t have any plans today, originally I was thinking of staying in and writing a bit,  but now I decided to take my laptop with me, meet a friend for coffee and hunt for props while in town.  And then write for a couple of hours. I find writing on a particular day, when I have the time for it, challenging to say the least.  For me it’s always been a past time activity,  I did it when I felt for it, I’ve stayed up nights, crying over words that don’t come or that can’t possibly describe my wretchedness. My creativity has been my journal- writing, photography, baking and cooking have been a way of channeling my mood, coping with joy or sorrow, recharging my batteries or outright therapy. When trying to write short stories, though, it’s not about mood anymore. It’s about consistency, it’s about keeping the style, it’s about following a thread all the way to the end, irrespective of your spirits on that particular day. And I want to do it, I want it so bad. But I can’t help but wonder sometimes if maybe I’m just not deep enough to pursue such a noble task, since I let my attention be caught by this and that, e.g. the new camel coat or cashmere coat from Max Mara- drool!

Skjermbilde 2018-09-14 kl. 09.33.21


On another note I’m going home for 4 short days and I can’t wait. I’ve ordered a table at this cuper cute bistro, invited my family, my favorite aunt and one of my cousins and I’m looking forward to pit stops for coffee and pictures galore. It’s still summer back home and the trees have started rusting and my soul aches for childhood afternoons under grandma’s quince tree. If all the world would be in war and there would be no place to hide, I would seek refuge in my memories, in a time when the future seemed a hundred years away.


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