Det ska bo folk i husan; husan dem treng folk. Folk treng hus og hus treng folk i all si tid.

It's cold at home, and no one is baking bread. Yet. Snow falls, but no one shuffles it, and I wonder when anyone will. I know I won't for several days. I will bake cinnamon rolls today, but not bread, and I think that's okay. No one will miss my bread. Yet.

Jeg er en seiler på livets hav.

There is a question we sometimes must ask ourselves; are we merely pieces of drifting wood or are we proud captains of our own ships? I enjoy the rough sea and the blowing winds, but I hate the nauseousness that comes about when waves hit me too hard. An ocean without roaring waves, blasts of fresh air and low-flying seagulls would be an endless sea of nothing. I see that, and I accept it.

Let me know if you see a harbour somewhere, I might need supplies soon.

Literary Devices

Why would I describe myself with one sentence?

Aren't I at least a short story by now? I hope to become a novel--preferably a great one, with even better sequels (just need to find that darned midquel first)!

Will you stand by me on the bookshelf even when I'm dusty?

The tender age of twenty-six (or perhaps 62 or 16?)

Loosing a parent at seventeen made me both an old lady and a big baby. At the same time. You can't put your life on hold or save it up for later. That is not how it works, my friend. We need to have fun, take things seriously, eat well, do good to others and enjoy ourselves. At the same time.

If you think not speaking your opinion or attempting to be a drought more so than a flood, and thinking this will make me see you, like you and appreciate your company you are mistaken. Yes, we are centers of our own universes, and sometimes lonely or afraid of those creepy black holes, but that doesn't mean we're the only ones out there. Put your galaxy on the map, and educate us on the theme of you. You're probably not less interesting than the rest of us. Who would have ever thought that one by the name of "The Milky Way" would be so damn fun?

I love you and you and you, but sometimes you piss me off. At the same time.

Ol' Death

I sometimes tell insects that I'm sorry. I will tell the bug the truth, and sometimes the truth is that it was sitting in wet paint. I tell myself that it is better for it to go fast, rather than letting the poor thing go slowly by itself. Maybe it's in an insect's melancholic nature to sit down in wet paint and wait to die. It may be the reason we call them bugs; that they tend to bug themselves to death. (But still I'm sorry.)

If you had only given your cats anti-contraceptives you wouldn't have to kill those precious kittens. Don't be mean if you don't want to be left. I didn't like it when you aimed the wheels at the frogs on the road that evening, like they were hundreds of newly blown bubbles. I wish none of you had to support any forces and be so very proud of them - the limbless, dead and mentally traumatized. Had you not been so goddamn moody I might have liked you even more.

Sometimes I have thoughts of what life would be like if people in general preferred to agree, find solutions and get along instead of having to discuss everything, arguing over things and distancing themselves from each other. Please, just have some ice-cream and try for once losing the battle and be happy about it - we might win the war together.

Yet Another Nothing

Since we, or rather I, last spoke there has been a lot going on. I have been in Florida, South Carolina, Maine and traveled home to Norway. I sold my pretty girly bike in NY and returned to my good old lady in this town; cleaned her and changed to summer tires. I will have to change the back wheel as it is crooked from getting hit by a car riding home from a reception night shift last summer. The poor woman that hit me at 7.30 a.m. was shaken for not having paid attention to sidewalk activity before rolling out onto the road.

At 2.30 last night, when riding home from a bartender shift with sunglasses on to meet the midnight sun more pleasantly, I met a friend that was walking home from the city. She told me good news about people we know, and about these two people that have found each other. She said that they are good match because they are equally interested in each other, and that this is rare. It is rare.

Go, went, gone.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, mister grandmother. So this isn't a blog, I have proven that. Nevertheless I will now update you on a whole bunch of things I have done since I stepped on this American soil for the first time in nine years. It will be a heap, hurdle, bunch, list, chaotic mess or whatever you want to call it, but information it is, and true as well. Apparently I have started stealing, but I still don't lie all that much.

First some facts out of context: At Easter I visited my old host family in Texas, and it was great! It felt like coming home, and certainly not like it had been nine years since we last saw each other. I have been on a date with an actor from New Orleans and we ate mufongo (some crazy Puertorican dish), and even though he was nice I decided not to go on a second date with him (let's not risk awkward kissing when it's not wanted). I have bought a bike that is very pretty, but uncomfortable. It has a banana seat and is blue with strategically placed flowers. My friend Elisabeth and her boyfriend Finn have visited me (thanks for being good people!). I was sick with the flu and colds before and after for more than three weeks in the beginning of my stay here. I have joined New York Sports Club and actually worked out there. I have seen The Color Purple on Broadway and been to the Metropolitan Opera twice.

First I lived i Bushwick/East Williamsburg - where Hipsters meet G's in Brooklyn. There I had windows and a closet made to fit giants, but a regular size bed that hurt my back. After a while I found it more reasonable relocating, even though I didn't want to leave my roommates and the area I had gotten to know. There were stores with healthy food there, graffiti on the roof, piano rehearsals in the living room, cocktails for any occasions, a café in the building and a library I frequented (and ended up owing $79 due to unfortunate conditions after having left books, DVD-s and CD-s for my old roommates to turn in, which they forgot to do). Living in an old sewing factory is not for everyone, especially not for those of us who get ill when the indoor temperature is below 15 degrees Centigrade and don't need cat hair in their system. Crying in a cab I left for West Harlem where I now reside.

I now live with Victoria who is never home, and for the four last days I haven't been either. I have stayed in East Harlem with Martha, Gisken, Sigrun and Helle, originally because I was to go with Martha to an exotic place to do research for her final exam in Photo Journalism, but after that it was just such a nice place to stay (even though they hardly ever brought me breakfast in bed... Thanks for the cheese dip and chips, Sigg.) and I just kept on sleeping over. Nice thing to do after all these years of serious need-to-get-home-and-sleep-in-my-own-bed-business. We have eaten out at a fantastic Mexican place twice, gone to the exotic place I will tell you about when Martha has gotten her exam back, eaten Senegalese food with Gisk on 116th street (yummy!), shopped panties on hangers, cheese with cumen/caraway (karve), eaten ice cream, seen a few films (Atonement and Dr. Strangelove), eaten duck in sweet sauce, gone to the house of a family Martha interviewed in Brooklyn, received free whisky-drinks at a BK-bar where I stole toy soldiers from the counter and plastic shot glasses with a rope to hang around your neck for easy access when in need of a shot. I also stole a bucket from somebody's artpiece, but I found it most important to use it as a hat (you can also give people the finger through the bottom of it).

Today I have not yet studied for my three final exams coming up, but I have sat in Central park contemplating. I don't fully understand why it is we must leave New York. This summer will be spent working in a dark bar earning money for my next escapades abroad. What a life I lead. Remember that I want to live peacefully on the countryside when I grow up. Later I will tell you more about what I have done here in NY, what I wish to do before I leave, what I will be doing on our trip to Florida and whatever I feel like, GOSH.

Steamy Whopper (She's)

My opening statements below (that whole post explaining whatever it is I explain) are quite Solveig, I guess. Didn't realize I had such a drive for explanations; it's like I believe it's needed, I suppose. In Norwegian the term "forklaringsbehov" would according to my own view of this tendency to explain not be suitable (but it is a nice word). I don't explain myself all that often. I just explain. Like now--yet another explanation.

I went swimming today again! First I was taught smart things to do with dumbbells and such, and I liked it. It was a complimentary hang-out with Mr. Personal Trainer Jason, and it was nice. He asked me what my main goals were, so I said condition. Anything else? "Yes, coming here." I'm not sure that was an option. When I joined the gym a week ago, this other guy asked me the same question, filling out my profile on his computer. I said that I'd like to improve my condition, but that sure wasn't an option (that's just Norwenglish), so I chose strength as my main focus. Did I totally forget that I'm going to walk the beaches of Florida in 5 weeks? And I call myself a woman?

At this gym they have a steam room, and I like being in there for a while, giving my airways a pat on the back of the nose for acting somewhat normal again. I lay down and just breathed and relaxed. I forgot for a moment that I'm in the City; in the Melting Pot; in this busy little place on earth where Native Americans once ruled, and people with money now rule. Celebrities are just maggots in the Big Apple, like the rest of us. I was lying there having my own little steam party; I just was. I forgot to think that I should relax; I just had.

Is this it? It's hard to explain!

First of all, you guys: I'm going to write this thing of mine in English. Whyyyyyy? Well, why not? I know English and so do you, and had I written in Norwegian you might not have understood me all that well anyway. I'd probably turn my North-Norwegian accent up a few notches now and then (because that's just what I do sometimes), and all would be lost in translation to søring, trønder, English or Spanish.

Second of all, my dear audience: Why this, and why now? The answer to this is yet another question: Have you seen any pictures or read anything that were products of my time spent here in New York? That's what I thought; not very much. I am sorry, and I probably love you.

So when do I start telling you about life in New York? Not now I guess, but probably soon, as I should be working on my philosophy midterm (sounds better than "ex.phil.-oppgave", doesn't it?), but as a true procrastinator I'll probably escape to this thing every now and then. Aaaaaah, us grown-ups--not so responsible, are we?

Now that we have these things settled I shall have a couple of things said in the end, just to clear things up further. That is on the issue of pictures. Yes, I use a crappy cell phone camera, and no, I don't use Photoshop to make myself or anything else pretty. One day I will march down to B&H and buy me a real nice camera, but until then my two mega pixel Sony Ericsson camera will do.