(First published Sep. 23, 2010) Sunday mornings are made for comfy sweats, long brunches and thick newspapers. I don’t have the right book at hand, so I quote loosely: “For six days thou shall bust thy back, but on the seventh day thou shall kick back and not do any work” – or words to…
January. On the horizon I see the dawning of a year where I get to do stuff I don’t know the first thing about. Like scripting a play! Or a comic story! Maintaining the good ol’ blog might very well become the most sane and comforting writing I can do. So here goes.
Badevekten er i kaldt børstet stål, med digitale tall. Det inngir unektelig en viss seriøsitet. En aura av teknisk overlegenhet og tysk presisjon. Jeg kan ikke huske hvor mye jeg betalte for den. Men jeg tenker på den som dyr. Det er derfor ekstra skuffende at vidunderet nå avslører tegn til materialtretthet. Den viser konstant en…
Let me drop a comment about my morning run. Not because anything of particular interest happened, but simply because it gives me the opportunity to mention it. That I went for a run. In the AM. If this was Facebook, I could have posted a snapshot of the sunrise, along with the caption ”Splendid running…
La meg raskt nevne morgenens løpetur. Ikke fordi det skjedde noe spesielt, men fordi det ga meg sjansen til å si det. At jeg tok en løpetur. Tidlig om morgenen. På Facebook kunne jeg postet et bilde av soloppgangen med bildetekst “Fine løpeforhold klokka fem i dag!” Sånt gjør nemlig Face-vennene mine. Kontaktlisten min er…
Moving someplace totally new is a funny thing. At first you notice everything that is different, from strange-looking birds to unfamiliar store brands. Then, gradually, you build your routines and before long you think you got it all covered. But every now and then, something pops up to bite you in the ass and remind…
The glossy magazines are fronting tape measures and diet food. So, it’s January and payback time and we all have different ways of coping. Some, like me, spend a lot of time looking for someone to blame; One spends some glorious weeks of carefree gluttony, and then one’s suddenly left with hips that barely fit…
The alarm goes off at four-thirty AM. Plenty of resourceful people despise mornings, but four-thirty hurts less than one might expect; numbing, in a merciful way. Maybe most of the nervous system is still asleep. The hours are arguable not even within the morning concept. Some start the day at this ungodly hour to squeeze…
Ever wondered about the term “social anxiety”? Not “fraternization under-achievement”, or “network procrastination”, or even “interaction unwillingness”. But raw anxiety. It’s a diagnosis, I’ve looked it up, and I hereby claim it. It’s the cape I scramble under to hide the other mentioned terms. The encyclopedic elaboration of the term “Social anxiety” is long and…
Sunday mornings are made for comfy sweats, long brunches and thick newspapers. I don’t have the right book at hand, so I quote loosely: “For six days thou shall bust thy back, but on the seventh day thou shall kick back and not do any work” – or words to that effect. The background being…
Blog of Trifles 