Some things I find amusing about my cats

- How the Knit hugs the water glass when he drinks
- That he prefers his water from a glass, not a bowl
- That the Milo brings me toys
- That they seem to view me using the bathroom as entertainment. I keep expecting them to bring popcorn.
- That the fat one is the one that eats the least
- The sounds they make when they see a bird outside the window
- How scared Milo gets when we're outside
- How the Knit thinks I'm just in the way when we're outside
- How they both want to lay on top of me
- How they run around when I change the sheets
- Milo's screaming
- The Knit's insistent short meow when he wants something
- How yelling the word "yumyums!" will make them come flying within a nano second
- How the Knit tries to fit into boxes half his size, boxes he'd actually fit into he has no interest in
- How Milo assumes I want to wake up at 4:30 every morning
- How they clean each other
- How they play together
- How puffy their cheeks are
- That they both know how to play fetch
- How they both understand the command of "sit"
- How Milo watches TV
- How they sit just out of reach when I want to pet them
- How the Milo skids across the floor

A while ago

I remember pale spring mornings with the sun beating my eyes without mercy. I kept them closed. 

I'm always in the wrong season.

Is it possible to sum up this year when what I've really learnt is that everything can change over the course of a day?

I loved those pale spring mornings. In summer, I will remember these bleak Arctic cold days fondly. 

I'm always in the wrong season and there's no better place to be.

Those two words turned out to be the same

Trust, Middle English truste (“trust, protection”) from Old Norse traust (“confidence, help, protection”), which is now Tröst.

I find tröst in one I trust

Thank you for the protection, confidence and help.

I second that motion

♥♥ Happy Birthday, Knit! ♥♥

One fall day in 2003 I saw a bunch of kittens jumping around, round bellies and triangular tails, by the outside building. Of course I had to go over there with some food and of course only one kitten was brave (or hungry) enough to come out. He was laying on the paper plate, arms stretched out, growling as he was eating. I couldn't help but pet him, and later on pick him up, just a litte bit to see what it was like... I could feel every bone and he reminded me of a small bird. Later that night he was found again. In the drive way, meaning he crossed the whole yard, wobbling. He couldn't even walk like a real cat yet. I was just going to let him stay in the house over the night, after all he was very tiny and the night could be quite chilly. But when I came down to the drive way he was nowhere to be found! I looked under the cars, checked the grass, and then I looked down by my foot, and there he was. My wonderful little Snowball. My intention really was to let him back outside the next day, but by that time his mother was gone, the other kittens were still there, but he was much smaller than them. Only weighing 125 grams he needed me almost as much as I needed him.

It's been seven years, he's all grown up but he's still my baby Knit. Have a happy birthday you marvellous thing!

The want list part 2.5

I wasn't going to surf the entire Internet to make another full list so soon, but stumbled across this, and as it has only been about a day since the last list, I'll just add this. C'est muy nice.

The want list part deux

First, something simple, like a perfect cup of coffee.

Then as it didn't make the other post, that panda umbrella.

Checkered floors. Yep, I'll take the staircase too. But maybe not the rug.

Supershiny hair. Major want.

Nice deep windows. Not necessarily as churchy as this one. I'll take it though.

A red coat. I know, I say it every year, one of these days I'll actually get one too. Come on colder weather, I want you, badly.

Hair clip thingies. I think they're cute.

Owl necklace. You know you want it too.

Plus some other stuff that's not very appropriate to put in a blogpost.

The state of things

Other person: You are overanalysing things that I neither know about nor care about
Molly: What the hell, you don't care about every winding corner of my mind? I have to make a passive agressive blogpost about this

Consider it done.

Slight information

I'll return with more. I promise. Just need a bit. Thank you for your patience.

Today

Today I smell like sunshine, I'm blinded by the heat and the birds will need a speech therapist if they keep this up. With all that, this comes to mind



Don't worry, love, I get the irony. Especially as irony is the love of my life.

On the topic of love, for Molly

The other week my professor going on about the different ways to comparatively relate to the I in the text and the rest. It goes something like "The I and the world", "The I and the I", "The I and the language" and the "I and ideals". I can't quite remember because I didn't fully agree, a bad tendency I have is to not always listen when I don't agree. But either way they can be applied to other arenas as well. Today for instance, this post is "The I and the I and the you". But more honestly "The I and the I", because what I feel is something that I hold myself, and can't really be shared. That doesn't necessarily mean that noone understands. There's always someone that understands, like I've said a thousand times, the worst things you can do is assume that you're that special that noone can relate to you. Neither am I. However, right this very second I'm just plain me, stripped down and emptied. Not because of lack, no no, but because I have nowhere to put it. The voids in me aren't the adequate containers, so I must turn the heat down and just simmer for a while. So rational, darling Molly, do you drown yourself in rationality when you let go of all other things you could possibly hold on to? Yes, indeed I do. Simply because I know what's on the other side I attatch myself to the rational part like an overcooked noodle to hair. Now be quiet so I can continue being rational.

Love is when happy things make you cry, when a tickle makes you so angry you want to throw up. Love is when you know that sometimes love is not enough. Love is accepting that you can't be the air that someone breathes, the only thought, the understanding that you can't be everything to someone else. Because surely, you're not enough even for yourself, are you? Love is when you pout because you ruined your own suprise, just because you know someone well enough to know when they're planning a surprise. Love is being able to pout, but also being able to give something up for someone else. Love doesn't complete you, it doesn't make you whole, it's simply the water when you're thirsty, but once that desire is satisfied it's due to come back. What might have seemed like a wind up doll gets worn out and you must try harder, and the harder you try the bigger your perspective gets, and those details aren't only details but the essence of the life you built. Together.

Later, you'll find that for some reason the building blocks started to crack, way down there in the foundation, while you were piddling on top so you must dive down, deep under the sea to see to them. In doing that, someone must stay at the surface to make sure the whole building doesn't collapse. No more sorting the very top then. Even if not in the same place the same goal is at sight, even when it might not feel like it when you have your head buried in the sand.

Even though it's hard to, you're able to, you have to as failure is not an option. I don't fail. I fall down and break bones, but only because it's part of the game. And while I see other constallations just starting, others thriving, some treading carefully, some one sided, some including lies, I avoid looking at myself and just what it is that I have. Or had. Or will have. That is something I do in fact have at the moment, past tense, present and futurum. Basically life and love are grammatical errors about timing and chances.

It's all texts and textures, interchangeable but irreplacable. So maybe later, one day you'll help me change the textiles, I can't quite reach myself, and I know you don't like me climbing on stuff, you know, due to my tendency to fall down.

How to write an essay about beauty

I swear I'll come out of this as a wiser person, but right now I don't know how to turn it sideways to see the back so I can start from the top. So this is the actionplan.

1.) Visit my friend Google, type in "beauty" and spend 2 and a half hours going through the image results.

2.) Ponder why naked women seem to be the main result of said search.

3.) Try to actually find an image that's representative, one that makes a Molly go "whoa".

4.) Repeat step 3.

5.) Repeat step 3.

6.) Begin to seriously doubt the superiority of Google's abilities.

7.) Go make a cup of tea

8.) Pick another picture, after regoogling and use it on the blog.

9.) Decide to work on the essay at another time.

It's no good but that's ok

There's this tendency I have, to look at things from a different perspective which in extension makes me rather pretentious, not use the term stuck up. But I'm not. I just lack the attentionspan and intrest in pitiful issues. I concern myself with the compliexity rather than a straight forward answer, often, once you look at a problem from different angles it turns out you had the answer all the time, you just didn't look at it the right way.

The practical concequences of this is that when you talk to me I might seem aloof and uninterested, and with that comes intimidating. That always suprises me a bit, I try to listen, and then tell you what it is that I hear from an idealistic perspective. You're babbling uncontrolably, I see that you lack structure, and if you seem uncomfortable with that I try to help you find a structure, if you seem happy with it, I try to encourage you to hold on to the float. I can't do that if you're snowed in on the detail of that your bookcase is too far to the left. It's a sifting function, I'm a tool for you to pour unfiltered words through and hopefully I can help you come up with a plan or an explaination in the other end.

At the same time it demands something too. You have to have the mental ability to hear what I'm saying when I reply, and you have to have the ability to move on. I've seen plenty of good people being too stuck in the past. Moving on creates an identity crisis, not in all a very vast one, but unless you understand that moving on changes you, you're not a fixed being, and accepting what you become can be difficult. It's not even sure that you even like the person you're transforming into.

We all identify ourselves with different pin pointed areas in ourselves. Things that don't require much power of thought. When meeting new people, what do they usually ask? Those questions are indicators of what we judge people by, your age, your marital status, your housing arrangement. When you're a child it's fairly easy, "what's your favorite colour, your favorite toy, your favorite game?" the older we get and the more life didn't turn out as simple as we had hoped every answer to the question of "how old are you, what do you do, are you married, do you have children?" also reflect a choice we made, or a choice we weren't allowed to make and the answers can become full of guilt and drowned dreams. Even though we're asked the same thing! Compare, how do you react to a 17 year old that's 8 months pregnant to a 37 year old that's 8 months along. Are they similar people, are they able to share the same experiance?

Conditions change, and our idea of ourselves should change accordingly. With everything external being transient it's even more important to know who you are in your core, who you are when you can't answer the polite questions asked. You should be able to identify yourself without measurable indicators. Who's the director without the job? Who's the housewife without the family? Who's the 90 year old without an age?

So, basically, if you define your identity less by these external easy to tell factors, and see who you are without them, the transition from one group to another won't be so difficult. Not even the argumen of "when I look in the mirror I don't recognize myself" holds up as you age, you always look slightly different, you experianced it when you went through puberty as well, didn't you? The expectation can't be to be stagnant, but always evolving and changing. And that the only thing constant is change is hardly a new concept.

What I'm trying to get at is that when it feels like the whole world is collapsing around you and you can't use the same indicators to shape an identity, please remember that those things never added to who you were in the first place.

This about having dreams.

I don't remember the exact words, but it went something like this
Spongebob: I had dreams, once
Mr Krab: So what, I had kidney stones once, everything passes.
It's so delicously subtle, the two different kind of people in this world. Those who are focused on the practical aspects of life and those focused on things more theoretical and abstract. For what is a dream? It's something we don't have yet, something we can lose twice.

It's rare that I wear white, and it has nothing to do with lack of innocence, the older I get and the more cynical I become I come closer to my own innocence, there's no point to hide from it. There'll always be things I don't understand and things I'm happy I don't understand. I can however see the reasoning, the events to lead up to a certain point but my cynisism will never be greater than my hope. At other times my hope is not half as grand as my desperation. That kind that latches on to my spine and sucks the marrow out of me, leaving me barren and shriveled up in a corner. How can my sarcastic view of life help me when I fail to see the obvious, the vanity in chasing dreams.

Good things come to those who wait, so I'll wait while I'm scattered, not sure what I'm waiting for, maybe to meet myself as who I was, being someone without things I've done, a scaled down version of Molly.

The want list

Some random things I want. In no particular order. Most of the things I want are excluded. I could really go for a basket of kittens at the moment though. God. How could anyone not want a basket of kittens?

Stormy weather



Pearl earrings

Pretty flowers



Basket of kittens!




Nifty fridge


Self cleaning litterbox


More books. As usual. Pointless to specify.

A dress.

Another dress.

A shoe. Though I'd probably need two.

Tree necklace.

The hat, not the model.

Nifty gloves to match the nifty fridge.


I had a picture of a panda umbrella here, but I accidently hit delete and now I'm too lazy to find it again.

Redeciding

I was going to post something positive, something happy, something snappy, something smart, but then I accidently turned the volume up on my headphones too fast, startling me just a bit too much, but fear not, I will not post about life, I will not post about death. Not about gaining or losing, I will simply post something that I think of.



....



....



....



....



My world is fairly small, in a physical way. I prefer to keep it like that. There's enough going on up here, as it is, she said pointing to her own forehead. But when you really think about it, everyone's world is pretty small. Yes, I know I shouldn't use generalizations, but surely, you remember high school and the idea of that it was a controlable universe. Nothing is controlable. It's hardly even a matter of control, it's a matter of illusion and tricks.

When your hair is laying the way you want it, are you controling or managing it? If you were truly in control it'd go back into that shape next time you wash it and let it airdry. Did your pet sit down before being served dinner? It did because it does the same thing to you, it knows that sitting down at the appropiate time will make you put the food down. Who's the controlled one?

As long as there's no physical violence or force involved we can't actually control anything at all. It's a matter of who wants it more, and even then the one being controlled can remain being in control when it doesn't want to make hard decisions, ever been told "I don't know, you decide"?

When it comes to minds there is no real control. There's no way of telling how others, or yourself for that matter, will react to a given situation or scenario. So what's better is to just manage. Noone will do as I say unless I make it the more favourable option. Being able to offer something in return.

Welcome to a new semester at the university

One might think that the stress of seminars, presentations, exams and finals are the biggest issues while being a student at a university. I beg to differ, the real test is to reactivate your migrated student account, find your classes in a list, find the literature list and in which hall registration is. If you manage to do that without your bloodpressure exploding, or head imploding or your soul becoming a pittoresque illusion of lollipops and candydrops fallen in a pool of stinging jellyfish you're pretty much ready for the carpooling lane on a busy highway. They don't really need applications do they? Just a general link where you have to navigate a website bigger than the Chinese black market for counterfeit sportsgoods. Those who actually manage to show up for the registration in the right room, on the right day, at the right time, with the right books and with your (semi)sanity intact should get automatic As.

A half sloved riddle

Insomnia

Time is a funny thing

especially if you don't keep track of if

Daylight

Nightdark

all the same

Like that study I read about

a long time ago

I laughed at it
Like so many other things,

rythm of sleep changing
without clocks.

Yeah, that's what it said.
Now I know not to laugh -

time is not a thing

Time is the space that passes

between phonecalls

and texts

"Are you alright?"

"What are you doing?"

"Want to do something?"

I don't know

I try to explain to them,

that it feels like I'm being lied to

And they laugh, uncomfortably

like I did with that study

I wish I could find it again

I think it was conducted in

hm, a cave

My memory might fail me,

it's been such a long time.

At least ten thousand

phonecalls ago

Like a rebel, with a trustfund

I question society's rules

growling
Saw a documentary

about an artist, he said:

"Parades make me sad,

I'm such an outsider

and this expression

of belonging makes it
feel worse. Like

I'll never belong"

I didn't laugh this time

My cat asked for food

I'd never forget to feed

them,

They don't care about

time.

Still they remind me of it,

with their hunger

and excraments

I wonder if it'd be

even worse

Maybe without them

I'd know how to answer

"What are you doing?"

"How are you?"

"Want to do something?"

I'd always answer no

I'm not doing anything -

nothing I put my mind to

I'd really like to find that study.

It irks me that I can't.

It spoke to the history in me

of owning the hours.

Daydark

Nightlight

Like watching life is watching

shadows

"Going through the motions"

it's not the industrial era

not anymore

What makes me a better person

to be up at dawn?

I am however up with the sun

I'm up at any hour

It doesn't matter what time.

It's not jealousy

but a wish to be content

A sheer knowledge of

my time well spent.

Rebels keeping

up with their neighbours

I tried that too

the house

the car

the pets
the spouse

(not the child)

It wasn't all that bad

But time is a funny thing

Especially when you can't keep track

of morgages

of dinnertime

not even the slightest snack

Roses on wet

petal bow

Words I never said

Never went to Mallorca

or that tax free shopping boat

I like words instead

Not the perfect ones

that'd be so unlike me

but those

uneven ones

Rhyming at times

But usually I let them be
Watching like is like watching

shadows, was it Plato

that said so?

I want to see the purest

forms

Time is waiting for death

Best not keep track of it

but just be instead.

Have yourself a Molly little Christmas

I wish all of you a Merry Christmas. I suggest you spend yours like mine, cuddling cute animals, watching movies that makes you cry even though they're supposed to make you laugh and give those you care for a minute of your time. Perhaps two if they've been good.

Right now, Babe and something saffrony.

Well, congratulations.

In accordance to tradition I decided to clean my house for Christmas. The full works, washing, dusting, but mainly washing throws, blankets and such to get rid of cat hair. The drain in the laundry room was a bit clogged. No big deal. I'll fix it. Yes. I'll fix it. Three buckets of water later, I try again. How do I manage to make it worse by trying to fix it? Five buckets of water later, it must work. Well it doesn't. I'm cold. I'm wet. The house is still messy and the day is pretty much gone. Let's try again! And this time, I get down on your hands and knees and curse. Turn on the water and whine a little. Stomp around in the puddles, thinking "this could have been fun had it not been so pathetically annoying". While I'm trying to keep a cat off my back, quite literally, I scoop up the water, for the mess I've made is way beyond mopping. Oh no! The mopbucket! Water, water, everywhere water, under the shower, under the washing machine, the bucket floats by. I feel as if I'm in that poem I wrote while sitting in a guest house, the one about flying sofas and tigers.

I...just...can't...get...the...tool...far...enough...in. So I bend, I push, I grunt, I pout, I go back to the cursing. Pull some nasty goo out while I hear drip, trip, stomp, swoosh. Hello cat. A happy cat, in the misery made up from water spills and tiled floors (I should say "Thank you God for giving me tiled floors") I sigh and put the cat on top of the washing machine. I can, yes I can, hear him giggling at me. I go back to scooping water off the floor, feeling my heart sinking lower, but I will be damned to be beaten by a drain. It must work, somehow. My stubborness is mighter than my intelligence. Much mightier. So I struggle more. Try even harder, always with the same result.

I can feel the rest of the house bending in over me, the boxes, the curtains, the dishes in the sink, the piles of laundry that brought me to this in the first place, the burnt out candles, the expired milk, the dried in coffee stains, the bottles I ment to recycle, everything at once and by that I'm close to tears. It's not the drain, it's not the mess in the house, it's not the agony of having to have a nice holiday, it's my own shortcomings and trying to accept that I can't do anything I set my heart to.

I can make sense of abstract problems, but I simply cannot fix a clogged drain. (I can cure cancer, I can climb mountains) I can relate Derrida to Almqvist, but I cannot fix a clogged drain. I can avoid answering the phone for weeks, I can write a story about a lactose intolerant mouse, but I cannot fix a clogged drain. I can memorize all of In i öknen ("He clung to me like the drowning") I can train a cat to sit before dinner, I can train it to fetch, but I cannot fix a clogged drain.

I've been beaten at last. My Akilles heal. Who'd have know it'd take a drain to do it? So congratulations, world, you finally beat me.