K-Blog

an anniversary not worth remembering but that I will not allow myself to forget. And with that, thoughts of revenge. I have already had it. Revenge is underrated though. personal pride and stubbornness. In favor of making things work out for the best. I think I am growing. And my staff with me. yet another anniversary, that I have promised not to blog about. I didn't. But I felt it passing. filters. I seem to be getting tougher. Like an onion stripped layer by layer, we merely become more what we already are. My eyes water, but I think I like this scent.

Ok, I'm squiffy. On a Tuesday. So stab me. I had a few drinks post-work with a friend and now here I am, innocently following a link on FB to answer user surveys* *giggles* *and my squiffy answers are just as surreal as *their* badly translated questions =)

I grew up in the countryside. As in a place with < 2000 inhabitants. Our house was the last house (on our side of the road ) before the fields meet the forest at the horizon. In front of the house were more fields and a long winding gravel "road" known as "hundevejen", where people would walk their dogs. "Hundevejen" was also our playground. I remember bike-racing there, parking the bikes at the side of the road to stop at a little bunker, where we whispered in hushed voices about dead men coming back to haunt the place. The bunker was basically just a concrete cube with no lid, always filled with black, stagnant water, but it was easy to imagine drowning there and pretending to see white bones poking out of the water. I can't remember what games we played but I remember lowering myself into the concrete hole once, heart hammering. I think it was a dare. Anyway; I'm digressing here. Thing is. I remember the feeling of this "Hundevej...

What's up with The Fall ???? Referring to Norah Jones' latest album here, not Tarsem Singhs' brilliant visual orgasm of a masterpiece movie . I am so disappointed. Sounds like she has been put through the mainstream-synthpop-overproduced-alienating-dreamy-overfiltered-voice-machine. What happened to her very personal, intimate sound ? This album seems lifeless to me. And plain sad, at best, not her usual melancholic-quirky. I miss her little intakes of breath and her very presence, it sounds like she's been cloned and polished to death. Hell, I prefer her charming out-of-tune whistling to this.

that I am terribly distracted these days. I surprise even myself. And I once found a bottle of shampoo in the freezer,  thus knowing perfectly well, where to find the whole chicken that I expected to find in there. Perched on the edge of the bathtub =). I am working a lot these days. Too much. I have plenty of leisure time but I seem to do nothing with it, and so it seems I do nothing but work. I work eve

Showering and getting kissed by rays of sunshine through hot-water-vapours. Time slows down and looks the other way.

I was very much in love. And the Valentines Day of two years ago, was the last one I spent as part of a couple. I looked for a blog-post of mine from that day, but it wasn't there. I did find a Love Letter from February 19th, addressed to the guy I was in love with, and initially, it surprised me. Not that I wrote the love letter, but that I *didn't* write about the Valentines Day he gave to me. Thinking about it now, I know perfectly well why I didn't write about it. Bear with me; here goes. He flew to Italy from Denmark, carrying a hundred red roses and a bottle of champagne. He had booked a table in one of the fanciest restaurants of Florence and had the champagne poured and the roses brought, just as we sat down at our table. There was also musicians and everybody's eyes were on us, and the lucky girl that received such lavish attention from her man. An American couple was taking our picture (he exchanged emails with them so that they might send the pictures)...

Haven't had a Sunday to myself for a long time now. Slow awakening in pink light through my curtains, sunshine and scent of coffee in my tiny kitchen, little green buds on all my plants, proof that they too, are thriving here. Bikeride with favourite music in my ears, salty air, as I arrive at the ocean and ravishing hunger when I get back in. Cold white wine to hot, hot soup and crisp bacon. Movie on the couch and little catnap as movie fails to entertain me. Then more coffee and music as I shower; I'm off to hear jazz with friend later. What a perfect specimen of a Sunday. I am slowly, slowly relaxing again; building my little home.

It's one of those nights again . And it is so clichè that it bores even me. But it seems that it takes one of these nights to make me sit down (because I can't sleep and have nothing else to do) and finally write something. I had loads of blog-material, loads of moments and stuff to write about, but I sort of got bored before I ever got to post it. It all seemed static noise or meaningless chatter. Fact is, I haven't had time to sit down and write a meaningful post, or that it hasn't been important enough for me to do it. I am living and I am finding my feet again. My core again, actually, but I'll come back to that in another post. I have moved twice since October and hopefully for the last time in a looooong time. I moved away from NV due to circumstances out of my control * the first time, and got a sublease in a wonderful place on Vesterbro. I actually had a piano and a chandelier for a month and a half. I wanted to get pictures taken of me in an evening dre...