Jeg småløp i det kalde regnet. Paraplyen i den ene handen, vesken i den andre. Tre kvarter til bussen går. Jeg kan gå hjem på tre kvarter. Når jeg går inn døren til den lille stampuben bølger den deilige varmen seg mot meg.
- En øl, takk, sier jeg, og legger en tohundrelapp og legitimasjonen på bardisken.
Bartenderen kikker skeptisk på meg og smiler lurt.
- Large or small?
- Eh, small please, svarer jeg, noe overrasket over at hun snakker engelsk.
Nok et smil. Mens jeg undrer meg over hvorfor hun smiler så lurt, tapper hun 0,4 l med øl, setter det på disken, og plukker opp legitimasjonen. En noe merkelig rekkefølge tenker jeg. Når hun ser at jeg er tjuetreår og ni måneder, minus to dager, plukker hun opp tohundrelappen, slår inn ølet, og gir meg vekslepengene.
Skinnsetet føles klamt under baken. Selv på den korte veien fra kinoen og bort til puben rakk jeg å bli våt. Det er først da jeg tar den første supen øl jeg kjenner hvor tørst jeg var. Den kalde ølen føles godt innvendig, forfriskende og beroligende. En fin måte å avslutte en ellers hektisk helg på.
Det er nesten tomt i baren. Foruten bartenderen, en sorthåret kvinne i midten av tjueårene med italienske trekk og et noe strengt blikk, sitter det en mann borti baren. De snakker sammen med en blanding av norsk og engelsk. Han drikker ikke, så han jobber der sikkert han også, tenker jeg for meg selv. For hvem sitter vel på en pub uten å drikke?
Etter et par minutt kommer det en mørkhudet mann inn, luen godt plantet på toppen av hodet. Han går sporenstreks bort til baren og bestiller seg en stor øl. Med ølen godt plassert i hånden, setter han seg to bord bortenfor meg, med ryggen til.
Merkelig hvordan regnet gjør alle så kalde.
Den gylne væsken minker som sanden i et timeglass. Jeg må snart gå, tenker jeg. Ute er det mørkt. Regnet pisker på ruten, som en trussel om hva som venter meg.
mandag 8. desember 2008
torsdag 4. desember 2008
How do you go about when you want to start writing a short story?
I thing this is really difficult, but I still want to try it out, to see if I am capable of writing a short story, and eventually maybe a novel.
Previously I have written poems and ideas that have not proven themselves long enough or good enough to make out even a short story. But I think this is because I have doubted myself in the past, and because I have always been under the impression that I do not have what it takes. Luckily I think otherwise now. Or, at least: now I know that I can not know if I am good at anything until I have tried. Besides: everybody needs practise! :)
First and foremost I will sketch down my ideas. Secondly I will have to look up words to see if I have written them correctly. I know I probably have a lot of writing errors at the moment, but I will get better i time, I promise - right now I'm kinda like Bambi On Ice. Hopefully I will turn into Sonia Henie on Ice eventually.
Take care.
Previously I have written poems and ideas that have not proven themselves long enough or good enough to make out even a short story. But I think this is because I have doubted myself in the past, and because I have always been under the impression that I do not have what it takes. Luckily I think otherwise now. Or, at least: now I know that I can not know if I am good at anything until I have tried. Besides: everybody needs practise! :)
First and foremost I will sketch down my ideas. Secondly I will have to look up words to see if I have written them correctly. I know I probably have a lot of writing errors at the moment, but I will get better i time, I promise - right now I'm kinda like Bambi On Ice. Hopefully I will turn into Sonia Henie on Ice eventually.
Take care.
To Fall Or Not To Fall.
Maybe I should tell you about the time I got my scar. I have a scar on my forehead, almost shaped as a bolt of lightning - a la Harry Potter - that I got about three years ago. It happened the first time I went on a date with the love of my life. It was also the first time I met his parents.
At this time my brother was living with my now-boyfriends sister. They were an item, as you say. We were all invitet to a double birthday-party for my now-boyfriends uncle and aunt. I guess I was a bit nervous, because I drank a bit more than my body could handle (wich is not really a lot, since I am only 1,5 m and at the time 47 kg). This was embarresing enough, considering it was my first meeting with not only his parents, but also the rest of his family on his mothers side(and it is a large family).
My brother, his girlfriend and my now-boyfriend decided to bring me back to my brothers appartement after I started feeling ill. Safely (or so they thought) tucked in, they went back to the party to help clean up.
When they came back, I had vanished! The door was locked, my shoes and skirt were still there, and mu purse with all it's content was on the floor besides the bed. The only thing left of me was a pile of blod outside the window. No-one knew where I was.
Apparently I had fallen out the window. How this happened no-one knows. Maybe I fell asleep sitting in the wondow. Mayby I leaned over to much opening it. I don't know. The next thing I remember is laying in the emergency room with a cute doctor stitching me up. My memories come in flashes. So the next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed alone, craving coffee! So there I went, bloody and halv naked (with those cute hospital gowns showing everyone your rear end - hihi) throug the silent halls (this was in the middle of the night) searching for someone who could bring me coffee. Haha. I found someone in the end. She told me to go back to bed, and she would bring me my coffee and my medicine.
Funny the things you remember when you have a concussion. I did not remember my name, or what my mothers name was. But I remembered what kind of medicine i needed. And my ID-number. Fortunately (or unfortunately for them) I met a person while forced to wait for the ambulance (yes - I thought I did not need any help) who could identify me. So they got my name. This was lucky, because if they had not gotten it, there would be no way for my mother (who my brother called emediately after not finding me where he left me) to find out that I was in a hospital.
But she did, and she took the first ferry (haha) along with my uncle, and they came and brought me home. I was just happy to get out of there, but in retrospect I realize that it was probably not a good idea considering that I had a severe concussion. Luckily my mother knew how to handle the situation.
Ok. The next few days I was in a lot of pain. (Not so weird, since I fell 3-4 metres and my forehead took most of the fall!) But my mood was surprisingly good. And I remember the day my stitches were going off, I told my mother - "I hope it looks like a bolt of lightning!" And what do you know - it did! :)
So that is the story of how I got the scar in my forehead. I actually love it :) It is a constant reminder of the fact that you have to live when you are still here - don't but things on hold!
Many good things came out of this (embarresing) accident. I fell (litteraly haha) in love with the love of my life, I learned that his parents are two of the nicest people in the world, and most of all - I learned that life is short, and you never know how and when it is going to end.
So live in the moment, and don't look back at the things you did wrong, but learn from them and use them as experiences to guide yourself in the right direction during the rest of your life.
:)
At this time my brother was living with my now-boyfriends sister. They were an item, as you say. We were all invitet to a double birthday-party for my now-boyfriends uncle and aunt. I guess I was a bit nervous, because I drank a bit more than my body could handle (wich is not really a lot, since I am only 1,5 m and at the time 47 kg). This was embarresing enough, considering it was my first meeting with not only his parents, but also the rest of his family on his mothers side(and it is a large family).
My brother, his girlfriend and my now-boyfriend decided to bring me back to my brothers appartement after I started feeling ill. Safely (or so they thought) tucked in, they went back to the party to help clean up.
When they came back, I had vanished! The door was locked, my shoes and skirt were still there, and mu purse with all it's content was on the floor besides the bed. The only thing left of me was a pile of blod outside the window. No-one knew where I was.
Apparently I had fallen out the window. How this happened no-one knows. Maybe I fell asleep sitting in the wondow. Mayby I leaned over to much opening it. I don't know. The next thing I remember is laying in the emergency room with a cute doctor stitching me up. My memories come in flashes. So the next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed alone, craving coffee! So there I went, bloody and halv naked (with those cute hospital gowns showing everyone your rear end - hihi) throug the silent halls (this was in the middle of the night) searching for someone who could bring me coffee. Haha. I found someone in the end. She told me to go back to bed, and she would bring me my coffee and my medicine.
Funny the things you remember when you have a concussion. I did not remember my name, or what my mothers name was. But I remembered what kind of medicine i needed. And my ID-number. Fortunately (or unfortunately for them) I met a person while forced to wait for the ambulance (yes - I thought I did not need any help) who could identify me. So they got my name. This was lucky, because if they had not gotten it, there would be no way for my mother (who my brother called emediately after not finding me where he left me) to find out that I was in a hospital.
But she did, and she took the first ferry (haha) along with my uncle, and they came and brought me home. I was just happy to get out of there, but in retrospect I realize that it was probably not a good idea considering that I had a severe concussion. Luckily my mother knew how to handle the situation.
Ok. The next few days I was in a lot of pain. (Not so weird, since I fell 3-4 metres and my forehead took most of the fall!) But my mood was surprisingly good. And I remember the day my stitches were going off, I told my mother - "I hope it looks like a bolt of lightning!" And what do you know - it did! :)
So that is the story of how I got the scar in my forehead. I actually love it :) It is a constant reminder of the fact that you have to live when you are still here - don't but things on hold!
Many good things came out of this (embarresing) accident. I fell (litteraly haha) in love with the love of my life, I learned that his parents are two of the nicest people in the world, and most of all - I learned that life is short, and you never know how and when it is going to end.
So live in the moment, and don't look back at the things you did wrong, but learn from them and use them as experiences to guide yourself in the right direction during the rest of your life.
:)
Scary.
It is quite scary to write in a language I have not used in a while. I feel like there is av vail surrounding my creativity, and I really can't come up with anything interesting to write. I feel like everything I write comes out wrong. Maybe I just put to much pressure on myself. I hate writing words wrong, but I am aware of the fact that I have a lot of mis-spelling at the moment. So please, bare with me for a while. And feel very free to comment my faults. I really need it, if I am to become at all a desent english-writer.
onsdag 3. desember 2008
Personal bloggers usually take pride in their blog posts, even if their blog is never read by anyone but them.
True, isn't it? This is the first post to my new blog here at blogspot.com. I have yet to decide what it will be used as, but I do know that this will be a personal blog.
First and foremost this blog is for me. I really like writing in english. I used to write OK, but now I realise that I have forgotten a lot. This, I think, has two reasons: First of all I have not written anything in english the last four years. And three years ago I fell, heavily, an got a concussion; with the result of a small case og amnesia.
Therefore I think a blog written in english is the perfect way for me to remember what I once learned. And for me to learn new ways of writing.
First and foremost this blog is for me. I really like writing in english. I used to write OK, but now I realise that I have forgotten a lot. This, I think, has two reasons: First of all I have not written anything in english the last four years. And three years ago I fell, heavily, an got a concussion; with the result of a small case og amnesia.
Therefore I think a blog written in english is the perfect way for me to remember what I once learned. And for me to learn new ways of writing.
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