Category Archives: That feeling

I want summer love

Not necessarily for me, although that would be fun, but certainly for at least four people I know. I could up that to ten, too.

Midsummer is closing in, and I’m in a hopelessly romantic mood. I think that might be why I detest midsummer. 

Good night! 

The birds are up, and I’m off to bed with a smile on my face and a can of Urge in my stomach. Good afternoon, evening and night! 

Não me deixes à porta da escolar – Luisa Sobral

I love this song, and this would have been me back when. If I could write a song about it.
And here is the google translate version, with a few alterations:

Do not leave me at the school door
They will stay watching
And I am a discreet girl
I like entering without anyone noticing
You can stay across the street.
Where no one sees you
And so they think I came by bus
Or maybe even walked
But you also do not call me
The names of the house
These are just for us
I’m  Maria at school
Mimi is only for grandparents

And so coming to an end
I ask the most important
Back to doing everything the same
When I’m already big
But until then do not call me
The names of the house
These are just for us
I’m  Maria at school
Mimi is only for the grandparents.


A day in my life

Today I’m having a long day. First, I’m going to work for eight hours, and then it’s off to the theatre for rehearsals.


Sitting at my desk, doing this and that, writing, talking on the phone. 

View from my desk. And my fibonacci spiral.


Lunch! Absolutely necessary at this point. 


Meeting. It’s cold and I’m hugging my cup of coffee. When in not writing, talking or taking a photo of it. 

My coffee


I’ve just order my sushi dinner and am on the bus travelling downtown. 

Waiting for the bus

The wheels on the bus go round and round

The hospital


Dinner time!


Queuing for mic


New, wet shoes


Ready for action


Food, water, new costume


Patiently waiting for my great entrance


15 minutes break!

Makeup between scenes

An empty stage

Newly sharpened pencil, ready for audition scene!


Relaxing between scenes


Off with the makeup!


Breathing fresh air again!


Hitting the shower


Feeding Little Black Missy twice.


Don’t let the bed bugs bite!


Sometimes I wonder if I would pursue a career as an actor if I could live again and make other choices. And I suspect the answer is “maybe”

I’m a horrible writer

Or I write horrible stories. Is there a difference?  I think there is.

It’s interesting. I’m usually writing stuff I come up with myself. I don’t ever run my prompts by anyone, and thus I write what’s in my brain. I’ve never said my brain was brilliant. It has some dark nooks and  crannies, and I love to explore feelings. If that is what makes my stories horrible, so be it. I’m far more worried if I’m a crappy writer as well. 


How come I feel like I’m a floating island? 

When I’m anchored, I’m just like the solid land. You can’t see difference in the grass growing on me or on the neighbour. 

But then my anchors are cut, and I start to drift. 

Maybe we all are islands? 

If only things were simple…

For instance; if I have a toothache, let it be a toothache, and not a whole bunch of other symptoms from muscles and nerves connected to the jaw (a touch of irritable trigeminus, I’m afraid😐). But because this is me, it’s boring to be simple and straight forward. 

Life’s default mode should be “simple”. That’s not boring. It’s practical. I don’t know why that particular memo didn’t reach the ones in charge.

Skirt fail! (Toilet fail)

I’m a big girl. Haven’t soiled myself in ages. I know every way to sit on the loo without getting anything in the way, including long and billowing dresses and stupidly long scarfs. Until today. 

I found a skirt I han forgotten I owned, and put it on, happy as a clam. I’m not sure how it happened, but the skirt was of the wider description and knee length, if that has anything to do with anything. 

Anyway, I sat on the bog, did my business, and when I went in to wipe, I saw the black curtain of horror. I don’t know how I got it out off the toilet and off me without getting as much as a drop on myself, the toilet or the floor. Quite impressed by self, actually. I don’t think I weed on it, but rather dipped it in the water. Disgusting no matter what. 

Oh well. Made for a little story of my lack of control, at least. And I’ve learned my lesson. Hopefully. 

Fuck you!

Sometimes I just leer at the mirror and mumble *fuck you*
And the mirror hurls back “As if!”


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