Five Things You Shouldn't Miss

Film: "Bronson". Disturbing stuff about a man who's spent 30 years in prison, of which 25 in solitary confinement for various violent crimes, but who's (strangely enough, must add) never actually killed anyone. Based on a true story, as they go.

Book: "Lowboy" by John Wray, who's quickly becoming my favourite writer ever. Odd little story about a schizophrenic boy who goes missing on a mission to save the world from global warming. Wray has a way with words that really puts you inside the twisted minds of the people he writes about, and you kind of end up feeling a bit twisted yourself at the end of it.

Music: The Hickey Underworld, loud bunch of rock'n'rollers from Belgium, of all places. Check out their weird and beautiful video for "Blonde Fire".

Snack: I've snowed in on olives. Eat them by the jar, I do. And I'm such a philistine that I actually prefer the green, de-stoned once with the pimiento inside.

Workout: My brother got me hooked on them giant rubber bands. They look a bit crappy but they're actually dead efficient. I used his for about three minutes and my arms are still sore, three days later. I'm gonna have biceps like Arnie in a couple of weeks.

My Hobbies Include Typing, Answering Phones and Drinking Coffee.

I think I'm addicted to my job. Workaholic is the proper term, I believe.

Waking up on a monday and NOT going to work was deeply traumatic. I walked in a daze all morning, thinking about all the typing I could be doing, all the double-bookings of dates I could be solving, all the e-mails threatening people to drop them from the programme if they don't send in their texts IMMEDIATELY I could be sending and above all, all the biscuits I could be dunking in all that coffee...

It actually went so far that I bundled the Monster in the buggy and WALKED TO WORK. Considered going in, just for a minute or so, just having a quick look around, water some plants or something. But I realised that would be crossing some invisible line and then I really would never leave my lovely little glass-walled cubicle again, kid or no kid needing his mother. So I walked home again, crying a tear or two.

I miss my office. I've been a good girl, can I please come back now?

Snap-And-Swing-Auntie.

Jenny turned up unexpectedly and swung my child.

An Elephant Is Not Just For Christmas. It's For Life.

Some of my friends are really gifted people. Sonia came to visit today and brought Monster a striped elephant that she's crocheted herself! How cool is that?! She'll make a good wife one day, that pretty little lady.

Highlight of the week: the arrival of my new camera. Expect a LOT more pictures on this here dandy young blog, folks. Then again, considering I've managed to break two cameras and three web cams within the last year, don't hope for too much. It may not survive the weekend.

Last day at work tomorrow. Then off to Miriam's for a few days of tender loving stuffing our faces. I'll return fatter and well-rested.

How Do You Like Me Now?!

I just touched human poop with my bare hands, cool as a cucumber and didn't even almost puke.

Beware Of The Judder Man, My Dear, When The Moon Is Fat.

It hasn't stopped snowing for three days.

Baby Monster woke up imorally early this morning, and thus so did I. Breakfast in bed consisting of gingerbread stars and two satsumas, then up, up and away.

Stocked up on watercolours and play-doh. Who knows how long the weather will last, and I'm not an out-doorsy kinda mother when it's below freezing, thank you very much. Much stains on clothes and furniture before the day was over (note to self for next session: put newspaper down first, muppet!).

Spent the afternoon marvelling at the very small artist I gave birth to and re-reading John Wray's "Canaan's Tongue" (it's like an episode of Deadwood written by a drunken preacher who's listened way too much to the Grateful Dead and should bloody well be compulsory reading for everyone in the whole world).

It's dead quiet now. The snow has muffled the usual sounds of cars and footsteps and children playing. It's almost eerie. What sound there is outside my windows falls flat in the depth of whiteness, there's nothing for it to bounce against, just the still softness of the snow, and it lands in the white folds of winter's lap and dies like a bird.

Winter is all sadness to me. All death and no birth. No wonder people kill themselves.

Fear And Loathing In Southern Sweden.

The snow came today. It wrapped my tiny world in an all-encompassing protective white blanket, or was it a straitjacket? Does it protect me, or does it protect from me? Does it mother, or does it smother? Is it clean and white or does it just lack all colour?

I think I'm a bit depressed. Nothing excites me and all my thoughts have holes in them.

I need a haircut and a reason to go on, I need a hot young thing to keep me warm at night, I need more money and more time, I need to be younger than I am, I need to grow up and accept that life stinks and then you die, I need to realise I'm never gonna be a rockstar and I never was.

Problem is I don't wanna.

When You Were Born, So Was I.

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

- e.e. cummings

We Could Be Heroes, Just For One Day.

And Then There Was Dr. Finch

I've just read Augusten Burroughs' "Running with scissors" in one single sitting.

That book is now my best friend.

All Things Considered.

All my flowers die. They all die, and my love affairs never last.

I don't think I've ever been content and I don't think I've ever been in love.I don't have a best friend. I don't even have a particularily close friend.

I have two brothers and three sisters and I don't know anything much about them. I couldn't tell you their favourite colour, or what food they like, or what kind of books they read. They, on the other hand, probably know even less about me.

I was married once, to a man who doesn't know my real name.

When you live your life in smoke and mirrors you end up kind of lost. Thing is though, I kind of like being lost. I kind of like it that you know nothing about me that's worth knowing.

I know all of it. I know it all. I alone know. It's all mine and you can't have it.

Uh-Oh, Huh-Oh.

Now, when replying to an e-mail at work, check very carefully that you reply only to the original author and not to the entire department.

My darling colleague E doesn't always pay attention as much as needed. That's why everyone in the whole region including my bosses now know that I think the cover shot for the 2010 program is shit. (It does look like a chick giving a dude a lap dance.)

And then, as if that wasn't enough... One of the senior colleagues replied back to the whole department and made a quip about my lap dance-comment, sort of in a 'doh!-ish fashion, and I got a bit riled and replied (still to the whole region) "Hot tip to R: www.google.com" which PROBABLY didn't help my cause.

PS. I'm going to Stockholm in the morning. Very important project meeting on Monday for the very important project girl. Yeah.

Full Moon And Things That Go Bump In The Night.

I just went downstairs to bring the pram indoors, and when I opened the front door a BLOODY BAT ATTACKED ME!

Guess who screamed like a banshee? Yes, the bat. Albeit very silently with it's little bat-voice. And I did too, but more audibly.

When I say "attacked", maybe I should specify that it kind of bumped into me when I stuck my head out the door. Hit my left temple though, with could have been fatal, had it been not a bat but a heavier object like a rock or a barn owl.

I hope I don't turn in to Bela Lugosi over night. I don't think it bit me, but maybe I'm just in too much shock to have noticed the bite yet.

30 Up, 30 Down.

There's that thing going around Facebook where you're supposed to do a list of 15 books that you've read and really enjoyed.

No one's tagged me. How were they thinking? Everyone knows I'm like the most well-read person EVER. Their loss. Hmmpf.

So, on popular demand...errrhmm...here's my list:

Elle's Top 15 Jolly Good Reads:

1. The Hotel New Hampshire - John Irving
2. Don't Let's Go To The Dogs Tonight - Alexandra Fuller
3. The Rum Diary - Hunter S. Thompson
4. The God of Small Things - Arundhati Roy
5. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
6. In My Father's Court - Isaac Bashevis Singer
7. The Horrific Sufferings of the Mind Reading Monster Hercules Barefoot - Carl-Johan Vallgren
8. All Families Are Psychotic - Douglas Coupland
9. A Sweet Scent of Death - Guillermo Arriaga
10. The People's Act of Love - James Meek
11. Green Hills of Africa - Ernest Hemingway
12. Beautiful Losers - Leonard Cohen
13. Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now - Andrew Collins
14. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles - Haruki Murakami
15. Lowboy - John Wray

This is, without over-thinking, my fairly spontaneous list. That's the point, you see, it's supposed to be the first 15 good books that spring to mind. Aaaahhh...yes.
Feel free to leave your own list as a comment. I'm always on the prowl for reading tip-offs.

Next time I think I'll do a list like this, but with 15 jolly good albums. Oooh the suspense! Can you endure?!

Them Bastards Stole My Internet!

Believe it if you will, after a year and a half of surfing freely and pretty much constantly, it seems my dear neighbours in charge of the superfast little minx of a connection I've been hijacking have cottoned on to my doings.

Hence an internet-poor Elle. I can't explain how much it sucks.

I mean, books are great and all that, but really, you can't hook a webcam to a book, can you? Not even unlimited amounts of vodka in my evening cuppa cheer up my lonely nights now.

I'm too depressed to blog. I'm gonna comfort eat pfeffernüsse and cry a little.

Why My Way Is Way Better Than Your Way.

Lazy people bring the world forward.
Think about it...

Always hire a lazy person. A lazy person will always come up with a creative, energy efficient, time saving solution to any task at hand (often seconds before deadline, but still). A lazy person knows all the quick commands and keeps draft of every letter and e-mail ever sent (because they can be reused with only minor alterations, thus saving you the bother of writing the whole thing again). A lazy person knows how to delegate and is therefore not at all likely to need time off for stress-related illnesses, or any sick days at all really, since lack of stress is the best tool for maintaining a good immune defence. Also, lazy people are usually very witty and droll, not rarely in a very dry manner, which is great for general work place morale.

And I can assure you it was a lazy person who invented the wheel. "Screw this walking malarchy, I'm gonna invent a device that stops me from ever having to drag foot across terra firma again" he thought and he did, too. Probably was a fairly shit prototype to start with though, what with lazy people usually being somewhat slap-dash when it comes to execution. Slightly squarish, I reckon.

I'm a lazy person. And I'm great. Now sod this, I'm off down the boozer.

Ceylon, Sailor!

Last book I read: jPod by Douglas Coupland.

Last film I watched: still "Orphan", actually.

Last song I listened to: the last song on the Mean Streets album.

Last thing I ate: a chocolate covered marzipan bread (sugar is the devil, I hate myself now).

Last thing I drank: cup of tea (ceylon, obviously).

Last person I got a text message from: Eva S (pissed off at me for not replying to her previous message).

Last person I spoke to on the phone: my yoga teacher, trying to set dates for the xmas/new-years-holiday-season-sessions.

Last person I spoke to in person: my little monster baby M.

When I Grow Up I'm Gonna Be Jerry Garcia.

I'm really into old foley right now, been listening to Phosphorescent like there's no tomorrow. Like Grateful Dead for a somewhat paler generation, in a good way.

So autumn's here, and that means getting fat. I'm like a bloody bear or something, as soon as it turns cold I start fattening up for winter, can't stop eating. It's awful. I sit indoors and listen to folk music and swell up like a tampon on refined carbs, how hot is that? Must regain self control. Arrrrgh.

Reasons Not To Move To Estonia, Or Even Go There On Holiday.

I just watched a really scary film. Alone.

Not a good combo, which means that I will yet again sleep with my contact lenses in and all the lights on, and that the cat will be allowed in my bed. So in case a crazy Estonian knife-wielding murderer tries to take me by surprise I'll be well sighted and able to throw the cat at her, thus buying valuable time in which to escape.

The film in question was called "Orphan", and it reinforced two very important truths as far as horror films are concerned:

1. If the main character in the film is a kid, it's gonna be a good'un. Kids in scary films are always a sign of extra freakiness to come.

2. It's vitally important to make absolutely bloody sure that the crazy knife-wielding Estonian murderer really is dead before you relax and count your blessings. Chances are she's gonna have a second stab (oh excuse the pun, I couldn't stop myself) at hitting a main artery before she goes out for good.

Asides from that, I have today learnt the secret of multiplying ANY number, even a really high one like 285, with any two-figure number in my head in a matter of seconds and getting the answer right every time. Like a human calculator. Something to be said for Chinese math geeks, they know their stuff.

Bite My Shoulder, I'll Scratch Your Soul.

It was the pitter-patter pitter-patter tears
that awoke me.
Shook you up and made you pretty, singing like a housewife.

Was it the hither-thither hither-thither eyes
that alarmed you?
Promises of pain and lust and things you never wanted.

There goes the wiggle-waggle wiggle-waggle days
that we dreamt of.
All the time I spent with you, my back up in the corner.

And All This Pain Shall I Carry For You

On a more serious note...

Thanks to everyone who's showing support (or planning to do so) for TWLOHA-day.

On a more personal note...

Thanks to everyone who stood by me when I was a mess. Thanks for not losing faith in me, and thanks for not losing interest in me.

On a more positive note...

I'm fine now, and that pretty much means that there's hope for everyone.

I have scars that will never heal, inside and out. But knowing that all this wasn't for nothing, and now, being able to look back at my life and say "hey, I'm happier now than I was a year ago, and a year from now I'll be happier still" means it's not been in vain.

I can't say I know where I'm going, but I think I'll know when I get there.

Thankyou, friends past and present, for providing a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear and a place to crash when needed. Thanks for the countless times you've picked me up, dusted me off and put me back together. Thanks for the love and support and patience shown. Thanks for forgiving my transgressions, time and time again. I hope you know how important you were and, in most cases, still are to me. And I hope you know I'd do it all differently if I could.

Above all, thank you M, for giving my life meaning, and C, who would have turned 4 any day now had you lived, for setting me on the right path. I'll see you again, I'm sure.

Yeah that's it. Write love on your arms, people.

Laters.

One More Day Like Today And I'll Kill You.

I've had six cups of coffee and five cardamom biscuits today. Yay. That's how I keep my Body Mass Index at a healthy 17.9.

The postman was just emptying the postbox as I came to drop some letters off. I think he gave me the eye. I like it when men look at me, but I rarely like how they speak to me.

Came home and realised it's been nine days since I got back from Helsinki and I still haven't unpacked my suitcase. Possible denial going on there, if you want to go slightly Freudian.

Life fail on a grand scale. Deep sigh.

Are You Doing The Drugs Or Are The Drugs Doing You?

My To-Do-List For The Week:

Buy wine.

Download Twin Peaks.

Drink wine and watch Twin Peaks.

Repeat as frequently as needed.

The Unwearable Slightness of Fleeing.

I am not the kind of person you want to get on the wrong side of.



Best part of today: Right. Now. Plotting.

Yeah watch your back.

Oh. No. Not. You. Again.

So yeah, the cat.

And it's not actually my cat. I don't even know the cat's real name, it just lives in my house and I feed it when I remember (it usually reminds me). We get along, mostly.

But, and it's a big but:

the cat hasn't pooped for three days now.

....

Yeah. She's gonna blow soon. And she's gonna do it when I'm at work. And it's not gonna happen in the litter tray, is it?

I hate my life and I want to die.

"I'm thinking of moving" I said.

"Where to?" she said.

"I dunno" I said.

"Then you may as well stay here" she said.

The best part of the day was the brief moment I spent contemplating whether I should put some vodka in my tea.