Thursday, April 26, 2012

"Stalking" is such a strong word. I prefer "Intensive Monitoring of an Individual".

The thought of flying through space should be scary but I find it strangely comforting. There is something reassuring about the organized chaos that is space, there is something about the enormity and silence of space that reassures me.

I dream about resting peacefully out there in that vast space and it is very possibly the only place, strangely enough, that I feel at home in.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

I’m Swedish and Swedes feel the best when they’re a little depressed I think. Being too happy makes us suspicious, it makes us suspect we’re about to lose our minds or something. Having said that I think I could do with a little less depressed and a lot more happy. It's just a thought. I'm sure it will manifest because that's what thoughts do I'm told. I know the secret.
Not all that long ago, I toyed with the idea of starting my very own doomsday cult. I thought it would be good for my depression to have something to look forward to.

However, it was put on the back burner when I failed to find the basics needed: a charismatic leader figure of some sort, a way to con complete strangers into giving you all their money, a doomsday message of some sort, something catchy and believable, and a specific date for the actual event to occur. So many days and so many years to pick from; it's hard to choose.

I'm fascinated by doomsday cults. When I hear that a specific date is going to be the end of the world, the rapture or date for the arrival of those aliens who are coming to take us all away in their spaceships I begin to make plans.


It's hard to know what to pack for the alien thing.

I just don't know enough about the rapture thing but I'm fairly certain that I've sinned which kind of kills the fun for me - I think. Maybe I've got it wrong.

The end of the world is not going to need any real preparation I guess except for that I may get some really pretty cupcakes to eat. I really like really pretty cupcakes.

I guess the real reason I've not started a doomsday cult yet is that I just don't think I want all that responsibility and a lot of people looking to me for answers all the time. I have enough trouble dealing with myself and I don't think I need the stress. Somehow it seems easier to sit at home and sulk and write blog posts for a limited audience.

I'm just saying.

Sunday, April 15, 2012


I'm doing it again, that is I'm napalming the roots of my hair so I can hit it with the pink again. I'm not much for fussing over myself when it comes to my looks but this is a process I actually enjoy though subjecting your hair to really strong bleach is always going to be a bit of a gamble.

I'm discovering my creativity again and creating pink hair part of that. I think.

The times I feel really good about myself is when I create something or when I cycle. I can't be on my cycle all the time, I can't fly threw the Sydney landscape with the wind in my pink hair all the time, so when I have to get off my bike I have a really strong need to create.

I have a pallet of 89 stepping stones in my driveway. They are a strong reminder of the fact that I had to give my dog up almost two years ago and every day when I pull up in the afternoon after the run home from work I'm reminded that my rubber nose is gone. It makes that pile of stepping stones a symbol of sadness.

(Rubber nose on the other hand probably doesn't even remember me. He's living the life of Riley with a widow in Queensland and he apparently even now has a favorite ice cream. We speculate how you find out what a dog's favorite ice cream is. How many flavors and brands did he have to try? How did she know which one he liked the best? I can only assume it's not chocolate because chocolate is not good for dogs. The Oreo cookie ad says so...)

I've been meaning to get rid of that pallet of stepping stones...

A few weeks ago I decided to not get rid of the pallet of stepping stones. I decided to change it. I found a place on the internet that sells mosaic glass tiles and I ordered some. I ordered a couple of hundred dollars worth actually. So far I have transformed three of them but because I haven't grouted them yet I can't really show them to you. I will though. This transformation is very important. It has become perhaps a symbol of who I am now. I'm changing me to please myself better just as I'm changing those stepping stones into something more pleasing.

It pleases me to do so. :)

Saturday, April 14, 2012


I managed to write a whole post earlier today and then blogger ate it.

I tried y'all, I really did.

I told you all about how I'm still depressed but content. I know it's weird, right?, but that's how I feel!

What I didn't tell you was the impact dying my hair Fudge Paintbox Pretty Flamingo Pink has had on my life. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm too old for that kind of thing but it's been amazing. Picture this (for example):

I'm in Woolworths (supermarket) and I am impatiently, because that's how I roll, waiting in line trying to look like I could stand there for an eternity and it would matter not one iota. In front of me is a mousy mother with three tiny terrorist who all want different things in life at that particular moment. She's doing a splendid job of being polite to the check out chick, handling three tiny terrorists and occasionally apologizing to me for holding up the queue. Suddenly she seems to forget about everything that's going on and she looks at me and says "I just love your hair. It's amazing!"

There are two types of people I have realized. There are the people who roll their eyes because their conservative nature dictates that pink hair is WRONG, and then there are the people who get cheered up by it. Luckily for me it seems that more people get cheered up by it than think it's WRONG. I have never, ever been smiled at this much in my life not even if I count the period when I arrived in Australia as a backpacker, at which time I frequented pubs in an inebriated state and there'd be a bunch of blokes  stupidly hoping for a root hence the smiling at me. ("A root" being Australian for sex...)

I have also never been so much of an inspiration to other women. It seems, for some odd reason, that I have quite by accident struck a cord with the fairer sex's desire to be born free and to express themselves freely. The only negative reception I've had from a woman is strangely enough from a woman who had half a head of pink hair herself!!

I don't think I will ever understand the world and the people in it but I can tell you this:

When you're suffering from depression it's good to have a lot of people smile at you hence pink hair is a good idea. However, you will not be able to to convince old ladies that you did that to your hair; they will assume that you're wearing a wig.

Over and out!

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Because it's almost Easter today I give you chickens

...and because there's no end to my talent when I get bored waiting for Sharepoint to do its thing at work.

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