Niklas and I got ourselves a set of magnetic poetry which is absolutely perfect for someone like me who wants to write poetry but never finds the right words and gets all awkward around it. With the words already on the fridge half the work’s already done and I get creative instead of shy and awkward. I thought I should share some of my nonsense. What do I have a blog for if it isn’t for this?

This is today’s very concise poem: monday between hope and almost anxiety

Magnetic fields will be playing in Stockholm March 24. At a church. I die a little.

Yesterday Niklas and I had a crazy idea. Maybe the craziest we’ve ever had. While reading the local newspaper we stumbled across a gigantic ad for a local grocery store. The headline welcomed us to join their Christmas tradition. The tradition was, basically, a sale on selected items. Niklas and I, loving anything that celebrates our local community, decided to go and so we did – even though we both were ill. I don’t know what I had expected, Christmas music, maybe even a Christmas choir, someone selling hot dogs or mulled wine, more locals being proud of being part of such a cosy community, more laughter and party party. But all I got was a long queue in the cold and greedy people pushing me around. While both Niklas and I think this is hysterically funny, I doubt anyone else finds it funny. Oh well, at least we have oranges to last us until next time…

This is what The Guardian had to say about Marcel Proust and his death in 1922:

PARIS, SUNDAY.

Marcel Proust, foremost of “young novelists” of France, died yesterday. He was fifty years old and had been in poor health from childhood. It is probable that he was as well known abroad, especially in Holland and England, where Marcel Proust Societies have recently been formed, as in Paris, where his work was enjoyed by a select minority. His style was difficult and obscure, and his intricate, exquisitely delicate meditations and analysis of emotions could never have appealed to the mass of readers. Outwardly and in his habits he was a strange being. Very pale, with burning black eyes, frail and short in stature, he lived like a hermit in his home, which was open to a few privileged friends, amongst precious furniture. Yet by fits and starts he loved to re-enter the fashionable “night-life” of Paris. His apartment was lined throughout with cork in an ineffectual attempt to keep out the uproar of the noisiest city in the world. Most of his best-known work was done after he reached the age of forty-five years. Of all idols and masters of present-day literature in France he is most likely to have won a place which time will not take away. (November 20 1922)

If anyone would ever try to describe me, especially after my death, this is how I would like to be remembered. Pale with burning eyes, frail and strange, with difficult and obscure style, living like a hermit amongst precious furniture and a few close friends, constantly writing and never appealing to the mass. Perfect.

My cell phone is alive & kicking, fighting fit and able! All it took was some TLC and a week of drying up. So now I’m within reaching distance 24/7 again, yey.

This weekend we gathered a few of our closest friends for a party at our place:

It was such a long time since we last had a SingStar party! We used to have them all the time. I’m definitely hoping for a comeback this winter. I love SingStar. And I love any opportunity to drink wine & dance with my super sweet friends.

While you’re all obsessed with vampires and Twilight and True blood and whatnot I’m holding on to Wolf like me tighter than ever but god I like it.

Something I’ve always wanted to learn is line dancing. Imagine my surprise when I checked Bagisbloggen’s calendar just to find that Square Dance People hold courses in line dance every Wednesday here in Bagarmossen – literally next door. I guess it’s a little late joining now but I sincerely hope they’ll be back soon to find me & Nik eagerly waiting on the doorstep ready to dance the night away.

Now I just have to convince Niklas how fun this will be and how we’ll be rockin’ the clubs in Oklahoma and Texas if we learn how to line dance… Wish me luck.

While I’m busy drinking wine and dancing in bars others have babies. Kuba and Pi for example. Last week we met their baby Cosmo for the first time. Very cosy!

We did good yesterday! And I had a great time after all. So great that I lost my phone you might think but no, not that great, the phone is dead because my cats dropped it in a bowl of water. That’s right, my phone isn’t working so don’t bother trying to contact me through it. Don’t text, don’t call. I love my phone even though it’s a hundred years old (+ I have separation issues). You’re fingering your iPhones thinking it’s a good thing, I could use a new one. The majority would probably have thrown my phone out the window years ago, calling it dated even back then, but I still hang on to it and I’m quite sad to see it all torn apart like a sick and sad robot. “It feels like a family member is sick” Niklas said. Hopefully it’ll recover but it doesn’t exactly look that way right now. And you know what, a part of me actually feels free without the phone, knowing I won’t be reachable at all times, all day. Maybe this is a good thing. For a while.