... yeah.

It happened. I officially lost another boyfriend.

No, I didn’t misplace him. He’s not that kind of lost.

I left him in Denmark. I told him I didn’t want a long distance relationship.

And now, a month later the gravity of the situation has hit him.* He changed his status to single on facebook.

Everything has an expiration date.

I don’t know what I expected. That nobody was gonna get hurt, I think.

Ugh, I am such a bitch.

But whatever. We had a good run. It ended. Time to look to the future, I guess.

What I really want to do is watch Fight Club on repeat. But I'll settle for this video of Joseph Gordon-Levitt singing Lithium.

*A side-effect of being honest: You hurt people. 

The Irrationality of Rationality

I had an existential crisis the other night. I had moved into campus and met my new roommates. We were talking about decorating the living room area by putting up posters and fairy lights. I got on amazon looking for posters. And that’s when the ‘fun’ started.

I looked through what must have been thousands of posters, and even though I tried,  I truly couldn’t pick out something fit for hanging in a living room. It was ridiculous.

I kept looking for that perfect thing that would fit in and give a sense of ‘home’ to the white walls. Nothing was good enough. And the few posters I did find, I wasn’t comfortable buying, because what if my roomies didn’t have the same taste as me? What if they didn’t like them? There was just too many variables to take into account.

My roomie saw me struggling and promptly told me to back of the poster-searching. That she would take care of it.

“You don’t need to put that much thought into it, you know? It’s just posters,” she said.

I wanted to agree with her, because somewhere in the back of my mind I knew she was right. But I just looked at her and hyperventilated slightly, my fingers still itching for browsing through just one more page of posters, because maybe the poster would be there.

She shook her head in disbelief. “God, how did you ever choose a college?”

The truth is I didn’t. I stumbled over it and thought ‘Why the hell not?’

I know that’s not what you’re supposed to say. I’m supposed to say that I chose to do this because it is a dream of mine (which it is). But I never dreamt of Pacific Lutheran University. I dreamt of the states. So how did I end up here in Tacoma? A combination of availability, timing and the will to act (I can feel that I’m a student again, because I immediately thought of the garbage can theory).

I spent one of my exams last year, arguing to my professor that it didn’t matter what actions what taken. What was importance was the simple fact that an action was in fact taken. The human mind and its inclination to eliminate cognitive dissonance would soon come up with more than enough reasons for why that particular action was taken.

You didn’t need a rationale beforehand. That would manifest itself soon enough as your need for a personal narrative would take over and create a story that incorporated your actions and made sense.

Even though I know that there is no way to act rational, I always try to do it. I look at all the posters to find the best one (and do you know how many posters amazon has? It’s freaking daunting). I try on all the shoes in the store in my size before buying any (if that). I routinely browse ikea.com and the likes in order to find the perfect bookcase (three year into the search, and it still hasn’t happened [but does that mean I give up and just buy something that is ‘good enough’? Of course not, because I’m stupid like that]. The result? All my books are piled in countless stacks on the floor).

It’s not perfectionism, as my roommate assumed.

It’s not stupidity, as I’m inclined to believe.

It is a deeply irrational attempt at acting rational. Or rather, it’s an attempt to control the world around me by collecting all relevant data (even though that’s impossible).

I think I’ll stop trying to do that. It’s quite stressful.

A Bite out of New York City

I’m alone.

For the first time since Thursday I’ve spent more than 20 minutes by myself.

I’m sitting at a café a block and a half down from the hotel. It was deemed an acceptable distance by my sister. She takes her responsibilities as Big Sister very seriously and I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t have my parents be pissed/disappointed at me either. And as my father would say, “New York is a very big and a very dangerous city”. While that is true, you guys would cringe if I told you some of the stuff my parents have lectured me about before I left. Suffice to say my father is capable of some very creative thinking regarding things to be wary of. I never knew he had such an active imagination

I’ve come to accept that as the youngest of 4 siblings I’ll always be the baby even though I’m 25. And not just to my parents – my siblings as well, to some extent anyway.

I’ve been in NYC for 3½ days now. It’s an overwhelmingly big city. But I’ve found the café I’m sitting on right now and it’s beginning to feel more like a city I actually like – and not just this huge grey mass of buildings and people dotted with yellow cabs.

I never really feel at home in any city before I’ve found a café I ‘click’ with.

Anyway. The amount of stuff I’ve done and things I’ve seen is overwhelming. The days seem to go on and on and on. I mean this in a good way. But it’s definitely also exhausting.

By the way, how come it’s so freaking difficult to find any apples in a city nicknamed ‘The Big Apple’? I looked in every shop I came near. Finally I located some and promptly bought them. I happily paid the 2 dollars a piece that they cost.

And then I take a bite and it tastes sour and sorta tangy. I had wanted something sweet and juicy and this wasn’t it.

Maybe it’s the universe’s way of being ironic. Or maybe New York City really is like a big apple. Or maybe I'm reading too much into one bad apple.

I'll talk you soon.

Anxiety a.k.a The Great Perhaps

I’m sitting at my local café, looking at an Ikea catalog and getting inspiration for how I might decorate my apartment. I’m thinking about getting some new pictures and a bookcase. I have no bookcase. My many, many books are piled and stacked against the wall of my living room. It’s not pretty. It used to have some sort of chaotic charm to it. But then the stacks got tipped and books just spilled all over the floor.

So yeah. I need to do something about that.

But it’s a moot point for the moment. My plane for New York leaves in less than 18 hours.

I figure this need to decorate the apartment is my coping mechanism against the great unknown which I’ll find myself in very soon. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach; a mixture of excitement and anxiety, when I think about where I’ll be this time next week.

Some people clean when they feel this way. I trawl through Ikea’s website and the sites of any other furniture outlet I know of (and I know quite a few).

I can’t believe how many times I’ve said goodbye in the past week. It’s weird. It’s hard. And I can’t help but look forward to just be on the plane, flying away from everything. Away to the great and wonderful ‘perhaps’ that is my future.

See you in 4 months, Denmark.

The US is Different (1)*

“Americans are different than Danes and Swedes,” the resident American at my job told me one morning.

“How so?” I ask. I know Americans are generally more open. Danes are notorious for their lack of openness towards strangers.

“They are more …“ he said and his voice faltered as he searched for the right words. “Eccentricity is more accepted.”

I’m looking at him and wondering if this is his way of telling me that everybody I meet over there will be a replica of Woody Allen.

“It’s more accepted to be eccentric over there,” he said. “Everybody develops their own quirks.”

I smile and nod as if I understand what he’s trying to convey to me. “Don’t worry,” I say. “My mom was born and raised in America, so I can handle their weirdness. I’m used to it.”

Later I think about whether or not this conversation was some sort of warning regarding his friend from Seattle who he told me to look up.

Might have been. But it’s okay. I’m strangely comfortable around eccentric people.

* I expect to find more differences as I actually go there to live, so this might turn into a series of sort.

Pityful Party Ahead

I feel weird.

Leaving is hard.

Why did I decide to do this to myself?

I feel like I'm deliberately trying to cut the strings that bind me to my life and to my loved ones. It hurts.

Photo credit

Maybe I'm just being melodramatic.

This wasn't  something I'd expected I'd feel. Truth be told, I don't know what I expected.

They never tell you about this part. Some smile and envy you. Others tell you that it will be hard. But they never tell you the details.

How do you decide who you spend the last few days with? How do you say goodbye to your boyfriend? How do you smile and stay strong so your family won't worry?

I can do all of the above. I know I can. It's just seems hard right now.

Choosing to be Bad Ass

I’ve spent entirely too much time thinking and worrying about what might come. I have had enough of my annoying anxiety. It’s useless, anyway.

The downside to having an active imagination and just a dash of anxiety is that my mind tends to go bananas when presented with too much uncertainty.

I want it to stop. I want to be able to close my eyes and sleep blissfully. I want to be able to enjoy the next couple of weeks here in Denmark. 

So I’m choosing to not give a fuck. 

I don’t know what to pack? I don’t give a fuck.

I don’t know the extent to which this will indebt me? I don’t give a fuck

I don’t know if my boyfriend will be my boyfriend when I get back? Still don’t give a fuck.

I don’t know if it’ll even be worth it? I can’t even tell you the amount of fucks which I do not give. 

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