London Live

Er det muligt at drikke og stoffe sine hjerneceller fuldstaendigt ud, saa hurtigt? I don't believe it. Men efter mine substans indtagelser de seneste maaneder, foeles det virelig som om der permanenet er smaasten i mit hoved, nothing but, som rasler fra side til side, hver gang jeg proever at taenke en straight tanke. What was it that was so important? Jeg er erkender klart, at jeg er en kaaempe hypokonder, og det redder mig fra at blive afhaengig af noget som helst andet en cigaretter.

Men, som de siger, saa er vi vel alle afhaengige af noget - stoffer, alkohol, sukker, vrede, kaerlighed, had, sex, shopping, fare, haevn, tryghed,rutine, naturen, internettet....name me one person who's not, at leasty at some point in their life, seriously addicted to something.

I've been there with sex and cigarettes, mainly. Sex is the worst, sex with a specific person that you hate that you despise through and through, and yet all they have to do is look at you and you will take any insult, any hurt, as long as he'll just fuck you once more. That's shit.

It's so shit that when that person calls you after two years, and you're all happily snuggled up with you one-and-only, you feel a dangerous impulse to pick up and say okay, lts meet, let talk, even though you know that all the talking which will happen will be only foreplay to the real thing, and excuse for getting naked.

Shit. I didn't pick up. I just hope he never calls when I have a day where I am less sure ofe my one-and-only-love.

The measure of human integrity is how much you care about other people's opinion.

The less you care, the more free you are.

In my family, my dad's family care the shit out of themselves about what other people think: The right schools, the right clothes, the right connections....they're artists, musicians, business people, teachrs, dentists, craftsmen, plantation owners, architects...

In my mum's family, nobody gives a damn: They do waht the want when they want, and people call them "eccentric". They're musicians, engineers, teachers, entrepeneurs, craftsmen, scientists and writers...same as my dad's side, but no business people and no land owners....

I used to think that eccentric meant exciting and colourful something dangerous. Until someone said MY family was eccentric, and I looked at them and didn't get, and to this day don't get how sleeping till 12, going to bed at three, leaving the milk out on the kitchen table, going on unplanned holidays, playing music all night, letting your kids turn allt he furniture upside down and genreally just being a hippie qualifies as eccentric. Only thing I remember thinking we were different was that when the phone rang on weekends and my parents were still in bed, they told me to tell the people who called that they were in the shower or out shopping. Normal people couldn't stand the thought that they were still in bed at 12.

Imagine! Now I think, time must have moved on, and if someone calls me and I'm still in bed at 12 on Saturday, no matter who it is, I'm not going to hide it.

I think the best gift my parent's ever gave me, was not caring about other people's opinion, and by teaching me that their life was normal, gave me the strength to stand by my life in public, even when I'm sitting at a dinner table with all the burgois people I know. And I know a lot of them, because my dad's family taught me something else: You gotta know the people in power to get anything done, even if that means going behind enemy lines.

But it's a lot easiere to do this abroad - differences are biger and more accommodating. In Denmark I'm being asked to choose which side I'm on all the time. People are pushing me and asking me to show colours constantly, they don' just accept the inherent contradiction that I am, as people do aborad.

So I'm leaving soon again, to somewhere with more space to experiment and opportunity not to care about other people's opinion. To just be myself, without feeling like I need to choose sides, between the people in power and the people who are against the people in power. To play with both sides, otherwise how can you understand the nature of things?

How could you do that to me. To me.
Not to just any woman that you met, but to me.
I, who said no, no no in the beginning, when you asked me to trust you.
You worked so hard to make me believe in men, to make me believe in at least one man, in you.
To believe love is possible.
REAL bloody serious till-you-die-kinda-love.
Romeo&Juliet. Love at first sight.
The whole big glittering fairytale, even marriage.
MARRIAGE.
For me, who had for a long time imagined a Joni Mitchell-song kinda life.
Broken love and short lived passion, travels and trips and no for ever.
Everytime I ran away you ran after me, you held tight when I struggled, you kissed and whispered me to sleep, you kept all your promises and you understood every secret I ever told you.

That kind of love was too perfect for endurance, I guess.

But I'm so mad and I'm so hurt and I'm so scared that this is not just a rough patch, a difficult crossing, but the end.

Show me something else.

I know it's there. Behind their beautiful faces and friendly laughs. They will never show it to me, my darling girlfriends. They will never show their snobby claws to me. Because I am one of them. I understand.

They know in their hearts I'm not, but I have the right attributes and I knwo how to behave in good company. Oh yes, I can behave like a laaaaaaaady, but I'm not.

"I think Charlotte has become a bit of a proletarian lately, you know, since she got her new job...you can't blame her, obviously you associate with the people you work with, I just mean...." my friend says, very drunk. But she said it. I was too drunk to say what I should have said: "well, you have become a bit of a snob, haven't you?"

"Trucker-Marian" says my other friend as a joke, cos I am holding my cigaret in my mouth. No hands. Bad manners. It was a joke, but I snapped "yes, we all know, people who hold their cigarets like that are loosers, don't we".


I love them, I do, they're so close to me, but after all this time, I see their middelclass upbringing clamping down on their brains.

Such a waste of life, spending time worrying about your position compared to everybody elses. Surely it doesn't make you happy? Just get so shocked when I realise how many people think so differently to me. Guess that makes me narrow minded in my own way too : ) I judge just as much as they do....on the other hand, I judge them BECAUSE they judge other people. I wouldn't judge any other things they do. Not their shopping-cleaning-diet regimes, just their damned snobbery.

It's spring in Denmark! it's summer in a second! I'm moving back to London in three months! Good things do happen - and even though the perfect innocence of my saint like relationship has been stained by my jerk of a boyfriend, I decided to forgive him - officially because he has cried and begged and promised and made good for weeks and because I believe he will never cheat on me again-

in reality because I understand why he did it, (it takes one to know one)and because I love him like hell and always will. I want HIM. Cheat or no cheat.

And now, after crying for a couple of weeks and receiving some good job news, I'm just so fucking happy.

Happy 1st of May! Wish I could go to Fælledparken and drink bear, but unfortunately I work for a capitalist company who doesn't give a shit about socialism. So if you're going, have a drink for me : )

Fortiden og alle dens mennesker ligger lige bag mine lukkede øjenlåg. Den suser forbi som et tog med mennekser der vinker , råber, græder, ler og snakker ud af de åbne vinduer.

Min gamle bedstefar som snart bliver 100 er ved at dø. Han sidder paa sengekanten inde i sin tynde oldingekrop, og de blå øjne er så fulde af mennekser og steder at han ikke har plads til mere.

Jeg udspørger ham; Hvordan var det, da du var landvæsens elev på herreårdene. Da du gik med hestetræk på marken i solen og red ud i havet med de svedige heste ved arbejdsdagens ende.

Fortæl mig om da du mødte Christian den 10 og Stauning. Dengang du mødte min bedtsemor i højskoleforeningen, og lånte hendes sangbog. Dengang din lillesøster blev bundet til et bord i den lille lejlighed på Nørrebro, så hun ikke skulle komme til skade når begge dine forældre var på arbejde, efter du var kommet til at brænde familiens gård ned i en leg. Fortæl om øllebrød og krigene og piger i kjole og prælimenær eksamen.

Men han vil ikke sige mere. Nej, nej, siger han og ryster på hovedet. Så smiler han til mig som for at sige "Det er min historie min pige. Jeg har fortalt dig den før. Gør nu med den havd du vil".

Tænk at have så lang en historie.

"Det er en afskrækkende høj alder jeg har fået" siger han, men jeg kan ikke forstå det, jeg omfavner ham og siger "tænk at du har fået lov til at opleve så meget! Bare jeg også bliver 100 år."

Men når jeg tænker på alle de mennesker, der presser mod mine lukkede øjenlåg om natten, kan jeg forstå tyngden af 100 år.

I hate it. The fact that I am so incredibly proud and immature.

I just can't deal with missing my boyfriend so much, and having a greater need for talking to him than he has for talking to me.

I know he misses me as much as I miss him. That he loves me, as much as I love him. He's just not a big a talker as I am. And he doesnt need to hear my voice every day to feel certain that everything is fine.

I do. I'm just so in need of reassurance, of love and support, every goddamned day. If I'm with him, I need him to BE there.

When I'm single, i'm fine, because I rely on myself. But part of a relationship is relying on each other. if I just stop relying on him altogether, and rely on myself fully, I also stop taking him into consideration. I stop loving him. I might not stay faithful.

Maybe it's not the same for him, maybe he can rely on himself and still love me wholeheartedly. Is that a personlaity issue. a male/female thing, or maybe I'm just wrong, maybe he does rely on me, and maybe him relying less on me IS a bad sign.

Whatever it is, I just act like a 4 year old kid who's been left by its mum in kindergarden, and when she comes to pick the child up, it screams and cries and is angry, because it's been left alone for a while. Instead of being happy that the missed person finally shows up.

Everytime. I can't just say I miss you, it's great to talk to you. I have to be angry, because it's been TOO long. He doesn't care about me enough. Obviously. Love is measured in phonecalls everybody learns that when they're 14 and they never change their mind about it later, right?

Fuck, I have to deal with this ridicolous pride and insecurity, and remember what love's fucking about.

I want to do this, I want to make this work. I decided that when we met, or rather, I started to beleive in miracles and real eternal, glittering, falling stars, soulmate love. And then I'm still here, acting like a teenager.

Because I get so scared. What if it ends. What if this love can die, fall apart, be worn down. What if not even this, the one thing I was ever sure about in my whole life, is wrong? I always change my mind about things. Everything, apart from this man.

From the first night I met him more than 2 years ago, to this second, I never really doubted that was it. I questioned him, and our love and our relaionship a million times, like I do with everything. But in my heart, I never belive, and still don't believe, it can die, it can end.

I fear the end of this love like death, and like death, I want to spend my time thinking about it, I just want to spend my time thinking about life and love I believe in.

But then this fear creps in: If he stops loving me. If he stops treating me right. I'm so screwed. Cos I really did put my whole heart and soul and money and time and educationa and belief into this, after having suffered 2 fucking dramatic broken hearts, I told myself, this is it, this is third time lucky, this is magic.

And that's too much pressure for a relationshop to carry, I can see that. He's just a human being, and so am I, imperfect and weak, and we can't be gods. He is not the meaning of life, he's just a beautiful man who loves me and makes me happy some of the time. I need to relax about this, and stop seeing this as the centre of my life. It'slove ad its great but it's not the only thing in life, adn it's not magic, its just two drunk people who met at 5 am in the morning next to a fridge.

Danish women are often praised for their health and beauty.

I don't agree that Danish and Scandinavian women are prettier on average than women from other countries, but in case you do, here's their secret:

95 pct. of women between 20 and 30 eat youghurt natural for breakfast (aka A38).

This statistic is purely based on my own experience of Groundhog day, everytime I go to one of my Danish girlfriends' houses and open their fridge, and see the same youghurt staring at me out of each and every one.

Now I eat it myself in the morning, imagining how many other Danish women are eating excately the same white substance (wait, maybe there's a sexual undertone here, perhaps Danish women really aren't as liberated as they're known to be, since their brekfast has an uncanny likelihood to sperm) at the very same moment, in their kitchens around the country.

Blood is thicker than water, and youghurt natural is thicker than flighty flirtations with foreign countries.