paradise can't be good for me

During the lovely summer month of June, I'm going to borrow a cute little dog and a quaint little cottage in a picturesque little village.

I can see myself sipping lemonade in a lush garden while birds are singing and a dog is attempting to lick my ear.

In the evenings I will light a single lamp and read blogs and thick novels - and occasionally fall for the temptation of a DVD box set, watched on my laptop - at a white kitchen table. In the mornings, I will walk barefoot in dewy grass.

Have to get some white lace to fit into this fairytale. (And mosquito repellent.)

Oh my God, I'm going to go MAD.

midnight, damn right, we're wound up too tight

Mornings are painful and days drag on. But evenings never have enough hours in them and nights push in all too soon.

I never want to go to sleep and I never want to wake up. Who invented this world order and why did they put time in all the wrong places?

it's only dark if you close your eyes

The light breezes in over Northern Europe, much like the joyful migrant birds eager to celebrate spring. It started about a month ago as I was up well past midnight, listening to music and feeling creative - I noticed the sky was not completely dark. A faint turquoise glow, in the north corner of it. A week or so later, the glow was all over the night sky and only the brighter stars could be seen. And now, there are the midnights without stars. Never darker than twilight. The white nights of the north.

I welcome them. But I still light candles in the late evenings.

the night I met a demon in the club

"I can't believe it! I never thought I'd see you in a place like this."

The place is a club. I'm taking a break from dancing with my friends and sitting in a dark corner, content to just study the night life for a while. When the man who says this sits down next to me, hesitantly, I stare at him for a while. A face I used to avoid at all costs. A name I wanted to forget forever, but now it slips out of me unbidden. He brightens.

We get started on the usual small talk ("it's been years"; "just out celebrating a friend's birthday"; "so where are you nowadays") in the usual way - friendly interest towards someone I last saw half a lifetime ago, polite distance to signal I'm not interested in getting picked up by a drunk guy in a club. And I'm doing it on autopilot because I'm kind of in shock. Trying to sort out how I feel about having him near me, talking to me, smiling.

Twenty-three years ago, in school, I was terrified of him and much of my day was spent thinking up strategies to avoid him. Thirteen years ago, at a class reunion, I was secretly triumphant and smug when I realised I had done so much more with my life than he ever would with his. Three years ago, at another reunion, I judged him a hopeless case, shrugged and didn't give him a second thought.

And now. I can hardly believe my own feelings. There is no trace of fear, anger, bitterness, smugness or contempt. No love either. I feel slightly sorry for him, even concerned. He says I'm pretty (he used to call me ugly). He talks respectfully about my faith (he used to mock it without mercy). And the utterly unbelievable, other-wordly thing, he actually apologizes for terrorizing me in school - in the rather rambling way of the slightly drunk, but with genuine remorse.

So we talk for half an hour. I promise to stay in touch, and mean it. I don't know which one of us is more surprised. I touch his arm and smile as we finally say "see you around" and I go back to my friends.

the woman who had a view but no perspective

Well, I'm out of bed. Not even a novel by Patrick Rothfuss had the power to keep me there longer than about mid-morning. Thoughts of breakfast and the balcony teased me out of it.

How lovely to lounge on a balcony overlooking the water, even when it's a tad too chilly still to survive without a sweater. The fragrances of spring are overwhelming - wet soil, new leaves and budding flowers - and I can watch the crows build their nest in the linden tree. Time to brew some café à l'Elettaria Cardamomum.

The revelation hit me today: there is no need to feel like a failure because I haven't chosen life here. Because I HAVE chosen life here - if you look at it from the other perspective. Why have I never realised that there are always at least two perspectives? Even the crows in the linden tree know that.

in bed with the fight club boys

I should go to bed. So I can wake up early tomorrow and revel in the fact that I can stay in bed all day.

Later this week I'm going to visit a friend who recently moved to a cottage in the country and bought a cat. She wants to get into the whole farm life thing. What fascinates me the most is that she claims the inspiration for this came out of watching Fight Club. So my back-up plan for tomorrow (if I fail to stay in bed) includes watching that same film and see what it does to me.

Picture courtesy of IMDb