Ms. Stokkefot and vacuums
I have always believed that housework is dangerous. I have scars on his right thumb after having wiped the dust off the sink in the bathroom this summer, the former port the emergency room after threw garbage , and I was more or less single-handedly to blame that on no plaster intact staff room to Menu Oslo City ran out last winter. Today
caused vacuums that I could see how the bottom part of the right index finger looks under the skin. And before you ask, I have not the faintest idea how I managed this feat. What I do know is that I shouted something like "Satan replied hælvettes shit pussy shit!" tears sprang and I jumped in the ring and shook his hand, until I checked the damage and said, relatively laughs, "ojsann, my God, it's only I can do it there," and showed it proudly to the little sister had to agree with the reasoning.
fingers are now bandaged with a little help from little sister (she must be a nurse and have pretty good luck living with me - she gets good exercise), blood, beer is washed away, and I've washed your hair with one hand. Flapped is that I at least have provided the examination paper, so it does not so much that the finger starts to throb if I write too much. In addition, I hereby a great excuse to postpone the writing of the next work demands at least a couple of days.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
How To Make A Sail Cover For Sunfish
Laughter cramps and cramp writing
exam is delivered after a week of intense work, insomnia and tense shoulders. Thursday night I dreamed that I changed the line spacing in the Annexes to the task, but it would not be saved, and I was pretty happy when I finally woke up and realized that it was soon end the madness.
I could not help laughing on the way home from school, so most likely look like a retarded idiot, and when I hit Dessie talked as if I had drunk ten cups of coffee, because it was so good to finally talk about something completely different than how you refer to the source and the chapter that will be number four. Dessie bought me a beer, we drank and I giggled like a teen newlyweds, and afterwards we met Marthe and drank that she passed the exam, and once again that I have submitted mine. Top atmosphere, lots of laughter and just the right amount of beer, a pretty perfect evening and a pretty perfect night.
Tonight I dreamed of Roskilde, 2011, we were in bunk beds, it was sunny, we were the same camp as this year, had about the same neighbors, and I saw not a single word document. Today I do nothing, just because I can, and I promise that I will not write a bad word about school again. At least not until March once, when I tear my hair and is completely stuck in the bachelor's thesis and most of all like to jump out the window.
exam is delivered after a week of intense work, insomnia and tense shoulders. Thursday night I dreamed that I changed the line spacing in the Annexes to the task, but it would not be saved, and I was pretty happy when I finally woke up and realized that it was soon end the madness.
I could not help laughing on the way home from school, so most likely look like a retarded idiot, and when I hit Dessie talked as if I had drunk ten cups of coffee, because it was so good to finally talk about something completely different than how you refer to the source and the chapter that will be number four. Dessie bought me a beer, we drank and I giggled like a teen newlyweds, and afterwards we met Marthe and drank that she passed the exam, and once again that I have submitted mine. Top atmosphere, lots of laughter and just the right amount of beer, a pretty perfect evening and a pretty perfect night.
Tonight I dreamed of Roskilde, 2011, we were in bunk beds, it was sunny, we were the same camp as this year, had about the same neighbors, and I saw not a single word document. Today I do nothing, just because I can, and I promise that I will not write a bad word about school again. At least not until March once, when I tear my hair and is completely stuck in the bachelor's thesis and most of all like to jump out the window.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Fakes Samaire Armstrong
Sunday
I wake that my mouth is a desert, drinking a glass of water without opening his eyes, looking at mobile phone that is at 12.04, falling asleep. Awakens 13.10 of that ten elephants dancing on my head, kaver me out of bed and fill the water glass, take a Ibux and fall asleep again, jogging trousers and sweater, in the fetal position under the covers. Wake up again sometime after 13:30 and observe that I have slept with a whole lot of mess I do not have giddi to clear out of bed - a broken mirror, book, cardboard packaging from some new tights. I find the phone and take the obligatory check of the outbox, and call log. I have called a taxi for 02.15 and have a vague memory that I'm sitting on the ground until Narvesen at Bøler, I have only one mitten, and I try to push both hands into it. Outbox get me to say a little prayer that they have to get my ass in gear and make alcolock to mobile phones, I blush and curl myself together under the covers. Sender a text message to the world's nicest little sister and ask nicely if she can make breakfast for the world's dumbest / most embarrassing / most anguish big sister, the room spins, and it's worse to try to cook yourself. I eat lying in bed with the lights off. Putting on an episode Six feet under, hoping to fill the anxiety a little distance, and as I put on my glasses, which are full of tear stains after I vomited yesterday, I think the idea that I've thought so many times before: " Oh my God, so ridiculously stupid I am, I had really needed to push in me the glass of Cava? I hate the Cava! And Sambucca? No, no, no, it never ends well! Stupid, stupid, stupid Stina! " I lie in a fetal position under the covers in a dark room until the time is 16.30. When I finally venture out, unable to leave the room without being afraid to vomit, and on the way there I get sight of myself in the mirror. I look like a Takras with mascara and eyeliner rubbed out all over. I spend a half hour to lie on the couch and almost fall asleep before I jade me to the gas station and buys a vital pizza - nothing cures a hangover like pizza - and the rest of the day to do absolutely nothing, other than drinking a few liters of water and to think a little sorry for myself. I am convinced I must have done or said something really stupid, and it is possible May Concern: I'm sorry, I meant it. I did not know what I talked about!
I wake that my mouth is a desert, drinking a glass of water without opening his eyes, looking at mobile phone that is at 12.04, falling asleep. Awakens 13.10 of that ten elephants dancing on my head, kaver me out of bed and fill the water glass, take a Ibux and fall asleep again, jogging trousers and sweater, in the fetal position under the covers. Wake up again sometime after 13:30 and observe that I have slept with a whole lot of mess I do not have giddi to clear out of bed - a broken mirror, book, cardboard packaging from some new tights. I find the phone and take the obligatory check of the outbox, and call log. I have called a taxi for 02.15 and have a vague memory that I'm sitting on the ground until Narvesen at Bøler, I have only one mitten, and I try to push both hands into it. Outbox get me to say a little prayer that they have to get my ass in gear and make alcolock to mobile phones, I blush and curl myself together under the covers. Sender a text message to the world's nicest little sister and ask nicely if she can make breakfast for the world's dumbest / most embarrassing / most anguish big sister, the room spins, and it's worse to try to cook yourself. I eat lying in bed with the lights off. Putting on an episode Six feet under, hoping to fill the anxiety a little distance, and as I put on my glasses, which are full of tear stains after I vomited yesterday, I think the idea that I've thought so many times before: " Oh my God, so ridiculously stupid I am, I had really needed to push in me the glass of Cava? I hate the Cava! And Sambucca? No, no, no, it never ends well! Stupid, stupid, stupid Stina! " I lie in a fetal position under the covers in a dark room until the time is 16.30. When I finally venture out, unable to leave the room without being afraid to vomit, and on the way there I get sight of myself in the mirror. I look like a Takras with mascara and eyeliner rubbed out all over. I spend a half hour to lie on the couch and almost fall asleep before I jade me to the gas station and buys a vital pizza - nothing cures a hangover like pizza - and the rest of the day to do absolutely nothing, other than drinking a few liters of water and to think a little sorry for myself. I am convinced I must have done or said something really stupid, and it is possible May Concern: I'm sorry, I meant it. I did not know what I talked about!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Round Party Tablecloths
Passion
Today and yesterday, and maybe a little on Tuesday also, I've had such a crazy type itching, as if it was something I needed to get out of the system, but I have not been able to put words on it. I do not know what it is I want out of the system, a bit like when you look forward and have butterflies in my stomach, but do not know what you look forward to. Anyway, I've been so terribly tired after a half week of insomnia (and maybe some beer too much) that I have not found the motivation. For what shall I write about? I could write about when we went on a roadtrip to Sogndal to visit Ingo, or I could write about when we were on the 90-party figures and I concluded the evening by procuring me cool in the pan and the Century bruise on his thigh, but it is a long time ago. I could write a lot about insomnia and being tired of writing task, but I'm not cranking out [more] negativity on the internet. So then I have failed.
And I still have nothing to write about, but then I dropped her daughter blog Stroke Heart , who had posted the music video for Robyn's Indestructible. I have not heard the song before, and it fell not just in taste, but the video! The video! I saw it three times (second and third with no sound), gapte me through it and just thought that "my God, it there! I would and have!" The passion, the love, all the soft skin, the kisses, lying like that and push your head in the throat pit, my God, let me be!
I do not know if it is possible to put youtube videos here, and I can not be bothered to figure it out now [though, I'm pretty sure it goes], but here is thus the movie. Watch it without sound if you think Robin can be a bit fussy.
Today and yesterday, and maybe a little on Tuesday also, I've had such a crazy type itching, as if it was something I needed to get out of the system, but I have not been able to put words on it. I do not know what it is I want out of the system, a bit like when you look forward and have butterflies in my stomach, but do not know what you look forward to. Anyway, I've been so terribly tired after a half week of insomnia (and maybe some beer too much) that I have not found the motivation. For what shall I write about? I could write about when we went on a roadtrip to Sogndal to visit Ingo, or I could write about when we were on the 90-party figures and I concluded the evening by procuring me cool in the pan and the Century bruise on his thigh, but it is a long time ago. I could write a lot about insomnia and being tired of writing task, but I'm not cranking out [more] negativity on the internet. So then I have failed.
And I still have nothing to write about, but then I dropped her daughter blog Stroke Heart , who had posted the music video for Robyn's Indestructible. I have not heard the song before, and it fell not just in taste, but the video! The video! I saw it three times (second and third with no sound), gapte me through it and just thought that "my God, it there! I would and have!" The passion, the love, all the soft skin, the kisses, lying like that and push your head in the throat pit, my God, let me be!
I do not know if it is possible to put youtube videos here, and I can not be bothered to figure it out now [though, I'm pretty sure it goes], but here is thus the movie. Watch it without sound if you think Robin can be a bit fussy.
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