Confessions.

I think I'm in love. Tall, dark, nice skin, relaxing and soothing to be around, has a gentle touch... I might have to marry that massage chair they have here.

Right now I'm sitting on the 9th floor of Radiumhospitalet in Oslo, watching the city skyline from one of those electric adjustable beds ( I really want one of those). Beautiful view. It's a cancer hospital, and I'm here not for myself, but for a mate who has cancer for the second time, and am currently receiving chemotherapy. It's weird being here. The days are long and boring, and you're constantly surrounded by nurses, hairless people with IV stands. Hanging out with my mate, who apart from a balding head feels just fine, you tend to forget how sick people in here are, and that the sickness comes as much from the treatment they're recievcing, as the actual cancer. Spending a few days here, you pick up on a few silent codecs and unspoken rules in effect at a place like this: never speak about throwing up, barfing, puking etc, out loud. Just the word might be enough to set someone off. If you're in the living room where people on the ward eat or hang out, watching telly, never watch a food programme. Generally don't speak a lot about food, or cancer, loudly while around other patients. Not that I blame them, being pumped full of poison designed to kill of most of your cells without killing you, can't do wonders to your appetite or general feeling of well being. So I'm flicking past Jamie Oliver, out of respect.

Walking these halls, I can't keep myself from thinking if I'll ever be here again, in a differen time, another situation. As a nurse? As a patient? It might be just the spirit or the atmosphere here, but I find myself strangely thoughtful and melancholic. Somehow, at the back of my mind, or in my subconcious, I've always thought that I will, some day, get cancer. They say that everyone eventually gets it, if you just live long enough, and that might be true. It might just be my overly pessimistic nature, or the fact that my family is riddled with cancer of the "everything between your neck and your knees"-kind. Who knows?

And as horrific and blasphemous and ugly as it might sound, especially considering where I am, and what I know my mate has went through, and now am going through again: I sometimes wish that I do. Have cancer, that is. Well, maybe not cancer specifically, but some form of physical disease or affliction. Something tangiable that I could point to, or at, get specifically treated, and hopefully be rid of forever. Depressions, anxiety, personality disorders, these are all vague and intangible things, you can't touch them or point at them. Often, mainly during bad and paranoid periods, I suspect that people doesn't take mental problems seriously. Or, as seriously as they do for example cancer. Maybe they think mental problems are self-inflicted, or just hits those who are too weak to cope with the obstacles, problems and challenges life gives everyone in one form or another. That many of the terms and diagnoses used by medical people are made up, names given to conditions that really are just egoism, laziness, weakness, terms used to describe someone who really is just difficult, or evil, or a drama queen. I don't know, maybe people doesn't think like that at all, it might just be me who, after over 10 years of having mental problems, is still prejudiced. Who still can't accept that my problems are for real, they have a cause, I cannot control it, only strive to improve it through therapy and medication. That I am not lazy, or egocentric, or a bad person. But sometimes, having cancer really seems like the easier thing to have. "I have a tumor. Or several. That's a fact, see right here on this MRI?" I get chemo, maybe some radiation, a surgery. I get sick from the treatment, but it works. Or it doesn't, and I die, end of. At least I would've been a brave, strong young girl who fought with all she had, and either win or tragically lost. But this, here, me, now, what I'm dealing with... I don't loose my hair, loose weight and throw up, and get a surgery in an effort to get better. Again, it's not tangible. I do therapy sessions. I take some pills, anti depressants, but who doesn't in this day and age? It doesn't feel brave, I don't feel strong, and I never have. And will I ever win?

This shouldn't be about me, thought, and I know it. These are horrible thoughts to have, and I am aware of that fact too. I really should just get to bed, sleep, and get up early to keep my mate company. He's the sick one, and the bored one, and the one deserving attention.

Oh, and by the way: If that massage chair declines my marriage porposal I might just ask this electrical adjustable bed...

Moral Support

In well under 4 hours I'm getting up to drive a mate to a cancer hospital in Oslo. Going to keep him company for a few days while he gets more poison stuffed into his body. Thankfully this type of cheno doesnt make him horribly ill like chemo did last time. Epicly unfair that such a young bloke is battling cancer for the second time in his life. Luckily they caught it early, and defeat just isn't an option on this one. I'm happy I'm able to do something for him, tho, and provide some moral support. Mostly, the cheno means being hooked up to an IV stand for 120+ hours, and spending days in a small room. This gets very boring when you basically feel fine. So we've brought an xbox, a laptop, books, mp3 players and an entire season of sopranos.

Time to get to sleep, getting up in... 3 and something hours. Gotta power sleep!

Posted with LifeCast

Gadgeteer

I would consider it the mark of a true gadgeteer when you sit infront of the computer and still use the iPod to write a blogpost, just because it's the fun thing to do. Like I am now!

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Calendar full!

Just finished looking through the calendar on my iPod, and realised that I might have a bit of a busy summer. Not that I am complaining, but listen to this:

• June 11-14th: Going to my sister in Kristiansand, southern Norway.
• June 13th: Was supposed to go to a very local, small concert at the local pub. Not happening.
• June 18th: Girl's night at an old classmates, staying over.
• June 25th - 28th: Local town festival/market, involves fun rides and carneval for the kids, lots of beer, music and shopping on sale for the grown ups.
• July 2nd - 5th: Arvikafestivalen (If I get someone to come with me)
• July 9th - 11th: Street car happening at a local, big motor sports centre. Might be working as a volunteer. Involves pretty cars and beer. Yay.
• July 17th - 19th: Tømmerfløtivalen. Local music festival with up and coming bands.
• July 20th-26th: Might be going to a friends cabin in southern Norway for a couple of days.
• July 28th: Preliminary date set for Class Reunion for media and communication.

Firstly, I can't afford it all. Secondly, I'm supposed to work all summer as well. Bloody hell. I'll need a vacation before I start school on the 18th of August! Oh, and I have to move during June. And again in August. Oh dear.

The importance of taking ones medicine...

Those of you who know me more or less personally, know that I'm mental. I even got it on paper; I'm not quite sane. Now this doesn't have to be a bad thing; sane people are usually dull as paper, and having some mental problems has taught me a lot about myself and how I interact and affect other people. But, none the less; I've had lots of psychological problems, depressions, anxiety et cetera, and they all stem from this slight personality disorder I'm supposed to have developed. Not going to write so much about it, because I have done previously, but I will however say this: If you ever have problems like these, and get medication for it that you feel works; don't skip it. I might've been a bit sloppy the past weekend, missed a pill or two, and now I'm paying for it. The past several months I've been gloriously free from the monkey on my back, but this night was a harsh reminder of how it is to have serious anxiety issues, feeling like you're in a state of fear and panic every minute of every hour. This was a mild episode compared to the ones I've had before, but time does make you forget (thankfully) how uncomfortable it can be. Apart from the anxiety, I also get uncharacteristically aggressive if I miss a pill or two, and tend to fly off the handle for absolutely nothing. All in all; yay for drugs, as long as you remember to take them!

And now for something completely different...
Movies. When did they start to suck this badly? These days movie I actually want to see are few and far between, and the ones I get around to see due to the fact that they're supposed to be good, just aren't. Take Benjamin Button, for example, which was nominated for a bunch of Oscars, and even won a few, and has a rather high score at imdb.com. What did I think? God, what a yawn. Too many cliches, theatrical and bad new orleans accents, bad make up jobs (Cate Blanchett in that bed really looked awful). Maybe I missed something vital, but I didn't like it at all. The only thing I liked was the tattooed irish boat captain. I tried watching Australia as well, despite bad reviews, but never got more then halfway through; Nicole Kidman was right in being embarrased about her own performance (or, allegedly, what the director had done to her performance). Maybe I'm just picky, or pedantic, or difficult, or maybe it's the lack of medication. Who knows? I do, however, have a few movies I'm going to give a go before I give up on movies all together: Valkyrie (featuring insane midget Tom Cruise, but hey, I'm a sucker for anything war-related), Shaun of the Dead (because people tell me I just have to), The Spirit (Frank Miller ftw), Coraline and Inglorious Bastards. If none of these are remotely good, I'll give up.

Don't mess with the 'do!

Finally got around to getting my hair sorted, I've been walking around looking like the shabby farmer I mostly am, but I've always been particular about my hair. Some women can't even leave the house to get the mail without putting on mascara, and I am certainly not one of them, it's perfectly normal to meet me at the grocery store wearing the extremely dirty/smelly/dusty clothes I've just been to work with, most likely without makeup and with my hair on end. But, while it may be on end, I hate not being able to go home, wash it and fix it into something cool. Safe to say I've never had my hair very long, either. God knows I've tried, but by mid-neck I get incredibly bored, march to the hairdressers and demand that they chop it off post haste. What I have had, however, are short spiky hair in every imaginable crazy shape and color. "Experimental", some would call it.

Those of you who like to experiment with cuts and color, or is just particular about your hair and has to go to the hairdressers often, know that it can be a horribly expensive deal. Worry no more, I have the solution: Team up with an apprentice hairdresser. If you, like me, live in Norway, most salons have apprentice hairdresser who will cut and dye your hair for half the price, and some times even less than that. I've paid everything from €70 upwards to €150(!) for a wash, cut, cure, dye and styling. What I paid today? €21!

Being particular about your hair most likely makes you a person that notices cool hairstyles that you like in pictures and so on: cut them out, take it to the person cutting your hair and point at it. Makes life easier for both you and the person with the scissors, and misunderstandings become virtually impossible.

Or you can do like me and just say "do whatever the hell you like". Not anything I'd suggest doing if you don't know the hairdresser, or he/she doesn't know you: in this particular instance she's cut my hair several times before (and I've been very satisfied), and she knows me, and what I like. And here's the result!

Dreams...

Soundtrack to this post: Bloc Party - Flux

Spring! Daylight, sun, warmth, trees go green, flowers grow, barbecuing, you can have a beer outside without freezing to death, etc etc. Generally I'm a big fan of late spring and summer, luckily I haven't inherited my families allergy problems either, so I can actually enjoy it to the fullest.

Oddly, summer has always made me strangely melancholic, in a bitter-sweet sort of way. When the nights become lighter and lighter, and you can sit outside for longer and longer, I get this insane urge to have fun. Party. Have friends over, eat good food, sit outside, listen to music, drink beers, go out, enjoy the summer (nights), maybe see a concert, forget all your worries, maybe meet someone new (or someone old), and have a flirt, and lots and lots of laughs. Or travel somewhere (preferably close to the sea) to do just about exactly the same.

Maybe I have some overly romanticized view of this, and the reason might be that I've never had the opportunity to do this sort of thing, except for a few times. A combination of me moving a few times, and growing up being a rather non-sociable creature has resulted in me not having a huge group of friends, and the friends I do have are scattered over most of Norway (and Europe now, to be honest), and they really don't know each other. (And some of them probably wouldn't get along at all, either.)

I do hope I'll have the opportunity to have some fun this summer. My ticket for Arvikafestivalen is lying safe in my inbox, but right now it's looking like I'll have to go alone. Admittedly I've whined about this before, so I won't do it again. I'll just say this: *sobs*. Apart from the festival I do have some plans to visit a friend's at her cabin in souther Norway, which might be nice, but it also means meeting a lot of people I've never met before. I'm all for meeting new people, but it takes quite a bit of effort.

Bah. I can't complain about my summer before it's even started. It's just that I'm desperate for something good to look forward to (and preferably something I know for sure will happen!). I have, however, made this deal with myself: If I don't get TG tickets (and I seriously doubt I will. I mean, come on!), I'm going to see Bloc Party in Brighton in October. Granted, I do have to beg, borrow and steal a bit of cash first...

I'd kill for an adventure
just you and I, in the Curzon Bar
Dancing till we knew
so that all we've learnt disappears.

Turning on the waterworks...

As I've said before, I'm not the most avid TV slave, and I hardly watch any of the tv shows that everybody else keeps talking about. I do, however, have one weakness, and that's hospital shows. I used to follow ER religiously, then came Chicago Hope, and lately it's been House and, I'm ashamed to admit it: Grey's Anatomy. I will always blame my cousin for this one. Anyway; it's closing in on the last episode of this season, and I'm not going to spoil it for anyone, but I will however issue a warning: if you're going to watch the latest episode (nr 22), bring plenty of tissues. Maybe it's me getting older, or more like my dear mum, who knows. But something about this show makes me weep like a baby. Literally: it's not just my eyes tearing up a bit or a lump in my throat, it's full on bawling. Good thing next episode are the finale, let's hope it doesn't make me suicidal.

Another thing that almost make me want to cry these days is my neck. Something has seized up completely, and I am now unable to turn my head to the left. Basically it hurts like hell, radiating up my head and down my left arm, and I'm now heavily self-medicated on anti-inflammatory gel, painkillers and chocolate eggs. Doing farm work is quite impossible in this condition, so I've had to spend a few boring days at home.

I am still waiting intently for an email or telephone from BBC. Any day now. Please?

Ah, kids. I am currently babysitting my 3 y/o nephew, because my brother is out being what we call "night ravens", basically it's grown up people patrolling the town, talking to kids, helping out if someone's in trouble, gets to drunk, can't get home, gets in a fight et cetera. A noble thing to do in ones spare time, and a thing I've considered doing many times myself. But, being only 23, about 156cm tall and possessing the authority of a fluffy bunny, I'm not sure that would work.. Anyway, normally I wouldn't have to babysit because my brothers wife would be here, but she's currently at the hospital with my 6 month old niece, who is having a heavy asthma episode again, poor thing.

The problem about having bedtime at 7 or 8 is that living so far north, it's still sunny outside. It's the price we pay for living in Norway: 17 hours of sunlight during the peak of summer, and about 5-6 hours tops in winter. And when a 3 year old is screaming "but it isn't bedtime, because it isn't night time, it's still day outside!", you can't bloody argue, can you? Yes it is sunlight outside, but it IS still nearing 8 o'clock, and you have to get to bed, you little brat... My sister has learned me one thing: Don't argue with your kids, don't discuss with them. Let them know why, tell them how it is, and if that doesn't work, just do it. Take charge. Decide how it is for them. I'm not sure I'm ever going to be patient enough for this parenting lark...

In other news; Norway has been at it's most beautiful and sunny today, and both me and Chania took advantage of that and had ourselves a little playtime. See the results here (Facebook) or here (Flickr).

The highly anticipated e-mail

Finally! Today I got the e-mail I've been waiting for religiously for a good month or two: The Top Gear tickets have been put up for grabs, and this mail was to notify that I could log on and choose a date. If tickets are available for said date, I'll get them. I realize there are about 200 000 people wanting these tickets (true fact!), and that almost 12 hours went by from me getting the mail to me logging on, which is bound to decrease my chances. But at least I will have tried, and I am trying not to get my hopes up. But if I do get tickets, it'll be the experience of a life time! First of all I'd be going to England, something I've actually wanted for a long time, and I'll hopefully get to see a bit more of it then Heathrow, which is the only part of England I've had the opportunity to visit (especially the departure hall in terminal 4, in which I had to spend 9 hours waiting for a connecting flight from Malta to Norway.) And, seeing as the show is recorded in Godalming outside of Guildford, I might get so see a bit more then just the city. Secondly, I'd be able to see Top Gear! Live! Which means (hopefully) some cars I'd normally never get to see live in my life, and not to mention my three favority telly presenters ever!

I won't know wether I've had any luck until I get a phonecall or an e-mail back. And this one will be even more highly anticipated. And if I do get them, you'll be able to hear it over large parts of the north-eastern hemisphere.

Oh well, musn't get my hopes up. I'm not generally a lucky person. I am ambitious, but rubbish. Hohum!