Running my time away

My knees are sore. My calves hurt I have to do about twice as much laundry as I had to do before. I also seem to have developed a new found appreciation for those tight running pants and I always make sure I have a ton of bananas in my fruit plate at home.

What has happened to me? I'll tell you: I have been running all semester long. I got my self a little training app for the phone and I do what it tells me. It basically tells me when to run and for how long to do it... and it lets me manage my own speed. It's been really nice and I can see how my days have changed since January.

But there is always a but and I can tell how it's eating away at the rest of my life. This week I have to plan around doing that silly 90min run on Friday and still being alive enough to bike to my friend's house. I won't complain though. I figure that I'll burn so many calories doing those 15K that I figure I'll run that I can totally suck on a sugar cane and still be good.

Secretly, that's what I like the most about running: all the chocolate and candy I can eat and burn :)

Birthday month

January came and left, and February mornings were far to cold in the north of Sweden for me to sit outside and smoke a single, guilty ciggie while day dreaming about what this year will bring. March is here and my birthday is just around the corner. This is a big year (but then again, they all are) and I'm turning 30. I don't quite understand how that happened, or when.

I think about the past and the present, and I like the path I chose to walk. Sometimes, when I'm having fika with my friends and making K cry/chuckle I think about the sad little girl I used to be. When my family calls and says they miss me, I remember that for many years they never really cared (and that they do now makes me deeply happy). I have grown to be a woman that has wonderful, good people that love and care for her. And for that I am very grateful.

Living in three countries spread over two continents means that I will never get to have all the people I love around for the anniversary of my birth (or for the celebration of me still being alive, which is how someone that has been sick like I have looks at her birthday). However, when I blow out my candles in a few days I will carry all of them with me, along with the wonderful certainty that I am not alone in this big, blue world.

Jordan Catalano

I've been watching 'my so-called life' lately and not having seen it for the better part of a decade really helps me to remember what it was like to be Angela. We all were Angela, weren't we? We all had brave friends that seemed to fit into the social arena so well, and we all felt totally excluded from what was happening.

I remember feeling like I didn't 'belong' and how amazingly meaningful one single line in a poem or a story could be. In many cases, I still feel like that. Like it´s easier for others to cope, to understand, to grow, to love. I am not a teenager anymore, and almost not even in my twenties, but I remember. I remember and I understand. One thing, though... I don't miss the angst I use to feel over my own Jordan Catalano...

Party like it's 1999! (or 1995-1999)

As any person with as many iconoclastic tendencies as yours truly will tell you, this time of the year posses terrible contradictions between our desire to free ourselves from symbols and cultural obligations and, well, just having time off from work and school. Usually, I cope by calling everything by its 'proper sociology of religion name' and wishing everyone a happy hegemonic deity birthday/randomly set beginning of the year not really marked by the solstice (like the Iranians, who celebrate new years on March 21, when the sun wins the fight for time against the dark and the cold) and by working.

I will admit to going to new year's parties with my cousin Hugo and the lovely Marielos... and to randomly convincing complete strangers at the Café No Sé to chant wonderful pro-welfare state propaganda (yes, healthcare and eduation SHOULD BE FREE), as we all found out two years ago via a random MPHer from Johns Hopkins and a bar bet which I lost).

This year I ended up at a party at Andy's (Mg's friend) and while I expected a quiet, fun night of puns, Monty Python references and a great dinner, I got me a dance party complete with 1990s flashbacks which made me feel like I was 15 again and getting ready for my fiesta de quince. So to the tune of 'rhythm is a dancer' I welcomed 2011 and then proceeded to walk the 5km back to Mg's house at 4 am (got home at 5.30). No more dancing today, though

Learn (useful) Spanish in 30 days or your money back!

Learning a language is more than just conjugating verbs, confusing the polite and the familiar form of the second person singular or figuring out how to recognize and properly use the subjunctive. It is about communication and it is about saying -and knowing- the right words at the right time.

So Mg got a wonderful present from his sister: a Spanish 'word/phrase of the day' calendar for 2012 and a Spanish language course. Already we are ripping the benefits since Mg has just learned his first truly useful phrase for someone who is planning to tour Guatemala. What is it, you ask?

'¿Dónde está la estación de policía?' (where is the police station?)

A phrase that a white European tourist will surely need in the land of everlasting spring :P

Something I will never forget again

Two weeks ago I was trying to figure out what to take with me for a month in Norway. I already know you don't wear that much stuff in the winter since basically you wear the same thing all the time. A few sweaters would do the trick... pajamas for staying indoors and woolen socks to keep my toes toasty would surely be enough.

My problem now was a different one than when I was packing to spend the summer on 'the continent', where the sun is hot and I could indulge in wearing pretty dresses for weeks and weeks. When I packed my bag in June I wanted to take every single piece of clothing that wasn't made of wool that I owned. Now I only wanted to take a few things, but they were so bulky that I had to go for my bigger suitcase. So the morning of the trip I took out a few things and decided against taking sweatpants with me.

That was a mistake. I am sitting here in front of a nice fire and all I have are jeans. I 'yearn' for my old sweats and promise to never leave them at home ever again!

Song

You don't have to say you love me just because I can, you don't have to stay forever, I will understand...

It just came on while I was sitting in the living room, knitting a pair of sock-booties for a friend back at school. It made me miss my friend D. and sitting in her living room, singing old songs with a glass of (ghetto) wine and a ciggie...



And one for the road!