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Leadfill The Hole In Me

August 18, 2014

Limb by limb and tooth by tooth
Tearing up inside of me
Every day every hour
I wish that I was bullet proof

Dear Sister Midnight. For five years you’ve been my outlet, a source of comfort, a root of my old self. It has been wonderful. But it has been lagging. I’ve tried catching up and dating back posts, obsessing more over the “one post minimum per month” than actually writing here like I did before. So in my old style, I will try and sort this post into the neat points that I’m trying to make. (Knowing, of course, that I’ll probably ramble off somewhere in the latter part, but let’s try.)

First of all, I’ve been happy. Yes, I know, I’ve probably been over this before too. But I’ve been happy, my life has been good, and there’s no point in denying that sad stuff makes for better writing material. All the badly veiled metaphors, not-so-discreet hints, the whole shebang… Well, there’s not much fun in writing that when everything is fine and things are running smoothly. Of course, I wish with all my heart that I could put out more of my writing (of the more non-personal kind), but I just think this blog is not it for that. (Anymore. Or anyway. Something.)

Another aspect of it all is that the internet is a different place in 2014 than it was in 2009. Well, duh. “Blogging” is not nearly the same thing it was back when I started this blog, and while I have no need to adjust to that, I must be frank and admit that I feel kind of ridiculous with this blog hanging around. Of course, I would never think of deleting it, that would be like burning my written diaries, and I could never ever do that. I love this blog for being just that – a window back into my past (…that is thankfully past). But I just don’t “feel it” anymore.

Furthermore, there’s something I feel burdened by, that should get it’s own post but that I’m simply unable to make. Tøffen’s death. It’s only three days since I found him, and I know that I haven’t even begun to properly process it all. This is (…was? How can you ever adjust to saying that? I will never be able to think in the past tense about him.) my baby we’re talking about, I know it’s incredibly naïve to think but I have never imagined my life without him. I knew of course that the inevitable would happen some time, but I always pictured it as far away in the future, when I was maybe 30 years old and had a house and kids and other things to worry about. I have pictured him there in my very roughly sketched 5-year-plan, made arrangements for him so that he will have a place to stay in between moving, until I get a place where I am actually allowed to keep him.

And then I come home and I find him and he’s not alive anymore. How are you ever prepared for that? How can you possibly, possibly ever get over the shock of finding your baby bunny, who you’ve cared for since he was 1 month old and fit in the palm of your hand, dead in his cage, all alone? The horror of the realisation, the absolutely lung-crushing and kneejerking shock and horror of that realisation? It’s just. I don’t know. Friday was a nightmare, the rest of the weekend surreal. I went all Saturday and Sunday without crying, after keeling over from exhaustion from all the tears and gasping for air on Friday. But though the tears were absent (possibly due to the numbness and incredibility of the situation), there appeared – and still appears – to be in the corner of my eye: just like in the novel Sula where Nel is seeing this little grey ball dancing around the edge of her vision and realises after a long time that it’s the grief of losing Sula, so do I see something in the periphery, constantly there but not getting too close either. Now the metaphor doesn’t work so well on me since I obviously know what the grey ball is, but I’m too afraid to let it get too close and look at it. I don’t want to. Yet.

So, this is goodbye for now. I have decided to take a stand instead of feeling guilt over not posting here, so as to focus on my life in all its happiness, and on my grief in all its sadness. That’s life in a nutshell, and you have just got to deal with it. But maybe not with the overhanging guilt of a blog you’re not really interested or inspired to keep alive. I won’t say that I’ll never return, but if I do, it’ll be out of inspiration, not guilt.

Thank you to all of you who have been in here once or more over these past five years, I won’t pretend that I don’t know that it’s no one, but if you see this in ten years and the internet hasn’t crashed for lack of space and this post still stands when you enter sistermidnight.wordpress.com, this is for you. Thank you.

[Song: Bullet Proof, I Wish I Was | Artist: Radiohead]

A Horrible Weekend

March 23, 2014

(I am, for once, leaving out my usual format for one long and straightforward text. I’ll be back with the usual format next post.)

So this weekend has been absolutely horrible. I was called yesterday on my way to work by my mom, and immediately I heard that something was not right. She told me that our cat, Rufus, had been rushed to the vet Friday evening/night. She was out at the time at a birthday party, while my stepdad and brother were home.

We live on the 11th floor (the top floor) which we share with only one pair of neighbours, and our verandas are divided with a 2 meter high fence. Thankfully, Rufus has never dared to go outside the railing, but we know that he somehow got over the fence to the neighbours one time a few weeks ago. There has been some neigbour disputes over a topic of sunscreens, and the mood hasn’t been the best, and they clearly stated their dismay over Rufus’ visit to them. Which, of course, is perfectly fine, and we went to get him back at once.

So it’s Friday afternoon, and Rufus has been outside on the veranda for maybe half an hour when my stepdad goes to call him in. He doesn’t see him immediately, but he does see a blood stain. Our veranda is very long and winds around the entire apartment, so he follows the bloodstains while calling Rufus. He eventually finds him at the end of the veranda, huddled next to our other veranda door (leading to the master bedroom), bleeding from his nose. He immediately calls out to my brother and they rush to the (thankfully 24/7) veterinary ER.

This is the backdrop for the phone call I receive Saturday morning. They have been up all night, frantically awaiting any news on his conditon. When she calls me they have just confirmed that he will live, but if they hadn’t gotten there when they did, he would have died. I can’t properly describe how I felt when I heard this, but I numbly awaited answers to all the questions piled up in my head.

How was he? How hurt was he? And, most hauntingly, what the hell had happened?

And this is where things get murky. First of all, despite all the blood, there was no outward damage to his body – at all. Thankfully he is perfectly fine (and this was reconfirmed today) physically, with no damage to either vital organs or skeleton, bones, nothing. But what is most sickening about the whole scenario is that the very real damage to him is head trauma. He has been hit with a blunt object, causing the nose bleed and the malfunctioning of vital nerve systems, which on Friday reduced and even failed his ability to breath by himself. We have gone over and over the possible causes of this, and there are only two options that are possible:

1) We had a tabletop leaned up against said fence, which had fallen down when my stepdad went and found Rufus. If he was hit by this, it would certainly have hurt him – but how could he have been hurt by a tabletop only in the head? As the veterinarian said, when cats experience being trapped/hit by objects (the few times they’re not quick enough to get away from them) they just about always get their head out of harm’s way. And if the head is in harm’s way, so is the rest of the body. If Rufus was underneath the tabletop and made it slide and fall down, he would run out of it, or if he wasn’t fast enough, his body would be damaged to. Not to mention that he would probably be stuck underneath as well. So the tabletop theory just doesn’t match with the damage he has, so unless it was an extreme case of freak accident where he got hit by the tabeltop but only in the head, that can’t be it. Which leads to the only other option,

2) The neighbours did it. This is a horrible, horrible option, and one we don’t take lightly on. I refuse to believe that anybody in their right mind would do this, but when regarding the damages and trying to find the cause, we must be open to all options. As there is no other blunt objects for Rufus to be hurt by on the veranda, our other theory is that Rufus got over to the neighbours’ side, in the process using the tabletop as “jumping point”, thereby making it slide down, and once there, hit by the neighbour and afterwards thrown over back to our side.

It makes me sick to write this, and it makes me ever sicker to even consider that someone would do this. We have no proof whatsoever, and we will never be able to prove it either. It’s horrible to even think of accusing anybody of doing this, but when we try to consider the options of what happened on Friday night, this sadly adds up pretty well. We know that they hate cats, and both Rufus and us in particular, and they’ve been waving a broomstick at him before – so, you know, if this were a TV show, it’d seem very likely to be them. But again – I want to make it very clear that I have nothing against these people personally, and am in no way accusing them of doing this – it’s just that it’s so incredibly difficult to see how else this could have happened.

I am of course hoping and praying to god that they didn’t do this, but the worst part is that there’s really no way to prove either their guilt nor their innocence. We know from the vet that he was struck with a blunt object, and if we rule out the tabletop theory (which the vet found to be very little plausible) then somebody must have struck him – and there are only two people who could have done it. This feeling is incredibly uncomfortable and really one of the worst I have ever had to deal with. To feel so insecure about someone’s true nature is highly unsettling and makes our whole family feel very unsafe and unsettled.

Now, of course, the absolute most important part of this whole story is Rufus. We went to see him today, and it was a sad sight. Yesterday he was in this oxygen cage to help him breathe, but today he is finally able to breathe himself, so he was in his own cage today. We got to pet him and say hi, and it was just so incredibly both heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time to see him and feel him alive after fearing for his life for so long. (Or, you know, it hasn’t even been 48 hours, but not knowing is the absolute worst feeling in the whole world.) Other good news is that he both eats, drink and pees as usual, which the vet said was very good, as it proves that none of his essential bodily functions are damaged.

Now, there are sadly still some issues to resolve. While his physical state is good, there is still no confirmed answer to what damages his head might have taken. When we met him today, he had an eyelid deficiency/prolapse which made him look a little wonky, and we don’t know yet what other nerves, systems and functions that might have been damaged. Now I am only so incredibly thankful that he will live, and that he will be alright, and that he is all fine physically. But to imagine that he might now be retarded – whether in a big or small scale- is truly heartbreaking. He is such a wonderful, feisty, curious, loving, and devoted kitten, not even one year old, and while I would love him no less for any deficiency he might have gotten from this incident, it would just seem so incredibly unfair for an animal so young to be denied a full-functioning life.

So the status per now is that we might hopefully get him back tomorrow, and we won’t know the reach of the damages from the head trauma for some days, maybe even a week. What the vet said, though, that I find highly plausible, is that there is a swelling in the skull that might put pressure and squeeze some nerves, creating these deficiencies, which means that when the swelling goes down the nerves will function again and he will be back to normal. It should also be added that when we saw him today he was pretty high on methadone, so of course we can’t expect him to be perky as usual. I don’t care how long he has to stay at the vet or how long we have to let him recuperate just as long as he gets well.

This whole episode has been my first meeting with near-death in close family (yes, I am so lucky), and to be honest, I had never guessed that Rufus would be the first animal I needed to worry about – what with my bunny Tøffen at seven years and counting and all. In fact, the thought that I would have to worry about Rufus for at least another ten years was just way out of my head. But it’s happened, and it went fine, but it’s really given me a shock and a reminder of how precious life is and how dangerous it is to live. No matter how much you try to take care of the people (and animals) you love, you can’t ever protect them a hundred percent, and if/when something happens to them, you feel so lost and hopeless and helpless and it’s just excruciating. Many might argue that it’s not as bad as if it’s happening to a person, and I can (thankfully) neither confirm nor deny that, but what I do know is that death, and the threat of death, be it to an animal or a human being, is all-powerful and it takes hold of you, strangling you so you can’t breathe. We will thankfully get Rufus back, and hopefully with his full senses returned, and I will be eternally grateful to that. I have learned that you should never take anything for granted, and it is so important to take care of the people around you and to always make sure they know you love them.

And for the pets, maybe an extra treat and some extra snuggle time will give them an idea of your love for them – because they are truly dependent on only you.

Like A Room Without A Roof

February 20, 2014

It might seem crazy what I’m about to say
Sunshine she’s here you can take a break
I’m a hot air balloon that could go to space
With the air like I don’t care baby by the way

February 2009 – a whopping five years ago!!! – I wrote my very first blog post on this blog, and I have written at least one post (almost) every month since. This blog has been with me through so many vital years, and I thought I’d pick a paragraph or two from each year and post it here chronologically.  Enjoy the trip back in time!

February 9, 2009 – the very first post
Howdy folks! As some of you may have predicted, I opened a new blog (obviously). It seems like I can’t stay away from sharing my often weird and always random thoughts to the entire world. (…) So, what will I do with this blog? I still don’t know. I suppose I’ll start with the usual; what-have-I-done-today-sort of posts, and maybe, eventually (if you’re all lucky, or unlucky, depends) I’ll post some of my writings. Only time will tell. Oh, and yeah, I’m writing in English. Don’t ask me why, I just felt like it. Let’s call it practice or for recreational needs or whatever else you might want to name it.

May 9, 2010 – about Moonlight Sonata 
I know that I am by far the first person to be touched by piano music. Yet whenever I hear a beautiful piano song I simply freeze, it is as if I slide into a lake where I can swim silently, listening only to the sound of the gentle brushing of the waves I make. The water is dark, it is night – except for the full moon above me, and it shines gently upon the surroundings. I can let myself float on my back and drift – drift wherever I am taken, it is so soft, the water. As I comb my fingers through it I get a feeling of comfort. I do not shiver, the place is not eerie – I am in a moonlit world, the piano song playing in my ears yet from somewhere far away – it is powerful yet not louder than a whisper. I am moved to silent tears of an undescribable joy and I let them run from my closed eyes, down my cheeks and in the water. Into the water where they will blend, be just another drop in the ocean. This place is unfamiliar, yet safe – I am comforted by the beauty of the piano, its notes striking me deep down, running down my spine and going out to every fibre of my body. I sink in it, the water, the music.

July 10, 2011 – some depressing shit
When it all comes crashing down. It is a very definable moment, when you get that feeling. When everything you’ve built around you just topples and crashes around you – on you – inside you. When what you thought was a fortress was actually a prison, and what you thought was protecting you turned out to be your biggest threat. The exact moment you feel it all crashing down on you is a moment so powerful, you never forget it. It is the moment your heart bursts and you realize that there is no way back, no way forward either, you are just stuck there right in the middle as the weight of it all comes crashing down on you, burying you. And the worst part? You feel like being buried, too. You never want to get out of your grave, made of broken dreams and worst of all, your broken heart.

February 27, 2012 – regarding dreams
Then when I woke, it took me a few minutes of realizing that I had in fact woken, and my sleep-muddled brain tried to distinct what was dream and what was reality. Mind you, I was in complete darkness, unaware of time and barely conscious of space, and the feel of the dream was imprinted so strongly on my entire being that my heart lurched at the thought that the reality of it might also be the reality of my true reality. Yet the more I came to graps with my whereabouts, the more I felt the dream slipping, and in my realization that it was fading I tried grasping it even more, wanting to savour the memory of it, wondering what had happened in it that gave me this feeling of happiness, comfort, love, ease – but the dream ran from me, leaving me with nothing but a few highlights, frozen glimpses, which left a sort of hollow space where previously the dream had been, filling me.

May 20, 2013 – as P.S. about writing, and being essential to yourself
(And right now a stray thought popped into my head – a memory of a time when I was with my parents at our cabin (aka favourite place on earth) and I read them one of my posts from here (this one), a piece I wrote in English class back in high school that I was pretty satisfied with. (I still think it’s fairly good, especially written by a 15/16-year-old me, and it’s a shame that I feel like I haven’t written anything of quality since like 2009. Sob. (That being said I would definitely have made some alterations to that version if I were to edit it today, but I will never go back and edit my previous mistakes, they’re there to stay!) The reason why I remember this so well is because after I had finished it and asked them for their opinion, my dad (after saying it was great, of course, like he had any choice) said he thought it was such a melancholy piece, that the ending was ominous and that it was a sad tale. I was nonplussed because I hadn’t intended it to be like that, in fact I don’t think I had intended it to be anything but certainly not sad! And that’s the time when I really thouroughly understood that writing (and reading) means completely different things to different people. I really appreciate this moment because it was the first time I understood that literature is interpreted differently by different people, and that is such an important value to literature. There is no right and wrong – however I intended that story to be, it was interpreted by him in his own way, and how am I to say that it’s any better or worse than what I had intended? For all I know, maybe the story is a lot better with this deeper dimension – maybe it’s just a plain and simple piece whose worth is determined by the reader’s interpretation. And I love that.)

And here we are today in 2014. I have decided that from now on I will take the leap and post some writings again. I more or less constantly carry around a notebook for inspirational bursts, there have been very few during this winter, but as the sun comes out again and thaws my inspiration I notice a lust for writing that always sets fire to my blood. So I will post some snippets here from now on, and we’ll see how it goes. Anyways, thank you all for reading, either once by chance or more or less consistently through five years… No matter how slowly those stats have been progressing, they have actually reached over 10,000 views, and I take that as a humble victory!

[Song: Happy | Artist: Pharrell Williams]

Ice And Sugar Dust

January 27, 2014

Well I know that getting you alone isn’t easy to do
But with the exception of you I dislike everyone in the room
And I don’t wanna lie but I don’t wanna tell you the truth
Get the sense that you’re on the move and you’ll probably be leaving soon

I think about the quality of fan fiction sometimes. I saw a post on tumblr by someone working in publishing, who said that 80% of the fan fiction she reads is better than 90% of the scripts she reads for her job. Okay, so maybe I don’t remember the numbers exactly, but the point is still that she said that most fan fiction writers are way above the rate of many other so-called “writers”. This is both very good and very sad.

The good part is, of course, that we can establish that fan fiction writers are writing real quality literature. They use their spare time to write high-quality literature, and how often have I been up until 3 am to read a 100,000 word fic? Lately, more often than I sit with a proper physical book. (This doesn’t mean that I think the literature that is actually published is bad, my point is the opposite, really.) This means that these writers (which I will call them from now, because that’s what they are) lead their ordinary lives all day, and come home and serve us amazing pieces of literature that often have huge audiences impatiently waiting for the next chapter. How amazing is that? So for all of these writers to get some acknowledgement is way overdue, because fan fiction is truly a genre in itself.

The sad part, then, is that there is still no real recognition for fan fiction. This being of course because it’s based on pre-existing literary universes (here throwing in movies, tv series, theatres and whatnot). Yet, some of our greatest literary works – Virgil, Dante – are basically versions of fan fiction. Dante even writes self-insert fan fiction, generally shamed in all circles of fan fiction. So my point here is that people feel that fan fiction is a sort of shameful hobby, where you leech on the works created by others. But the most important thing is that this is completely wrong! How many fan fictions aren’t completely different alternate universes, with completely different settings? Often it demands huge amounts of real research into a time period, for instance, which is real work. Every fan fiction writer does a very difficult thing – having respect both for your own writing as an autonomous writer, and for the original, canon piece of fiction. This is a difficult balance, so in effect this should demand even more respect.

I guess my point here is that fan fiction should get the attention and respect it deserves – and if you look at several big recent works (Fifty Shades of Gray being an example of original Twilight fan fiction…) it is not impossible to get published with something that was originally fan fiction. But it is still tinged with shame, because you borrowed the ground frame from someone else’s work. Then again, isn’t all of literature in effect a cause of all that has past before it? Just a thought.

[Song: Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You | Artist: Arctic Monkeys]

Caligula Would Have Blushed

December 26, 2013

In my life 
Why do I give valuable time 
To people who don’t care if I
Live or die

There is nothing more satisfying, at times, than to cancel any plans to go out and just stay at home. Some days are exhausting – it doesn’t have to be that you’ve been at work all day (which is very exhausting), or at school (also exhausting), because sometimes you just have one of those days where nothing is quite right and everything is a bit wonky and you just want to be by yourself and not see anyone.

There is a wonderful satisfaction in “getting away with” being alone. Today it seems like being sick is the only excuse you can have for wanting (…or then, needing) the be alone. Is there no room for actually wanting to do nothing, not be social? Seriously, I swear that it seems like the weirdest thing in the world to stay at home and do nothing, because hey, it’s Friday/Saturday/day before day off/something, whatever. It doesn’t have to be like that, you can stay at home and do nothing even if you’ve been invited to lots of things.

However, it’s very important to remember that doing things is super important. Often I feel a little under the weather, but then I push myself to go and do something with some friends, and it really brightens my mood and makes the day super awesome instead. It’s possible! I don’t think I’ve ever really regretted doing something, because all those times I push myself to go out it always feel worth it – at least for the time spent with friends.

I guess you can say that balance is key here, because while pushing yourself can really help – but pushing yourself too much won’t help neither you nor your friends, and might push you over the exhaust-edge. So, you know, be careful to search your true feelings before deciding on staying in – or going out.

(When this blog became some kind of self-help-centre I don’t know, but I’ll note in and work at it in the future. Haha.)

[Song: Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now | Artist: The Smiths]

I Will Never Rust

November 29, 2013

Secrets I have held in my heart
Are harder to hide than I thought
Maybe I just wanna be yours
I wanna be yours

This blog is, and has always been, partial to Arctic Monkeys and their wonderful music. No matter how I feel, a song from them will always bring me in the right mood – if  I want to relax and listen to some nice music, they’re there. If I’m sad and heartbroken, they’re there. If I’m in love and super happy, they’re there. If I want to party and get pumped up – they’re there. They’re always there. I believe I heard their first album sometime during Christmas 2005, recommended by my best friend who got me their CD. I can’t thank her enough. I would probably have found it anyway sooner or later, but I found them then and I have always appreciated this.

It’s weird to see them expand, evolve and change as much as they have. I have followed them faithfully through all their albums, and while I have never strived to like them “because I like them”, I have always enjoyed their new turns, and I find this as a sign that AM really must be “my” band. It’s not often you like all “versions” of a band, but if you, I believe that means that you’re meant to be. What is so strange now, however, is to see them being plastered all over tumblr, going from a couple of hundred notes tops to like 100k. As always with something you discovered early you think “ugh get off I’ve liked them longer than you have!!!” which is the stupidest sentiment in the world, because I have always advocated for them and wanted them to be known, so I should be pleased now, right? But then I’m not, really. Or of course I am, but I am hard-pressed to believe that the people who dig Do I Wanna Know? and R U Mine? even recognise that they’re by the same band as the 2006 hits When The Sun Goes Down and I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor. And of course this is no prerequisite for enjoying a band, and I also acknowledge that they’ve developed so much that they hardly seem to be the same band, and the parallells are quite easily missed unless you’re looking for them.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this – it sounds like the typical, whiny “I knew them first and they’re mine so who are you to say that you like them!!!!” but I can assure that this is not what I was going for! I just reflected over my history with them and I’m glad we go way back, because they have meant so incredibly much to me. But I am also thrilled that they still, after almost nine years, still attract new fans and listeners, contuinuing to play their way into people’s hearts. That’s a feat that I’m incredibly happy for them about – and of course, if you, dear reader, have not discovered the miracle of Arctic Monkeys, I strongly recommend them to you now! Haha.

I also want to note that SisMid has finally peaked 10,000 views! Yay! I can hardly believe it. Well, of course, it’s been a slow, but steady progress that has gone on for years, so I guess it’s not that strange. But it still means that this blog has been viewed more than 10,000 times, and while I probably stand for a good part of those views, I still don’t think I can take credit for all 10,000. So thank you all who have visited once or several times through the years! It’s not what it once was, but I love that it still exists and is available for me (and those of you who should be interested for some strange reason), and thus provides me with a bunch of memories and thoughts that I probably would’ve forgotten otherwise.

[Song: I Wanna Be Yours | Artist: Arctic Monkeys]

And I Want You Around, Deep Down

October 31, 2013

Every time that I look out my window
All my emotions they are speeding
Zip thru winding highways in my head
Pick up momentum then I’m coasting

I’ve been feeling philosphical lately. Or, I suppose I always feel philosophical when I write here, that’s kind of the trademark of these posts, but still. I’ve been thinking about all the changes that happen in a life and how they shape us. More specifically, I find that the choices we make – even the smallest, seemingly insignificant ones! – all affect and change the course of our lives. If I had decided to go to the store an hour earlier, maybe I would have met someone familiar, or been in a different state of mind and bought sensible food instead of unhealthy food that makes me bloated, which again might affect my evening – should I go out or stay in? I got an invitation, but I feel bloated and tired, so I’ll stay in. But what if I went out? Maybe I’d have met some amazing people who would really affect the way I look on life? Maybe I’d go to a concert and have an amazing experience? Maybe my life would feel incredibly meaningful, if only for one, alchohol-induced night.

But then again – maybe I did go for the unhealthy choice (I did. I always do.), get bloated and unwell and stay in. Then I would watch some episodes of my favourite TV series, listen to some amazing music, eat chocolate and maybe watch Bridget Jones again for the umpteenth time. And what would I miss? Any night could be the best night of your life if you give it the chance, but it can also be the night that you are robbed, stabbed, raped or killed. Whenever you allow life and destiny to affect your life you open up to both the good and the bad, and you must accept both possibilities.

This does not by any means mean that I am afraid to go out. I surround myself with a fierce (but not provocative) attitude, and you would be a fool to try and mess with me. I am also armed with both a sound alarm and pepperspray, so for everybody’s good, it’s best to leave me alone. But I do accept the weight of the world that is inevitably on all our shoulders, and while most accidents happen in the home, it’s fairly rare to get robbed og raped by a stranger there. So if I do choose the unhealthy choice, get bloated and unwell and stay in, I most definitely do not regret not going out. There are always more nights (unless you die, of course, which could happen in a variety of ways not necessarily including blind violence), and as my mother always says, “there’s always another party”. But I never knew if she actually meant this or if she said this to keep me out of harm’s way so as not to worry so much…

The solution I have found to this tedious problem is to 1) thrive in your own company, so the stay-at-home-nights are something to actually look forward to, and 2) find someone you want to share both stay-at-home-nights and going-out-nights with. This has a double bonus: you can be ugly at home and feel like a pig, but with company if you so desire, without being bothered, and you can go out, have fun and have a chaperone to make way home a bit safer. Doesn’t really get much better than that?

[Song: Pure Pain | Artist: Kurt Vile]