Variations on raw

Hello my lovelies, 

This is a period of a lot of raw emotion. It just is. Transitions seem to do that to people. Or at least to me. The letting go of the well known and the anticipation of what's yet to come. The saying goodbye to friends and family and the looking forward to meeting new friends and whatever or whomever is out there. Things, experiences and people need to be savoured like a fine wine (or in my case, an 'Old Fashioned' would probably be more likely. Note: If you don't know what an 'Old Fashioned' is - you need to). I fear, I may be a bit intense, these days. Oh screw it, I'm always intense. But still, these days seem rawer.

Adding to the rawness of my emotional experience these days is my every-present friend, Stress. Financial woes, overwhelming practical tasks such as emptying and leaving the apartment where I've lived for more than 4 years (which makes it the place I've lived the longest since I was...ehm...5 or something like that), sorting out visa-business and the mountains upon mountains of paper work that a sojourn overseas apparently generates are all factors that can make my little brain curl up into a little ball of confusion and tension and my heart race as if it were competing in eh, Le Mans or some other very fast-paced racy thing - even if I am trying my hardest to be cool and calm and not let petty practicalities get the better of me. And I haven't even mentioned the approaching task of having to stuff everything that I can imagine needing during the next year into t w o measly suitcases ('measly' for dramatic emphasis, of course. Let it be known that no suitcase of mine is or will ever be measly. And yes, I like drama). Should be interesting. Anyway, stress peels away tolerance and filters, as many of you will know - and I'm not exactly the most rigid of people to begin with, so yeah, existential thought, nostalgia, sentimentality, excitement, joy, elatedness, apathy, panic, fatigue, empowerment and optimism have all become regular elements of my every day, these days, each taking over where the other one left off, cancelling out whatever conclusion the previous emotion or state had reached. See how wonderfully ironic that is?! I'm constantly at Square One! And I fear that this fact makes me either terribly naïve, terribly stupid or just terribly confused. But it is, however, providing me with a wonderful opportunity to practise the act of calming the fuck down and not worry so goddamn much (I'll tackle the swearing later. For now, I just like it too fucking much to give up). I'm a notorious worrier and freaker outer - and I know for a fact how destructive this can be. I mean, seriously, I can make stories out of everything, anything, really. I can fabricate entire universes in the span of a few hours and my thoughts will naturally multiply and take over, if they are not tamed and told to 'back the fuck off' every once in a while. This is why I will make a good writer. And this is why I sometimes suck at the real-life-thing. Note to self:

Goal: Don't worry, be happy!

(omg - did I actually just write that?! Kinda makes me wanna hurl a little bit. But it's also the truth, I really do want to be able to not worry and just be happy, so I guess I'm going to have to live with the banality of it all. Yeah yeah, big surprise, I'm kind of a snob. Exhibit A: I do NOT like Anchorman)

Tonight's the last night in my apartment. There is no furniture left apart from the bed I'm lying in (which will be thrown out tomorrow) and my closet, which will be transported to Nørrebro tomorrow, where it has found a new home. It must be a time of raw emotion for the closet too, I guess. All the new things to come. Will it like it's new home? What will be put into it? Who will it meet? What smells will surround it? Will it be happier there, in its new surroundings? Or sadder? Or the same? As for the bed, I guess it's better off not knowing what the morrow brings...

Goodbye apartment. Old life. My memories are in your walls now. They were mine and now they are yours, and I leave them with you happily. I won't forget, no, that's not what I'm saying. But I'm moving out. Moving on.


Much love (and if you don't like it raw, you're gonna have to cook it yourself),

Mette-Marie