It’s been exactly a week since I came back, and wow, this year abroad has really opened up my eyes, and in a way–made me really critical about this place and its culture. While it’s good to be back and see old faces again, I can’t really say that it’s good to be home, because it doesn’t feel that way. (Not that I have any idea where home is whatsoever. Nineteen years spread across three continents: home doesn’t feel like a relevant term anymore.)
I miss Norway immensely: Sure, there were grim, ensom times, but there was always something to do, it seemed. I could take my bike out and cycle around town, or take the bus to Tønsberg–finding things to do was never a problem. But now I am sitting at “home” finishing off my hunk of Jarlsberg cheese, trying to be content with my life here in Union City in this doldrummy, disconnected interim. While everyone’s taking summer courses. What is up with that?

Anyway, here’s a thought I’ve been entertaining myself with i det siste: If I had a lot of money, I wouldn’t work (duh). I don’t even think I’d go with my old dream and make a record anymore. (That’s a lie. I’d still make a record.) I think I’d just use that money to travel and wander the world. That’s what I’m really feeling right now: an insurmountable feeling of wanderlust. And the shining star on top of the Christmas tree: a month backpacking across Iceland. And I just found out today Icelandair opened up a new route directly from Seattle to Reykjavik. Ohhh…

But with me not having money, and needing money, that would be a problem. In fact, I’ve been so opptatt by these fanciful images of me frolicking across the Icelandic landscape that I’ve totally been disregarding the fact that I am fucking blakk! So it doesn’t look like Iceland will be materializing itself this year. I really need to be focusing on the more important stuff, like trying to get a job in Switzerland (impossible? Well let a fool have his hopes) and applying for a summer position up in Nordkapp. The thing that’s most bothersom is that I have no working experience, which makes me think back: what the hell have I done in the years that I was in high school besides…school? Slik ting…gah!

This past week has been pretty fun. Went to Scotland on a school trip from the first to fifth of March. We stayed in a hostel in Glasgow and spent most of our time there, with a one-day excursion east to Edinburgh (or if you rather, Edinbruh). I remember not really particularly looking forward to Scotland–we’d just read MacBeth last year–but aside from the weather, which was pretty Shakespearean, it was pleasantly nice.

We had a lot of time to ourselves, so I think I really got to know downtown Glasgow. Shopped a lot, ate a lot, drank maybe a little too much. (EuroHostel Glasgow, I’m really sorry about your staircase…) That suddenly reminds me, if you ever get the chance to visit Glasgow, go check out La Tasca: it’s this Spanish tapas restaurant and bar with excellent food, drinks, service, and ambiance. I know, shame on me for recommending a Spanish restaurant in Scotland, but really–do yourself a favor and eat there, or at least order a rebujito. We also went into some authentic Scottish pubs and tried just about everything under the sun: rum, vodka, schnapps, whiskey…pretty nifty (just like my rhyme), and ate some haggis: the whole gastronomical nine yards.

Came home Thursday and went up to the family hytte on Friday with Mammà, Pappà, Marie, Hilde and Morten. Alltid koselig å være på hytta vår.

So lately I’ve been harboring this really sweet and irritating feeling. The only way to describe it is like my heart can’t be contained within my ribcage. I’m emblazoned with a violent urge to do more, to be selfish, to go after what I really want. I’ve felt like this sporadically, and there’s no doubt Keith Urban’s latest single has a little something to do with it. (It also explains my sudden pregnant-womanlike craving for contemporary country. Just no Taylor Swift, please.) I love this feeling; it’s so motivating. It makes me want to get off my ass and do stuff and make something out of my life. But at the same time, it’s a humbling feeling: I feel so small, so unimportant, so there’s almost a need to move, faire, fare. It’s a fusion of desire and desperation. It’s the thought that “It’s a stormy sea ahead, but you’ll sail through it if you really put your mind to it.”

So anyway, to assuage myself, I’m planning on learning “You’ll Think of Me” within the next two weeks. Ambitious (for a gee-tar retard like me)? Yeah. But things feel different this time…

À suivre…