These words are yours, so scream every one.

This week I have been rotting from the inside.  When some Polish dudes asked to surf the couch last night, I should have said no.  But sometimes I'm a real fucking nice guy.  So, despite the fact that I have literally lost all patience, I said yes.  They were pretty fun.  Intelligent and interesting enough.  Luckily I only had to play nice for one night.  Side note, they gave me a bottle of Vodka (wodka) as a gift. Score...  

Polish dude with the blond hair is a Euro version of Jess

Sauna - Cures the crazies

When I hear all this talk of Valborg, I can't even muster up enough energy to pretend that I give a shit.  Watching my friends get bombed in a park at 10am was the last thing I wanted to do.
So Juan was nice enough to listen to me spill my guts at the sauna instead.  Dude is a saint.  He also convinced me that a picnic in the park (a park, not THE park) would be nice.

Juan Romanitco

And he was right.  A totally hetero-picnic was actually pretty nice.  The weather has been fantastic for the last two weeks (which has made studying difficult).  It brought me out of my funk.

Swedish hippie jam fest 2011

So needless to say after lifting weights until I lost feeling in my arms while listening to Killing the Dream on repeat, kicking the Polish dudes out of my house, saunaing with the pro (he has no time for wood paneled rooms under 100ºC) , sun bathing naked, picnicing with Swedes and a hot shower - I feel better.

Sing.  You've heard this all before.

Cheese ball sXe inspirational quote of the year - "It isn't why you feel this way.  It is what you do about it." True enough.

I exhale, causing the ocean's endless waves

Light as a feather, stiff as a bro

A few things:

I'll learn to swim eventually, but the Öresund isn't a proper environment to take lessons in. 

The countdown to Spain has begun.  6 days.  Get jealous. 

Thesis is coming along nicely.  You don't care. 

The bros will be out here in 5 weeks.  Get excited. 

Russian visa application has been started.  Get Rad.

Job hunting is around the corner.  Get the fuck out.  

Rebuilding a sense of community

Juan, Eric Bana, myself and the Capt'n. 

And suddenly life returns to the dead streets.  Cloudless days and chilly nights spent with friends make the solitude of the winter months seem like distant memories.  Ray Bans and sun burns abound.  

Your time is up

While on a walk this evening with David, my new room mate, he asked me if I intended to keep in contact with the people I have met in Sweden.  As he said, "your time here must seem so temporary."  Initially my first response was, "of course I will keep in touch".  I couldn't tell if that was the response that I felt obligated to give or if it was actually how I felt.  Yeah sure, there are some rad dudes and ladies I've met in the past several months.  And June will be bittersweet.  But after the train wreck that hit my apartment last night, I am less inclined to feel much of an attachment.  Regardless, facebook and couchsurfing will always be there to soften the blow of letting go.  And this inevitability is somewhat of a relief.

1000 years at the bottom of the ocean

Straight-edge strip search

A few of us set out to hang around in Copenhagen under the thin veil of doing field work for our various research projects.  Instead of taking the train (which is fast, frequent and convenient - but fairly expensive) we opted to take the bus, which turned out to be a huge mistake (more on this later).

Crossing the bridge in the sunshine is nice.  You appreciate how massive it is and understand why it took 10 years and billions of crowns to complete.  Although the trip was scenic, it takes a hell of a lot longer than the train.

The boat tour around the canal was cool.  The royal family celebrated the naming (christening?) of the new born children with an extravagant show along the harbor.  We just happened to be in the right place at the right time to see the royal family sail around the water and salute the sailors.  Kind of worth it.

Multi  modal bro

After snapping a few pictures, eating a good meal, and running to catch the bus - we were headed back to Sweden.  Upon reaching the boarder, two customs agents boarded the bus.  I've heard rumors that customs agents will randomly search buses bound for Sweden.  This rarely (if ever) happens on the trains.  After several idle minutes, the bus pulled into a building.  We were asked to ger off the bus and go through a screening similar to airport security.  Also they had a drug dog sniff you.
Having said this, I can now safely say that I have completed the life long goal of getting strip searched by a boarder agent.
During my dog screening the fucking mutt gives my pocket a casual sniff and proceeds to take little interest in me.  But apparently this was enough to raise suspicion.  After being taken into a room, I was asked to take all my clothes off.  This was absolutely hilarious to me.  The only fucking 26 year old on the planet that still thinks being Straight Edge is cool was being strip searched on suspected possession of illegal drugs.  After lifting my ball sack and spreading my ass cheeks I was given the thumbs up (figuratively).  I put my clothes on, collected my dignity, got back on the bus and went home.
Fucking Sweden.

Half a year spent in black

I've had a particular song stuck in my head for two weeks now.  I've always wished that I had a movie soundtrack playing as I walked down the street.  And not something ridiculous like the theme from Jurassic Park, but more along the lines of Shaft.  I digress.
It is thesis time.  I've given myself a realistic goal of writing one page a day.  It doesn't seem like much, but crafting a well researched and thoughtful page (single spaced or GTFO) based in theory is more difficult than it sounds.  A picture of the kitchen table should show you how organized my brain is right now.  Spain in 3 weeks.  Get psyched.

My breath is a hammer

On my way out

Reduced to foot traffic due to and unfortunate incident involving a certain bottom bracket in a rusted machine that kills zombies, I slowly made my way to the city library (Stadsbibliotek) for some thesis writing.  

Spring is in the air today.  Not that it is particularly warm by my usual standards, but the sun was shinning and people were in the streets.  I even broke a surprisingly welcome sweat through my thin hoodie.

Breeders

I occasionally lurk this dude's bike blog from Minneapolis.  A common theme tends to be the anticipation of the turning of the seasons.  After being in Sweden for a long winter, I can appreciate his stance on it.  Even though I consider myself quite the atheist, this dude wrote some quasi-religious bullshit that stuck with me:
"If you truly want to know heaven, you've got to first know hell." 
Maybe a little over the top, but you get the point. 

The countdown has truly begun.  I have a little more than two months left in Sweden, and a full summer of travels ahead of me.  It is very exciting and somewhat daunting at the same time.  But it makes me feel alive.  It is exactly what I was looking for when the existential crisis hit me around my 25 birthday.   
I look forward to seeing everyone, everywhere, eventually (alliteration!)   

Sko

Simple songs get caught in our heads

And so I continue to: wear holes in my jeans, cut my hair short, taste the salt in the air, forget my own phone number, drink too much caffeine, watch cartoons, wear my t shirts twice, get depressed when reading current events, survive off oatmeal and protein powder, bite my nails, forget to wash my sheets, get nervous when I speak Swedish, quote lyrics under my breath, secretly wish for a zombies apocalypse, stress about deadlines, cover my stink with perfume, reassess goals, sleep with my window open, crack my knuckles, flex in the mirror with no one is looking, pine for spring, strain my eyes, curse the birds outside my window, fight against the wind, think about old friends, sink further into my mattress, stay up late and wonder why I am tired in the morning.

Tear down these walls.

After months of fixing everyone else's flat tires, squeaky brakes and bent rims - I finally have a bike problem of my own.  I do it right though.  I don't get flats, I get blow-outs.  And it is Saturday evening.  And the bike shops don't open until Monday.  And sitting at home blows.  

There is a natural order

So, we stepped off the path, and went looking for the fortune that we knew was looking for us.