Katja Malmborg

#30: Cottage romanticism III (April 1st)

And this morning, I woke up to the fairies dancing.

– : o : –

In the afternoon, it hailed again. I love the sound of the hail against the glass roof. And how the shyly spring green lawn outside the windows gets white contours.

#29: Cottage romanticism II (March 31st)

The sun is going down and the birds have gone bananas, singing. So many melodies, all at once. The sounds here.

Earlier today, it hailed. We were sitting in the glass veranda, and the pearls of ice hitting the glass ceiling made for such a harmonious soundtrack. The monotony allowing erratic and ambivalent thoughts to fall into place.

The resident Hundby eagle made an appearance on the lake, making Dries almost jump out of his skin of excitement. And later, a family of roe deer walked by, lazily eyeing us through the windows.

#28: My new religion (March 31st)

Dries and I skyped with Ashley, sitting in the sunny glass veranda. Ashley was sitting in a hostel kitchen in the Philippines. There are no words for the enormity of a banal conversation like the one we had, across continents and oceans.

On Sunday, I had yet another Twin Peaks night with Natalia, Scotland not feeling that far away when I could see her eat ice cream and hear her gasp at the same over-the-board creepiness of Laura Palmer’s murderer as the one that got my own heart racing.

And the other week, Hannes told me about all the sports and outdoor clubs that he had joined in Wellington, New Zeeland, embracing the Anglo-Saxon club culture to the full.

It is difficult, being a person with restless bones. Maybe even more difficult, when your people have restless bones too. But the magic of Skype. The vagabond’s new religion.

#27: I drive my friend (March 31st)

It kind of lingered, in the back of my mind, while driving Dries and me down here yesterday. Here I am, moving at incomprehensible speeds, in charge of a vehicle that easily could kill us both in an instant. If handled incorrectly, that is. And I am not a very experienced driver. I passed my driver’s test at first trial but since then I have only driven in short, intense episodes. Road-trip with Hanna from Portland to San Francisco. Acting driver for dad on the Orkney islands. The occasional trip to Hundby, or moving people’s furniture. And lately, I haven’t driven with other people in the car at all.

And it made me think: What enormous trust that entails. Entering a car driven by somebody else. Trusting them to handle it carefully and safely from point A to point B.

And it made me remember: A line from Frida Hyvönen’s song ”I drive my friend”. You do the talking, and I keep my eyes on the road. I am transporting a treasure here, making sure that he get home.

And that made me feel a little extra pang of tenderness toward Dries. Realizing that that’s the level for his trust for me. Driving is not an activity that should be taken lightly.

#26: Cottage romanticism (March 30th)

Driving out to the cottage through the March rain, Dries in the passenger seat feeling carsick. There were cranes on a newly turned field. Spring is here, gray and beautiful.

And then sitting in an armchair, with the warmth of the fire and the literature podcast Lundströms Bokradio in my ears. People talking about Werner Aspenström, school as a literary setting and the impossibilities of love. The pattern that I just designed is turning into beautiful lobster mittens. The light lingers for so long now, the second day after the return from daylight saving time.

Having someone cook dinner for you. It happens so rarely. I’m always the one cooking.

And then, going to sleep in the big bed, so much bigger than my own, screamingly empty. No towers of books to read on the nightstand. No piles of dirty laundry on the floor. No thesis anxiety in the walls. Just me between the sheets.

#25: Workaholics (March 28th)

Spending the Saturday in a computer room in the Geoscience building, trying to make sense of statistics. My life now.

At least, I was in good company. Four other laborious souls, trying to make sense of their own result inconsistencies. Elli even brought a picnic.

#24: 80’s party (March 22nd)

The belated birthday party was hosted. Theme: the 1980’s. We had a wonderful mix of neon-colored leggings, leather jackets, dark eye make-up and big hairdos. Madonna, Alphaville and Prince. It is a wonderful thing, to have friends come over and just have a good time.

And the party never really ended. Some of the guests just lied down on my bed to talk, and then they never left.

A slumber party in my room, that ended with us taking the tube into town on Sunday morning to have brunch at Josh’s cafe.

And there it is again. Eating breakfast or brunch with friends. The best thing!