Not much. Sometimes, the brain is just a terribly slow organ.

But at least I have the satellite images now. This is where I’m going in less than three weeks:

A Landsat 8 near infrared false color composite of one of my study sites. It’s pretty, isn’t it? The Earth’s surface is a piece of art.

I’ve come to an age where I feel I should be capable of handling most things. I should know myself, be able to foresee difficulties and manage them in a way that doesn’t lead to too much trouble for me or for my surroundings. I’m not saying that I should be done in any way, with figuring out life and stuff, but I should have a pretty good idea about how to handle myself at least.

What this past month and a half of starting up my master’s thesis work has taught me is that I am completely clueless. Method development, conceptual frameworks, research ethics, visa applications, insurance, emergency plans, Ebola, elections, gadgets necessary for fieldwork, grant courses, French, people who don’t answer e-mails, software, hardware, international phone calls, coordination with Elli (whom I’m going to Burkina Faso with), budgets, vaccinations, accommodation, tickets, having time to see friends and family before I leave. I’ve been running around in a more or less constant panic, spending way too much time on trying to handle my panic rather than actually working – even though working is what I should be doing, because if I got things done, the panic would go away. And I should know this about myself already, I’ve been through similar things before. It’s just, I think I should be able to handle things and when I don’t I just loose it completely.

I’m a mess. I’m absentminded, I forget things, I forget the time, sometimes I’m even rude. I’m needy and whiny and I have very little patience with other people’s particularities. I’ve started to cut people off while they’re talking, because I think they’re taking too long to get to the point, I’ve already understood what they want to say but people are just way to roundabout about things. Which is terrible, because if there’s anyone who can spend ages explaining something, taking up way too much of people’s time and attention, it’s me. I’m living by a double standard, and I keep on rushing forward like a high-speed train.

I hope this will calm down. I hope my friends have the patience to see beyond my sudden exponential increase in eccentricity, and still be around once I’m back to some kind of normal. Which might not be until I turn in my thesis in June. If I make it there, that is.

When I came home on my bike, after a long day at university, I was met by this right outside my house.

I live in a very calm part of Stockholm. This was completely out of place. So odd, among the fruit trees and playground toys.

Maybe a small protest against the election results? For the youth of Skarpnäck, cars are too extreme, but burning a scooter sends a clear message (?).

I’m eating apple pie with mom, Kirke and Dries, waiting for the votes to be counted.

– – –

Later: I’m not feeling particularly happy this evening. But the food turned out great, anyway.

– – –

Election night depression with champagne, captured by Dries:

(For those of you who aren’t updated on the results of the Swedish elections, here’s a brief summary: in the national elections, the right wing coalition lost to a potential left-green wing coalition. Great, in my opinion. However, the left-green wing coalition will probably not be able to get a majority in the parliament, which means we’ll have the very impractical situation with a minority government. Also, the Sweden-loving, immigration-skeptical, grass-root-racist party the Sweden Democrats got 13 percent, more than twice its size from the last elections. While the feminist party only got 3.1 percent, meaning it didn’t get into the parliament. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH SWEDEN?

Slightly comforting is that in Stockholm municipality, the left-green wing coalition probably won (if the social democrats can cooperate with the left and the feminists), the green party got 11.1 percent, making it the third largest party, the feminists got 7.2 percent and the Sweden Democrats only 6.7.

Still, I feel dejected.)

And to my surprise, there was some quite interesting street art in Härnösand too.

I went to Härnösand for three days in the beginning of this week to go to a course about Swedish development cooperation and doing field work in a low income country, as part of the grant I got for going to Burkina Faso. The course was held at Sida Partnership Forum, a beautiful old building in the middle of a narrow park facing the water. We had seminars and exercises from eight in the morning to nine in the evening, but we had breaks in between that allowed for short walks in the park.

On Wednesday, the last day, we finished with lunch. I had booked a train ticket at five, which allowed me to take a walk around the small city center of Härnösand together with some of my fellow course mates. It wasn’t anything too exciting. A cathedral, some old buildings in stone and wood, some ugly ones from the 50’s and 60’s, and then the water. Härnösand is situated on both sides of a narrow inlet of the Gulf of Bothnia. Water is always beautiful.

The gate to the cemetery. It says Think of death. The equivalent of Memento mori, I guess. Just seemed kind of weird, having it written in huge, golden letters among the apple trees. Somehow, it feels so much more appropriate written underneath a carving of a scull in an old, dark stone church on the British Isles, like in the St Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall on Orkney.

The light was so clear and blue. A nice place to sit and read. If I ever come back to Härnösand.

I probably will. I have to hike along the Höga kusten trail one day. There are so many beautiful parts of Sweden that I haven’t seen.

Natalia moved to Scotland and her last weeks in Stockholm were so busy, so we didn’t have time to have a last TV show marathon. Now I will have to wait a whole year to learn who murdered Laura Palmer! How will I survive?

I will miss her crazy hairdos. And her amazing ability to eat cakes that I’ve baked for her. Few people can eat cake like Natalia.

I would also like to spend my days knitting. I draw new patterns, try to imagine combinations of colors. Working with my hands makes me happy.

I made a hat to Ruth, Elin’s daughter. The deep marine went so well with her big blue eyes.

And the pillowcase that I sewed and embroidered for Jessica turned out quite nice, though I say so myself.

But this compulsive gift giving of mine. I spend so much time making these things, and then I give them to people. Giving someone a gift isn’t as uncomplicated as it might seem. It brings with it expectations. A reciprocity that the receiver of the gift might not have agreed to. I need to remember that.

I’m starting to run out of people to make things to. Maybe I should start selling my things on the internet. Then money would be the repayment. Somehow, the thought makes me feel a tiny bit dirty.

My head feels like a sieve. Things are being poured in, but as a consequence other things pour out. I forget, come late, talk incoherently. Why things keep on coming from all angles, I don’t know. Maybe it won’t ever calm down.

So sometimes, I just want to do like Cecilia and Isak. Buy a puppy. Nothing can pull you back to Earth like a puppy. Nothing is as enthusiastic and bursting with life. A little furry black ball of pure joy, is what she is. Little Embla.

I took a break from Gilmore Girls when I got better after my cold a couple of weeks ago, because I thought it would be healthy – and also, I didn’t really have the time to watch TV. But now I’ve picked up where I left off, season six, a perfect way to pass the time on a train. The only bad thing about Gilmore Girls is that it always makes me crave junk food. Normally, I eat junk food really really rarely, like, never. But there’s just something about how those girls stuff themselves with Chinese take out and burgers and fries and pizza that tickles the junk food junkie in me, and it becomes the only thing I can think about.

I think, when the train arrives in Stockholm, I’ll buy some cheese sticks at the train station. Or fries. Or onion rings. Anything deep fried, really.

If the burger places still are open, that is. Stockholm can’t be such a lame city, right? Where junk food places close before ten on weekday nights? That’s basically medieval!

Up around Sundsvall, when the sun was on its way down, the fairies were dancing in the meadows. It’s so beautiful with the mist and pink skies. Now, it’s pitch black outside the window, except for the orange moon. She’s almost full. The train is going 202 kilometers an hour.