These first few days of school have been almost perfect. Not in that 'skipping through fields of wildflowers with all my new-found soul mates and a copy of Waiting for Godot in my back pocket' kind of way (for one thing, I don't really ever have pockets), but more in the sense that I kind of have a feeling as to where this is going, because there has been a bit of everything already. I've met some lovely people, at least one of whom I'm sure I'll make great friends with, but also some of those who remind me why I need to toughen up a bit and not be so bloody nice all the time. Which is a shame, I suppose, but I'm coming more and more to terms with it: Some people just aren't worth the energy.

This thought was hopping about in the back of my head when I was picking out frames for my new reading glasses the other day. Yes, that's right, I am not the genetic 20/20-visioned miracle I thought I was after all. Personally, I don't consider this to be a disaster, because ever since my mum got her new frames a few years back I've actually kind of wanted glasses. I mean, they suit me, and I'm a sucker for anything that can so completely transform my look with little effort, like lipstick, or a nice hat. Anyway, the first frames my optician suggested fitted me perfectly: they were a gorgeous colour, the perfect shape and made me feel like a princess with a tiny Chanel camelia detail on each side. Unfortunately, that was exactly what was wrong with them. That whole 'sweet, fragile' thing is so very last season, dahling. My single New Year's resolution this year is to gather all the threads of my tattered self-confidence, and try to stitch it back up into a person I actually like being. And that is going to take more than just a camelia.

It took me a week but I finally found them, and they're so stylish it hurts.

Moreover, these will help prevent shortsightedness in the future.

Which is just too ironic.

I cannot recall the last time I was happier for a year to be over. I have finally broken up with 2007. Now all we need is closure.

It started out well enough. Life was good, or at least it was stable. I hated my job, my boss, occasionally myself, but more often than not the sheer predictability of it all would be comforting (though of course also frustrating). Summer came, and I spent an amazing month in Germany catching up with my old friends, Adventurous, Optimistic and Fun-Loving, whilst filling up all the holes which my mundane 8-to-5 job had left in my soul with copious amounts of culture and caffeine. Then came autumn, and the structure I had spent so many years developing - myself - fell to the ground.

I have not cried so much in years, and must have saved a fortune on eye make-up remover. The break-up was followed by a breakdown (you know, for the sake of balance). I lost it, and by 'it', I mean 'almost everything'.

In many ways I'm still stunned by how quickly it's all happened. I have to start over now, and I am not ready at all, which means I'll have to do what I despise most: 'just' take the plunge and see what happens.

And so 2007 came to an end. Always true to form, I got my grand finale of heartbreak and utter humiliation on New Year's Eve, but by then I was too exhausted to look back. It's 2008 now, and I got a ridiculously expensive make-up remover for Christmas. How's that for a sign?

So, 2007, it's over. There is no more 'us'. And it's not me, it's you. Goodbye.

"Failure is always the best way to learn", according to Kings of Convenience. Well it's a bit late for that, don't you think?

I'm not going to stuff your pretty heads full of useless information about my exam, but it did not go well. And now we're done talking about it. My brain is an absolute mess due to frustration, exhaustion, sleep deprivation and possible malnutrition, but I am glad to be finished (in oh so many ways).

Now then, which day is it today, Thursday? Things I Love Thursday, you mean!

(OK, enthusiasm is giving me a headache. Let's just... not do that right now.)

So I can honestly say that I ain't  feelin' the lurve for very much at the moment. You'll have to make do with three things, as opposed to last week's ten, because right now I just need sleep. Buckets and buckets of it.

1) I love my computer.
You can see him in the photo in my last post - that's my Macbeth right there. Actually, pretty much my whole life as I know it is in that photo: my favourite coffee cup (the perfect shape, size and design for my tiny hands), my previously mentioned Marimekko notebook (it's very pretty, with yellow flowers on the cover) and my all-time favourite poster (which unfortunately belongs to Arne, and will therefore disappear after Christmas), my Sex and the City DVD box set (no explanation necessary) - this is, quite literally, my little corner of the world. Welcome.

2) I love tea.
Yeah, I've become a tea-drinker again; I keep ending up right where I started, and I'm beginning to think that maybe I really am a tea person. Which is a frightening thought, really, seeing as it would totally ruin my hip urban image.

3) I love my friends.
I know, what a cliché, right? But seriously, these are some patient people! Thank you for putting up with me, even when I act like a self-absorbed child. You know who you are. You're fabulous.

Tomorrow I've promised myself a Macbeth--free day, but that means that by Saturday I'll be practically bursting with amusing entry topics. And if not, I still have to introduce you to Basil, my mutant basil. He's such a charmer, you'll love him!

Speedy, also known as My Trusty Old Dell, is on his deathbed.
Peace be with him.

Phonology will not get the best of me. I just hate that I need to study so much to avoid that happening.

So, 'sup people? I noticed you were much more keen on answering questions about your dinner than your personal problems, and I enjoyed your comments - or rather, having you comment - so much that I'll keep my questions on a superficial level for now. Oh, the sacrifices I make for my, what, fifteen-twenty-ish readers? God, how pathetic... Seriously, though: Thanks for commenting. Makes me happy, it does. (See? You blew Troubled Tuesday right there - no-one but yourself to blame, no siree!)

Speaking of Tuesday (again), I've noticed a slight change in my personality lately. I have always been the kind of girl who feels a lot. I listen to people's stories, and I understand their pain, I cry with them, that dress looks great on you, it's OK to wallow, honey, just let it out. 'Troubled Tuesday,' I thought, 'that'll be a breeze!' Well, that was before The Transition. Now all of a sudden I'm this extreme cynic - I'm no meaner to anyone per se, I just don't care as much - who would rather watch endless reruns of '7th Heaven' than listen to one more story about that guy and the mixed signals and that one time at band camp. At least then I wouldn't have to nod in that sympathising, head-tilting 'I feel you' way.

So I learned to say 'no' to people, meaning I finally got to call (off) some of the shots - go me! If I had felt anything at all, I'd have felt liberated.

And probably really, really mean. Because I know I'm one of them, I really do. I can whinge and moan and wallow in my misery like the best of 'em. But there is a fine, fine line between friend and psychologist, and when it is crossed too often I tend to lose the will to be either. Unless, of course, I get paid.

Yesterday I was supposed to feel troubled but didn't. Today I was planning this week's bitchy break, and instead? Nothing but, to quote Kris, 'peace on earth and goodwill toward men, even the ones who don't call when they say they will'. This is almost certainly because I hardly spend time with people at all these days, so I'm not given much to bitch about. Well that's how it goes, isn't it? Bitchiness is born from frustration caused by other people's stupidity, and one's need to distance oneself from it.

Well, I have been so successful in distancing myself from The Others that I now seem to be living in a completely different time zone.

Also, my funny went to sleep hours ago, and I wouldn't want to burden you with what's left in my head. Bitchiness is no good without a caffeine kick.

Remember, people: 'Wednesday' is a relative term. As is 'blog entry', it seems. 

Today, the first snow fell. It wasn't much, and it didn't settle because it's still a little too warm out. Tiny flakes, floating slowly but determinedly down towards the unfriendly ground. Like leftover confetti from a party in the clouds, bearing a festive promise it was not able to keep. I'm starting to get used to that sort of thing now.

I have been idling my way to stardom today. I slept until noon, which almost never happens, and haven't left my pyjama bottoms since. I put off showering until just now, so my hair is still a bit damp, undecided as to whether or not it feels like behaving. It's just one of those days. Again.

I feel like Heather Armstrong's sub-heading, "All about my stupid, boring life", would be very appropriate for my journal nowadays, and whose fault is that? Entirely my own. I admit it: I'm not even making the slightest effort to have a life at the moment. This is mostly because of my being afraid my social life will start overwhelming me again (being one of those people who is physically unable to utter the word 'no', this can happen quite suddenly). Does the 'My flat is my world' philosophy help, even the slightest bit? Probably not. Am I happier this way? I doubt it. Do I acknowledge the possibility of a logical connection here in any way? Certainly not! Where's the fun in that? I like learning things the hard way. Gives me stories to tell my future grandchildren (of whom there will be how many if I keep up this routine?).

 

Hot chocolate. It's the only thing that will do the trick.

I despise colds. My usually rampant brain activity is on caffeine life support, and that doesn't do this li'l blog o' mine a whole world of good, now does it? Seriously, I give up, nothing good is going to come of me sitting here trying to be witty and brilliant when all I really want to do is sleep it off. And by 'it', I mean 'my life'.

Still, it's only polite of me to check in and let you know that I'm still breathing, even if it is mostly through my mouth.

There are only so many times you can check in on me and see me wearing that same bloody outfit.

I have reached a hitherto unknown level of eventlessness. Seriously, nothing has happened this week. My stress has come to that place where I just sit and stare into space for hours on end, have the occasional nervous breakdown/cup of tea/online conversation, watch an episode or two of Six Feet Under and go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat if necessary. Or, in my case, if at all possible. Why can't I just be super-human like everyone else?

'What brought this on?' you may ask. Well firstly, there's school. My finished assignments left me behind on my reading to such a degree that even picking up a book seems to demand about the same amount of energy as a marathon, and much more than, say, getting a facial. Secondly, my social life is leaving me with almost no time to read at all. Being around people all day who want to 'have a quick cuppa' has become an exhausting rather than an energising element, because seriously, campus is like a minefield of friends and acquaintances who you know you really should call more often, and you end up downing a ridiculous amount of coffee every day just for the sake of 'that's what friends do, isn't it?'

Of course I end up, as Carrie Bradshaw so sweetly put it, 'shoulding all over myself'. The result? A mind that won't function due to all the caffeine and not a chance in Hell of getting through a single chapter. I am seriously considering just becoming some sort of hermit recluse with no phone, no internet access and no front door, just to get away from it all. I know this is all a consequence of the wonderful world of modern technology that I simply have to learn to deal with, and I know I would probably go crazy without it. Right now, though, the whole '24-hour Lizzy-access' thing is freaking me out a bit.

Also, I'm no longer with the boy. Most of you know that, I'm sure some still don't. It wasn't dramatic, and it feels right this time (even though my mind keeps switching from 'Hooray! I'm free!' to 'Help! I'm going to die alone!' at an annoying rate). Besides, there's one leeetle detail: We're still living together. It's going well enough, but it is weird, and I don't think there are any self-help books written specifically for this kind of situation, telling me what to do. Understandably enough, as I imagine there's a rather limited market for that sort of thing.

In the wise words of Montt Mardié, 'Let's get away from it all': I'm going on a weekend trip to Bergen with Julie, PI and Heidi. Or at least we'll be sharing a car on the way over, because our reasons for going are not connected in any way. There's supposedly a small flood over on that side of the country these days, but if all else fails I might at least get to try the whole recluse thing on for size. If it fits (or if I drown), I may never come back.

Only problem now is which book to bring. Having failed to track down my copy of Please Kill Me, I bought a new one today, since I've been wanting to reread it for months now. Another option is The Redneck Manifesto, by Jim Goad, which I've borrowed from someone (and since I'm the type of girl who actually plans on returning things when words like borrow and give back are kicked about, I'm thinking this one will advance to the near-top of my list, if nothing else then for the sake of 'because it should'). I have a couple of half-finished ones lying around, but none of them appeal to me at the moment (Ladies and gentlemen, the most redundant sentence of the evening). I'll figure it out.

Now, though? Book. Bed. Bergen.