At almost exactly 7 am today Moomincat came through my window. 7 am is a tricky time. It’s not late enough to get up and go to work, it’s not early enough to still get a nice long sleep before I have to get up. It’s sort of stuck in the middle.

Moomincat stayed for some 15 minutes. When he left I went back to sleep, a little sleep is better than nothing. I was morbidly tired at work though. Crushed-down tired. I didn’t get much work done. That wasn’t all my fault though. I need some material and the people I need it from are not there. Anyway, I was busy trying not to fall asleep.

I was interrupted by the new cute bargirl. She is sweet and cute and gorgeous. She’s only 18 though. Too young for me. But rest assured that’s the only reason we aren’t a couple already. If she was older then I promise I wouldn’t hesitate to… stare at her for a really long time and never say anything.

It made me feel bad actually. Made me feel like a huge, hideous glob of gelatinous waste. Like I am some ghastly, decomposing ogre walking around in a city full of elves, beautiful people. Everybody wants to be loved, that’s what it comes down to. I am no different. I am fine on my own, yeah right.

I wish I was made of clay, then I could model myself into something better.

NP: For Martha
long horses we are born
creatures more than torn
mourning our way home

I was so tired that I didn’t even go see the goats. Shock horror gasp. It rarely happens that I don’t go see them on a weekday. I did go to the library to pick up my reservations. The Little Prince, the last Hedegaard book and a stack of Moomins. Funnily enough the wintermoomin is the only one I haven’t got. But that’s ok. I have enough Moominstuff to last me a little while. I want to get lost in the valley, it is a nice place.

I am a little like Peter Pan, I never grew up. That works a lot better in literature though, in the real world it sort of causes problem.

I wish I could write fiction. I have a children’s story brewing in my head. It started like a simple comment to Katherine and now I feel it wanting to form. But whenever I try to write stories then it all crumbles. My mother said to me the other day (paraphrased) “What happened to your dreams of being an author? Hah!”. I thought that was incredibly mean and hurtful of her. She didn’t mean it like that though. But still. Broken dreams and wasted potential.

Many years ago I worked at the publishing house Hovedland. Internship for a year. On the first day we sat in the kitchen and had coffee and tea and talked. And I said that I had always wanted to be a writer. And they asked why I hadn’t written anything then? And I said that it was hard to write about the world when you hadn’t experienced it yet. And they agreed. And 10 years later I still have barely experienced the world.

Maybe some day I will write the big American novel. And then I’ll try to convince the Danish publishers that it can be sold in Denmark too.

But until then, here are some pictures from yesterday:

Mads in mid-baah.

Magnethe has a funny body shape doesn’t she? It’s all wide and then her head is so small.

And there she is going through my stuff. You can never, ever have your bags in peace if there are goats around.

More baahing. I love the sound of goats bleating, it soothes me.

Lovely goats. Tomorrow I shall definitely go see them. I’m sure they want to be loved too.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 10th, 2006 at 21:12 and is filed under Blogging. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.