Cave and fire

I wake up next to you, every morning. I fall asleep next to you, every night. You are my partner, my husband, my wife, my teacher, my student, my guide.

Yet I have never laid eyes on you. You are not a tangible entity. You are elusive. You are a figment of my imagination. You are the platonian cave dweller.

There are so many reflections of you in this world, but they are not, cannot be, you. Still I keep looking. They are all flawed, being reflections.

Their imperfections make them all the more beautiful. Perfection is for the gods, not for me.

When I woke up this morning...

...I laughed out loud. I had been smiling all night. There is so much joy built up inside of me, and it needs to get out. This feeling comes with a Busby Berkeley scenography, ladies in tiny glittering dresses and men in tails, dancing, smiling, whirling their top hats.

Oh, so much joy!

In a blur

My glasses lie on top of my coffee table, in my living room. I, however, am at work. That's not the way things ought to be. At all.

Life is a blur.

Water is thicker than blood

A water nymph has moved into my home. A naiad. She is beautiful, and she sings to me. Her songs are about spring and ice breaking open and melting, about tender rains and fogs. Her very being is moisture. When she isn’t singing, she’s talking. She has the loveliest of voices.

She resides underneath my window. That way she can watch the stunning view of the valley covered in mist in the morning. She loves the mist. The mist is her kin. I think one day she will leave me for it, and I will be broken hearted and my life will be dry, wither and fall apart, when I no longer have her humidity to rely on.

She mistook me for a naiad, that’s why she moved in. I spend most of my evenings soaking in the tub, I must have had a watery scent. She noticed me from afar and when I approached her, she placed a soft, wet kiss on my forehead. I drowned in her eyes.

I am no naiad. I am flesh. I am blood. I don’t have the loveliest of voices. I am not moisture, nor mist. She knows this, now. Her mistake lasted but a moment. Still she came to me. Still she tells me I am a naiad too.

Serendipity

The other day, this really attractive guy recommended me a movie. I wasn't going to rush out and get it straight away (wouldn't want to come across as too keen, you know, wouldn't that be dreadful...), but I certainly intended to get around to watching it one of these days. I asked my sister, who is very reliable when it somes to having watched just about any movie you can think of, if she had seen it, but she hadn't even heard of it.

She must have forgotten all about it, and I wasn't thinking about it much either. Then, during the Easter holidays, she came home from work, bringing with her a movie that one of her colleagues had insisted that she'd borrow. They hadn't planned it ahead, he had just happened to have it in his pocket, and she just happened to glance at it, asking him what it was. It wasn't until she came home that it occurred to her that it might actually be that very same movie that I had asked her about, only a couple of days earlier. We agreed that it was a rather spooky coincidence. Two sisters, a movie neither of us had ever heard of before, both having it recommended to them only a couple of days apart. Not quite the Twilight Zone material, but close...

We watched it together, and we both loved it, although she fell asleep towards the end. That, however, is quite normal.

I am Selina

Living in Gothenburg is not so bad, really. It's on the ocean, and by Swedish standards it's a big place, however more of a village by international standards, which leaves us with pretty much the best of both worlds.

One interesting thing about living in Gothenburg, is that, when travelling abroad, you will inevitably end up chatting with someone or other who asks you whether Gothenburg is the place where the Batman lives. The first time this happened to me, I was 15 years old and staying with at family in Hastings for a week, on a school trip. My host father had pasted a huge Batman sign on my window, to make me feel at home. I found that very odd.

Since then, this has repeated itself time and again. Not the signs on the window, but the mentioning of the Gothenburg-Gotham link. Unfortunately, Gothenburg has very little in common with Gotham City. Very few hig-rises, and the few there are are 1980's style mirror facade or red-and-white plastic facade buildings. Very few gargoyles. Not very well suited for Batman to climb, in other words. And there has as yet been no sign of the police making use of a Bat-signal.

However, from time to time, I wake up with a feeling that there might be something to it after all. This morning was one such day. The whole city is covered in mist. When I looked out through my bed room window, I could see nothing. Or rather, I could only see whiteness. It was as if someone had removed my home from where it's located and placed it in an enormous bowl of whipped cream. It was lovely, and not a little gothic. You could almost hear the Dark Knight swooshing past.

No, no, Gotham City isn't really New York. This is where Batman lives.

Hunting and gathering

Today I've been doing some hunting, however not too much gathering. I've been hunting a book. The book should - according to some pretty trustworthy sources - be in the library. Or possibly in my professor's office. Or possibly in my supervisor's office. Or possibly in my professor's home.

Step one: Search the university library. Nope, the book has been borrowed.

Step two: Search the department library. Weeell... Yes. But no. It should be there. However... Well, let's just leave it at me having made the librarians look for it for over an hour and we still didn't really find out on what shelf it ought to have been placed, shall we?

Step three: Ask supervisor. Well, no. She has another book by the same author though. Close, but no cigar.

Step four: The office of my professor... Ah, this is interesting. Some years ago, Chaos set up camp in there, and has refused to leave ever since. We could soon conclude that there was probably no book to be found in there either. Actually, there were heaps of books, but unfortunately, I'm a picky girl. I wanted a particular one. He promised to have a look at home, maybe it's there somewhere...

I have a distinct feeling that this book has not simply been borrowed, or mislaid. It has vapourised. Most likely something to do with atoms and half-life.

Approximately 27 years, what material would that be?