australian mother's day.

A week of crazy creativeness is over and my final 5 pieces are submitted for the Semi Permanent Book. I don't expect my life to go down to less creative though, I'm sort of in a productive flow. To explain how this works a little further I'm gonna give you a retell of how today, and many other days in my life are like...

I wake when the sky is grey and my head's cold. I hide underneath my layers of blankets. This is the first time I've done that here, because I normally don't mind a cold brain. My little blanket-cave is lit by the glowing green numbers on my cell phone in my hand, which I turn off as soon as the alarm beeps every 9 minutes. I can't believe I set the alarm for a Sunday, am I insane? In my mind I draw a quick sketch of the dream I just had; Hans Blix was holding a thin plastic bag and a giant brick of stone was hoovering above him in 3D. Then someone in the dream took a deep breath and it all crumbled like paper. That was all. My oxygen runs out and I take a shower. Time passes and my house mates wake up too. We find a piece of chicken in the bathroom sink. Not cool, man. Not cool. Then they see my artsy stuff and tell me I'm a cool person and we're not allowed to have Blu-Tack on the walls. They give me saxophone oil to clean my cupboard doors. It makes me miss playing trumpet. I haven't played since I was 13, but my hands can still remember how to curve around those metal shapes, how my upper lip feels prickly and pink when I've played intense, and how half-embarrissing but satisfying it is to empty the spit on the floor. The smell of a trumpet is the smell of musical excitement, a long ride on my bike in the rain and fear of my teacher. My mind then goes back to present time and my doors are shiny. My hands are dry, so is my throat and mouth. I hang out in the kitchen for two seconds. Then I hang my laundry and rant about Juno; "The baby thing is totally a side-plot and there's no way in the world that a cool girl would fall for such a lame-ass like Michael Cera. It's so unrealistic, come on!" I then decide to go for a walk. I feel incredibly ugly today, my hair and face is a mess, but I'm so over it. I don't need to be pretty on Mother's Day. The day is pretty though. It's perfect. The colours says it's autumn but the temperature says Swedish summer. For some reason this is what I imagined as a child it would be like to live in the United States (which was always my dream). I think it came from watching E.T and wanting Halloween to become a big thing in Sweden. I didn't bring a camera on my walk and I feel like half a person, possibly a bit lighter and a little bit more invisible, which is nice. I've forgot how it's like to just walk and not think, without doing anything creative. I can't do it anymore. The pictures and stories line up before me constantly and they never stop. Sometimes they drain all my energy, but I figure it's much better this way than to live a life without it. I can't imagine a life without it, how boring would that be! Since my camera is elsewhere, I will tell you what to see; Giant, brown maple leaves next to my shadow that looks like a small person's. Two guys in a distance throwing a baseball between the curtains of a weeping willow. People having coffee. A red sports car flashing by. I take those notes in my head as I walk on, imagining I will read them when I'm dead and have an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia, like "oh, my God, I miss when I was alive and could do awesome things". I have theories about this that I'm not gonna go into today... Today I'm just using the skills I have and think about my mum because it's Australian Mother's Day. I guess this is a way of saying thanks for giving me life and awesome genes. I love you, mum.