Nu sitter jag här igen och kan absolut inte komma på något att skriva om till Sam. På vägen hit gick jag saligt leende som om jag var på väg till en ack så efterlängtad date men min glädje beror på ett så futtigt substitut som att jag ska framkalla Londonfilmerna idag och att jag därför har chansen att åtminstone få se hans ljuvliga face på en bit papper. Det är samma sak med Aftonbladets horoskop, de är än så länge den enda kontakten man har. Ett tecken på ens desperation minsann. Särskilt som varken jag eller Sam tror på skiten.
Men vad ska jag skriva! Jag saknar hans intresserade frågor. Och jag inser alltmer hur lite av honom jag hade möjlighet att upptäcka. Ibland kände jag mig verkligen obildad i hans sällskap, trots att han jobbat på den där banken i fem år. Så jag vill ju ge ett bildat intryck men ändå personligt förstås. Men jag kan knappt påminna mig några interna skämt att referera till. Vi hann väl inte skaffa oss några.
Brev till Sam
Hello dear Sam!
Life is slowly getting back to normal after my holiday that seemed to last for months. It was quite a shock to get back home and realize I had only been away for twelve days and everything was just the same as when I left, the only change had taken place within my self.
It is not only that I’m broke or that it’s rainy and cold or that my flat is so untidy or that my lecturers at university are a bunch of murmuring and tedious idiots. I could get used to all that, I suppose, and my flat shouldn’t be an unsolvable problem. I just have to wait for some inspiration and then grab the hoover.
The real problem is that everything seems so unbelievably boring. Is this perhaps a common dilemma for most holiday returnants? And will it pass?
I guess that you are the major part of my problem, partly because I really don’t have a clue of what you think of me now. You do remember me though, don’t you? Also, I can’t stand the thought of you being so far away.
When we met at the station and took farewell it was as if I hadn’t understood that I was actually leaving London and going back home, not knowing whenever I would be back. I probably expected life to go on the same way forever as if I was going away only for a little while.
So I sat on that train heading for Gatwick when that sudden realization struck me, that I soon would be thousands of miles away and that I hadn’t had the chance to really get to know you before I had to leave you.
And that is what I’m so unhappy about. I wish that you were sitting here with me at my favourite café so we could talk and drink lots of coffee (you get as many refills as you like here, for free!).
I must say that writing in a foreign language feels like trying to paint a miniature portrait with a huge brush, or something. I feel as verbally flexible as a boulderstone.
I have to consider myself lucky though, having so much reading to do for school. Especially Kant needs a lot of concentration and helps me forget that I’m stuck in Stockholm. A problem like the distinction between ”real” and ”actual” really makes any personal anguish seem less fundamental, doesn’t it? Sometimes I wish he had gotten married so that he could have been enjoying married bliss instead of writing so much!
It’s funny thinking of how I sat on that plane to Stockholm last week, promising myself that if I survived this nightmare, I would never ever complain about anything again. Instead, I imagined, I would enjoy every minute of just being alive. As soon as we were served some food all my fear disappeared though, as we hadn’t really eaten anything for the last few days and were starving.
I managed to direct my attention completely to the food and to stop looking out the window every five minutes to see if we were any closer to ground this time.
And I am very grateful that I’m still alive. But all those little worries that seemed so unimportant while I was praying for my life in the plane have become much more significant since then. That’s life, I suppose.
Now the sun is shining bright outside the café windows. It’s half past ten in the morning and in a while I’m going to a lab to have my Londonfilms developed and I will spend the afternoon in the darkroom, pottering about with the chemicals. I hope I managed to get the focus right on something.
Tomorrow morning it’s time for the second seminar, and I will sit in this tiny room amongst thirty others, desperately struggling to get some oxygen while I try to note down at least half of what the lecturer is saying. The more interesting, or complicated, the topic is, the faster he talks.
I haven’t had the chance to watch the Blue Velvet video yet. The only recorder within reach is at my parent’s, and I do have the impression that I shouldn’t let my little brother watch it. So I will watch it on sunday when he has gone to bed. Maybe I shouldn’t let my parents watch it either? I guess I have to wait until they have gone to bed as well.
This café where I’m sitting at right now really is my favourite place. In the mornings I will sit here by myself writing or reading and in the afternoons I will meet my friends here. When it closes at seven there’s a pub just opposite where we can continue our gossiping and discussing, drinking beer instead of coffee. The reason why I prefer to sit here while I’m writing or studying is that I can’t really focus at home. My bed is such a temptation and even washing the dishes sometimes seems like a pleasure compared to reading Heidegger.
I hope you aren’t getting the impression that I don’t like studying philosophy, because I love it. It’s just that I have to moan about it a bit, as it is difficult and it does take a lot of effort, but it is definitely worth it. Those lazy days in London are still too close though, so I keep wishing they had lasted longer. It will probably take some time to get used to all those ordinary duties. Especially as I can’t be reasonable enough to accept that I didn’t get the chance to spend some more time with you.
Anyway, I hope you don’t get bored to death at the bank. You could always amuse yourself a bit by writing to me. But please don’t return my letter with red marks all over it to make me attentive to all my grammatical mistakes!
Be careful now, in that great big dangerous city.
Bye bye,
A
PS Not all of my Electric Ballroom memories are surrounded by that Nurofen fog. I do remember telling you how incredibly cute you are. At least something.
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