I notice I have to make an effort to post at the moment. I apologise if this means I’m not posting as frequently as I ought. It’s partly that there is a lot of things to do at work, as well as a lot of staring blankly into space – or anything which, with the help of a little distraction, passes for space, such as my computer screen – thinking about a certain person. Not that I normally do a lot of posting from work. *Cough.* It is also partly that I never seem to be at home, or at least not alone, so there is none of the “I’m bored, let’s post something” time that I used to have.
There is, also, not all that much to write about. No. Strike that. There is a helluva lot to write about, too much, in fact. To quote another Norwegian blogger:
Å skrive om noen man er forelsket i er litt som å ha besøk av noen som sier “så.. la meg høre musikken du liker da”. Det blir liksom til at man bare må sette på Wilco, og så får man ta The Magnetic Fields og Ron Sexsmith og Smog og Yo La Tengo og R.E.M. og Low i dagene og månedene og årene som kommer.
(Or, in other words: “To write about the person you’re in love with is a bit like having a visitor who says “So… let me hear the music you like, then.” Which means you just have to put on Wilco, and then The Magnetic Fields and Ron Sexsmith and Smog and Yo La Tengo and R.E.M. and Low in the days, months and years following.” – except in my case the person would ask “So… read me some of the books you like, then”. 1001 nights ain’t in it.) So. There’s too much of that. And not enough of everything else. For the blog, that is. In real life there is certainly not too much of that. And there is too much of everything else. Like work. Which again affects the blog.
So you’ll just have to bear with me.
Voice in my head: Eddi Reader – The Exception