22
As of today I am 22. Today's my birthday.
And what is the point with having a birthday if you can't be immature about it? So I'll tell you what I got and what I've done.
First mum came into my room carrying a marzipan cake with pink cats on it. The baker where she lives is prized for his marzipan cakes, I might add. Because dad wasn't home, she had to take two rounds and come back with my presents, which were as follows: "Castle in the Air" and "Year of the Griffin" by Diana Wynne Jones (the best living fantasy writer), guest towels with blue butterflies, a clothes iron, George Eliot's "The Mill on the Floss" translated by Gun-Britt Sundström (who's a favourite of mine), and the record "Folkmusik på svenska" (Folk music in Swedish) with Åsa Jinder. All presents highly loved.
Jinder has a song called "Av längtan till dig" (longing for you) that's so pretty I want to cry. The chorus, in very poor translation, is: "All the arms I have left, longing for you/ Because I thought you were out there expecting me/ All the roads I have walked, tired and sad/ to meet the most beautiful person I've ever met."
Because I had been an idiot a few days earlier and broken my glasses, I had to go into town. Mum suggested we go out and eat lunch. I said okay. She suggested we bring my brother. Then she suggested her friend Ingrid. I said okay again, and so we had almost a little party at a Chinese restaurant. After that, we went to a couple of stores, and while mum failed to find the summer dress she so badly needed, I - who already own half a dozen - found a very pretty grey little dress. We discussed if it was colourless, but what with my hair being dyed red colourless is good. It's actually good in all, because bright colours make me look pale, but pale colours creates a more overall pale-ness that could be seen as sylphidic.
Now, I am aware that none of this matters to anyone except me, but I like being obnoxious. Tomorrow I might speak of world peace, who knows?
And what is the point with having a birthday if you can't be immature about it? So I'll tell you what I got and what I've done.
First mum came into my room carrying a marzipan cake with pink cats on it. The baker where she lives is prized for his marzipan cakes, I might add. Because dad wasn't home, she had to take two rounds and come back with my presents, which were as follows: "Castle in the Air" and "Year of the Griffin" by Diana Wynne Jones (the best living fantasy writer), guest towels with blue butterflies, a clothes iron, George Eliot's "The Mill on the Floss" translated by Gun-Britt Sundström (who's a favourite of mine), and the record "Folkmusik på svenska" (Folk music in Swedish) with Åsa Jinder. All presents highly loved.
Jinder has a song called "Av längtan till dig" (longing for you) that's so pretty I want to cry. The chorus, in very poor translation, is: "All the arms I have left, longing for you/ Because I thought you were out there expecting me/ All the roads I have walked, tired and sad/ to meet the most beautiful person I've ever met."
Because I had been an idiot a few days earlier and broken my glasses, I had to go into town. Mum suggested we go out and eat lunch. I said okay. She suggested we bring my brother. Then she suggested her friend Ingrid. I said okay again, and so we had almost a little party at a Chinese restaurant. After that, we went to a couple of stores, and while mum failed to find the summer dress she so badly needed, I - who already own half a dozen - found a very pretty grey little dress. We discussed if it was colourless, but what with my hair being dyed red colourless is good. It's actually good in all, because bright colours make me look pale, but pale colours creates a more overall pale-ness that could be seen as sylphidic.
Now, I am aware that none of this matters to anyone except me, but I like being obnoxious. Tomorrow I might speak of world peace, who knows?