I don't know.
Heatwave again :/ I hate heat, give me rain! Rain, thunderstorms, snow anything!
I went downtown today, by bike. I was going to return some books to the library, and borrow a couple of new ones, and perhaps buy some clothes (which I haven't done in ages). But the moment I stepped into a shop I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I hate shopping, I feel... awkward. Almost claustrophobic. I managed to find a jacket though, which I bought. Military green, perfect size, perfect pockets. Simple and good-looking. It cost 398 SEK (~$50). But that doesn't say much. Everything in Sweden is expensive, compared to other countries ;)
I met a friend at H&M, where I bought the jacket. It was nice talking to her, although I think I made a fool out of myself a couple of times. But I do that all the time so I don't care anymore.
At the library, I returned:
"Because it's Bitter, and Because It's my Heart" by Joyce Carol Oates
"Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley
"Sophie's World" by Jostein Gaarder
And borrowed:
"Der Process" by Franz Kafka.
I was planning to borrow some more, but since it might take some time reading Kafka in German, I decided not to. And I still have to finish "Crime and Punishment" by Dostoevsky. I have read more than half of it - and I L O V E it! It's so clever and exciting and scary and... well-written. Many times I had to put the book down and breath deeply, because it was so intense that my heart was pounding fast. Like when he followed a man in the street:
The man raised his eyes this time and turned a gloomy sinister look at Raskolnikov.
"Murderer!" he said suddenly in a quiet but clear and distinct voice.
Raskolnikov went on walking beside him. His legs felt suddenly weak, a cold shiver ran down his spine, and his heart seemed to stand still for a moment, then suddenly began throbbing as though it were set free. So they walked for about a hundred paces, side by side in silence.
The man did not look at him.
"What do you mean . . . what is. . . . Who is a murderer?" muttered Raskolnikov hardly audibly.
"You are a murderer," the man answered still more articulately and emphatically, with a smile of triumphant hatred, and again he looked straight into Raskolnikov's pale face and stricken eyes.
They had just reached the crossroads. The man turned to the left without looking behind him. Raskolnikov remained standing, gazing after him. He saw him turn round fifty paces away and look back at him still standing there. Raskolnikov could not see clearly, but he fancied that he was again smiling the same smile of cold hatred and triumph.
When I got home I was so warm that I just wanted to jump right into the shower, but then I saw something in the hall, in the ceiling. It was a gigantic spider! I swear, I have never seen a spider like that in Sweden before. It was about seven or eight centimetres between the ends of the lags. The legs were pretty thick and it had a strangely shaped, oval, body. Luckily, my brother was home, so he got rid of it. (Phew!)
Two more days, then school. I don't know what to feel. A part of me is happy to go back, but then I always am the first week or so.
I went downtown today, by bike. I was going to return some books to the library, and borrow a couple of new ones, and perhaps buy some clothes (which I haven't done in ages). But the moment I stepped into a shop I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I hate shopping, I feel... awkward. Almost claustrophobic. I managed to find a jacket though, which I bought. Military green, perfect size, perfect pockets. Simple and good-looking. It cost 398 SEK (~$50). But that doesn't say much. Everything in Sweden is expensive, compared to other countries ;)
I met a friend at H&M, where I bought the jacket. It was nice talking to her, although I think I made a fool out of myself a couple of times. But I do that all the time so I don't care anymore.
At the library, I returned:
"Because it's Bitter, and Because It's my Heart" by Joyce Carol Oates
"Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley
"Sophie's World" by Jostein Gaarder
And borrowed:
"Der Process" by Franz Kafka.
I was planning to borrow some more, but since it might take some time reading Kafka in German, I decided not to. And I still have to finish "Crime and Punishment" by Dostoevsky. I have read more than half of it - and I L O V E it! It's so clever and exciting and scary and... well-written. Many times I had to put the book down and breath deeply, because it was so intense that my heart was pounding fast. Like when he followed a man in the street:
The man raised his eyes this time and turned a gloomy sinister look at Raskolnikov.
"Murderer!" he said suddenly in a quiet but clear and distinct voice.
Raskolnikov went on walking beside him. His legs felt suddenly weak, a cold shiver ran down his spine, and his heart seemed to stand still for a moment, then suddenly began throbbing as though it were set free. So they walked for about a hundred paces, side by side in silence.
The man did not look at him.
"What do you mean . . . what is. . . . Who is a murderer?" muttered Raskolnikov hardly audibly.
"You are a murderer," the man answered still more articulately and emphatically, with a smile of triumphant hatred, and again he looked straight into Raskolnikov's pale face and stricken eyes.
They had just reached the crossroads. The man turned to the left without looking behind him. Raskolnikov remained standing, gazing after him. He saw him turn round fifty paces away and look back at him still standing there. Raskolnikov could not see clearly, but he fancied that he was again smiling the same smile of cold hatred and triumph.
When I got home I was so warm that I just wanted to jump right into the shower, but then I saw something in the hall, in the ceiling. It was a gigantic spider! I swear, I have never seen a spider like that in Sweden before. It was about seven or eight centimetres between the ends of the lags. The legs were pretty thick and it had a strangely shaped, oval, body. Luckily, my brother was home, so he got rid of it. (Phew!)
Two more days, then school. I don't know what to feel. A part of me is happy to go back, but then I always am the first week or so.