Sunday afternoon we went to the Botanic Garden. The weather was absolutely gorgeous, and it’s the first time I have ever taken Andrew there. As with everything else, I had wanted his first introduction to it to be during the summer, where all the trees and flowers are in bloom. With everything being dead and withered, there really was not much botanic about that garden, but I guess somebody decided we can’t have life and summer and happiness all year round.
Andrew was pretty excited about the gigantic greenhouse, which, I have to admit, IS pretty cool. And huge.
After our massively long walk (3,7 miles!) we went home and I wrote my Biology report. Five pages, baby, with awesome pictures and illustrations to boot. Let it be known that I hate Biology with a fiery passion. The same with Physics. The only science-y class that I can handle… sort of, is Chemistry, which I finished last year (and got a pretty bad grade). No hard feelings, Chemistry, I know now that the feelings weren’t mutual. Guess I had to learn it the hard and humiliating way in front of two teachers.
Andrew is going home on Monday, which is killing me little by little each day. I can’t wait till the day where we can be together all the time. I even dreamt about it last night. I dreamt that I decided to pack up and just go already, enough with all this dilly dally. I only brought a small bag, because I did not feel like I needed anything really. Just my heart, who happens to live in New York. I also dreamt that I was a member of a mob family. Any psychology majors willing to tell me what the EFF that means?
I have been working on this project that I am incredibly excited about. It is going to be so great, and I just have a good feeling in my stomach about it, like I was meant to do this. Get your excite on, I think you will like it!
The first track on my ultimately awesome playlist is this classic from 1978. We have all heard it, and most of us had no idea what she was singing until we read the lyrics and then it all made sense. We knew it was something with “Heathcliff” and “Wuthering Heights” should be mentioned somewhere in there, but where and when was slightly unclear. We just knew we were hearing something beautiful.
Kate Bush was the first woman to have a self-penned number 1 song on the charts. You go, Kate Bush, you go. Here is “Wuthering Heights”.
Introducing… Sofie’s fantastically amazing Retro Playlist. Intrigued? You know you should be. This mix-tape is bound to give you a real swingin’ good time.
Alright, I am a pretty terrible salesperson.
The point of this playlist is pretty simple; I love retro music and retro-sounding music, and am constantly discovering new tunes that excites me so much that I have to share them with someone. I am of the firm believe that I can’t be the only person to feel like they should have been born in another decade, music-wise, and us oldies-but-goodies nerds need to stick together!
I will post a song when I find one and I would love to hear about songs in exchange. I will write an entry soon explaining when and how I feel in love with the good ol’ classics.
Here is part deux in the tale of Sofie and Andrew’s day (and night) out on the town. We obviously lead very exciting lives.
The sour before the sweet; my doctor’s appointment, which was what landed us in the heart/center of the city in the first place. We got to the clinic forty minutes early and decided to hit the bakery next door, as the smell and look of Spring put us in a celebratory mood. And made us hungry.
Doctor’s appointment went fine; doctor was happy, so I was happy. I was then sent to the laboratory across town to have my blood sucked (have a blood test done), which I am so used to doing now that I did not mind. Except if it’s the finger needle; that shit hurts.
After this we were free to enjoy ourselves (and the beautiful weather). Life was good. We walked around for a couple of hours and the feeling of Spring made me feel like I never wanted to go home.
Andrew suggested that we go to Mama Rosa’s, and this time we actually ended up in the right place. Holy shit.
We finished our delicious dinner off with a delicious and a less than delicious dessert:
My dessert, which was just swell, served on a UFO-looking plate. Pretty sure Andrew was more than just a little bit jealous.
Andrew’s “cheesecake”, which we are both quite convinced was actually tiramisu. The waiter kept insisting otherwise (that conversation was pretty awkward), but you know what they say; if it looks, tastes, smells and has the same ingredients as tiramisu…
And that concludes the tale. Important lesson learned: If every fiber of your being thinks you are eating tiramisu, you are actually eating Italian cheesecake. Square Italian cheesecake.
Coming out of a season where even the trees have needed extra scarves to keep warm and pom poms to keep from getting depressed, yesterday felt, smelled and looked like Spring. I can not remember the last time I have felt happiness like this. I wanted nothing more than to be absorbed by it all. Spring is here. Spring is here. More on our specific endeavors later.
I should be in school, but my back hurts for the third day in a row and – also – I missed my alarm clock and woke up at 10.59am.
I have had an epiphany, and I am just bursting to tell someone, and unfortunately for you my boyfriend is in the other room wearing sound-cancelling headphones.
I have been blogging on and off since I was fourteen years old. When I was younger, there was less self-censor, less over-thinking it, less “Can I share this corny song-lyric from the early 2000s with the world and call that an entry”. I wrote because I could, because I loved it, because I felt like my little writing-heart was just bursting with thoughts and feelings and messages that were worthy of being heard. Then I got older and more self-conscious and muchos afraid of hurting everybody’s feelings. I got infected by the disease.
I recently found an old diary of mine with torn pages and bent corners and drawings related to my entries. A couple of months ago I had coffee with a good friend of mine at a café where we discussed writing and diaries. My friend is an amazing writer. She is the type of writer who is always scribbling on a piece of paper, who feels that she HAS to write. It’s in her veins, and life is not worth living without it. She looks like an artist, not caring if that shirt was also worn yesterday, her hair always changing color, and she uses small pens and small notepads and probably sits in her windowsill at home when she writes with a cup of coffee and soft music playing in the background. Anyway, we talked about diaries and she told me she had been writing diaries for as long as she could remember. I told her in return that I was a horrible diarist, and that every entry I had ever written in a diary had started out with an apology directed at the diary for not writing in so long. That was how I remembered it and myself, as the eternal goody two-shoes who had always been held back by self-censorship and feelings of guilt.
Then I found my diary. Friends, let’s just say that self-censorship was not a disease this child suffered from. I can’t tell you how happy I was to discover that a) I was a little witch, and b) I wrote on a regular basis from the age of ten to the age of fourteen, documenting everything from my eating disorder to my one and only TV-appearance, of course dissing everybody who had anything to do with me on a regular basis. THANK GOD.
Why am I happy to discover that I was a bitch? It shows that I was and am capable of writing without being fucking terrified of offending. MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH IN LITTLE SOFIE’S SELF-PERCEPTION.
Now I am going to jump to something that seemingly has nothing to do with self-perception, so bare with me. You will get a cookie.
I am not a brilliant writer. I am not a gifted talent and English is not even my first language. I will try to be eloquent, because I have been told that I can be, but sometimes it will be quick and without strain and, ultimately, I am writing for me. I am writing because I know I have things to say where I cannot be the only person to feel this way, even if it feels like that sometimes. I believe that we are constantly growing and I want to be able to look back on this and both say, “Thank God I am not like that anymore” and “Thank God I was like that once”.