There’s this unwritten rule that say: ”Alone-people don’t like to hear about the together-people. Even if the alone-people are alone by choice.”

Because it’s sort of mean. It’s like bringing a six pack to an AA meeting.

We all go around with this glorified picture that love solves everything. It’s okay to have a shitstorm as long as you have someone. In a way that’s true. ’Cause at the end of the day, when it comes down to it. All we really want is to be close to somebody. So this thing where we all keep our distance and pretend not to care about each other... it's usually a load of bullshit.

We tend to stay close by, no matter how much we hurt them and get hurt by them. The people that are still with you at the end of the day, those are the ones worth keeping. And sure, sometimes close can be too close. But sometimes, that invasion of personal space... it can be exactly what you need. And we're all just bodies fumbling around, trying to survive without getting our hearts broken.

Someone who didn't have her heart on her sleeve was Jenny, she had a business deal. Fuck me right and you’ll get breakfast.’Fucks-like-a-ferret-guy’ had called again. And here I thought getting some was good enough. But nope, she was not wasting breakfast on ’Fucks-like-a-ferret-guy’ if he can't fuck properly. Banana pancakes are only for cocks, not ferrets.

In another part of the world Anna was enjoying her man in the african sun of Marrakesh. I hadn't seen Anna since I was in London in September, visiting her. But from what I gathered, sandy beaches and sunbathing isn't too shitty. At least not generally.
Exquisite food and delicious drinks were served in Morocco. As they enjoyed a day at a resort, Anna was enjoying the interior design of all the toilets. Lost at a resort in forty degrees celsius with yesterdays food coming out of you like timed sprinklers in the garden can’t be fun. Not even in Marrakesh.

Caroline and I was having a dinner date over the phone since she took off to Stockholm so now I’m stuck here with a lot of food and no one to help me eat it. And Caroline only knows one thing to cook and that’s tacos. Take out for her. And well, everything in the fridge for me. Caroline met a french guy druing her first week in the big city, and obviously he was moving back to France.
This is our curse, if you will. Caroline and I have a thing for guys we under no circumstances or solutions can ever have. So we keep each other close so we know that no matter which wall we run face first in to, we have each other and lots of food when our knees give out.

And I think I made a huge mistake by eating my own bodyweight in food before the christmas month. But to numb the anxiety I got another membership at this new gym so I now have two gym-subscriptions. And in this paradoxal thought-maze I'm in, I think it’s the thought that counts (calories).

Actually going? - I’m still debating that with myself and my beer-gut.


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