Bathroom Tears

I cried the other day. In the fucking bathroom of the adult school where I learn Swedish of all places. What an incredible release in just a few minutes. The lead jacket my emotions had been burdened with for the past week was replaced with one made of thick leather, and the icy vice-like grip in my chest was loosened a little. It's pretty fascinating how much those small glands next to those pretty round things can do for you. I reccomend trying them out some time. It's something I wish I'd done more of.

But I'm writing about this now because I feel better. I just finished my second book, and have started to enjoy reading again. I can now check one thing off my list of things to do for the year.

Also, I get to go to my first soccer game ever on Saturday, and then to an afterparty! The world's top ranked player (Ronaldo) is going to be playing for Portugal. And there will also be some other Swede whose name I forget, but is also ranked in the top 10 in the world.

To all my friends and family who I have not told this to yet. You know who you are. It's disgusting how much I miss you. Not a day passes where you don't drift through the basement of my mind and just sit there to chill for a bit, maybe tune into what I'm listening to on my ipod or something. Like old times (not really old, but figurativly speaking). Also, you all seem to really enjoy popping into my dreams EVERY SINGLE NIGHT! I complained a lot back home about many things. I'm sorry for those of you who ever had to listen to me. I thank those who listened to me with all the strength in my beating heart. And I apologize for ever having the sickening feeling of wanting anything to change about what we ha(ve)d. I love you all.