The question is...how do i get the rest of my stuff (clothes, painting stuff) in Groningen without a car?! Now i have to carry a big backpack stuffed with clothes and shoes, a small pack for everything that doesn't fit in the big one and a big cardboard box full with canvasses, pencils, paint and books. In bus and train. Welcome backproblems and goodbye home.
"I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I also mirror this apology this idealogy of sorry in part of the liberal theology that’s leading us to hari-kari it’s like a mythology, almost like a malingering ghost as we slowly decompose writing in the grave of the polls cryin’ for Senator Wellstone and then proceeding to moan at our own supposed sabotage of the elections at home “oh somebody phone home! the American people have spoken!” now is that certain? maybe those nice Midwestern folks were just jokin’ in any case there’s no use in dopin’ chokin’ mopin’ and sobbin’ come on you disheartenin’ dobbins sayin’ sorry is my problem so to conclude I’m a little of a prude so it’s difficult for me to have to allude to all this rude crude verbal baggage but I manage cuz I’m a savage inside I may listen to Enya’s greatest hits and try to control my hissy fits with pride won’t get my hair dyed but oh the onus of lyin’ all the time I don’t wanna say, “diiiie motherfucker!” but I wouldn’t mind if you did sometimes even the nice girl’s ego has to override the id and so before I flip my lid my crib and get myself out of this bind you can hear what’s on my lips but you don’t know what’s in my mind"
I have loads of pictures but i don't want to show them. They're private. The people i've met, the places i've seen, beaches, love, wine, cities, rails. I cry everytime i see them. Memories. It's so hard to be home. How do you call the opposite of homesickness. Travellers' disease? Everything is so -grey- here.