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Tuesday, 18 March 2014

No-phone journal: Entry 7

[At the risk of being accused of pretentiousness...]
These days I often think of Ravnedalen, my favourite place in Kristiansand, my paradise, my Walden pond. 
Perhaps in some next days I should go to Sognsvann, or stop at Vølund and stay there for a while. Nordstrand bad is a wonderful place. What I feel, admittedly, never lasts long and cannot bring me out of depression if I happen to be depressed, but now and then when I pass by and witness a magnificent view, a wonder, which never fails to amaze me because the colour of the sea changes constantly in accordance with the sky, I very often feel as though I don't want anything more. 
It's a pity that such thoughts leave as quickly and suddenly as they appear. Afterwards I get back to my former mood, be it good or bad. 
These days I often think of how Russian literature has been affecting me. 
These days I often think of my own frivolity, egoism and idleness, which must have been the sources of my discontent. My tendency to exaggerate my own problems, such as depression, is another. Whilst it's true that I now and then get depressed and suicidal and obsessed with death, it has never reached Sylvia Plath's level, or even half of it. After all I have never attempted suicide, after all I have never gone without a meal or had a sleepless night because of suicidal thoughts, after all I have never thrown or broken things in frustration. And I shouldn't have underestimated my ability to laugh. Making others laugh is a favourable asset, but sometimes it's good enough to be able to laugh. Some people I know hardly do. 
These days I often think of my past selves (let's say I've been a few different types of people in my life). A few things make me blush, some others make me want to dig a hole and stay there forever. Such things one thinks more about than those that give a sense of contentment or triumph or pride. But somebody has said, everybody in life has done things of which they're embarrassed, even ashamed. Denial wouldn't help, I must reconcile with myself. 
These days I often think of the people who have walked out of my life, and wonder how they are and whether they're happier. 

Yesterday, twice I felt for a moment the inconvenience of not having a phone. The 1st time went OK. The 2nd time also did, obviously telepathy's better than a telephone.
Once the 1st inconveniences are dealt with, everything's OK in the long run. 
(Though at 1 point I thought of "Romeo and Juliet"). 
137 hours. 

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