What's in a name?

Fishey. Like in the sea. Ocean. Whatever. Because I don't feel like picking a direction, I swim. Or drift, can't really say. And yes, it is intentionally nondescript. I feel much more comfortable talking to strangers on the internets, and it is much easier to feign ignorance of some [mostly] untraceable crap online than if somone stumbles upon a giant text document while rustling through your harddrive.

Why am I writing this down? Better question, why are you reading this? It's not for you, I will do my best to make it as long and as boring as possible. So fuck off. Kindly, of course.

The real reason is sanity. I thought I had come to terms with my own, but constantly it is being shaken up and jangled, the fucker with the strings has a sick sense of humor, that I am pretty sure of. Or are they reminders... Whatever.

So I took a plane ride the other day. Started to get a cold right before. The plane ride sucked. It sucked a lot. They design those pressurized cabin things so that you can't get permanently damaged, right? It's not like you could actually blow out an O-ring or some shit when your head is so full of shit that air finds its way in after 7 hours at 13000m or whatever, right? I hope not. I still can't fucking hear proper out of one of them. And boy howdy [hah I sound like an asshole using that phrase] was it fun catching a connecting flight and then going through passport kontrol having lost my voice and unable to hear. Actually that plane ride is nothing but unpleasant memories, so I don't want to write about it anymore.

Brings me to today, nearly 5 days later, still jet-whacked because I never got on the proper timeschedule, and just now getting over this fucking cold. Whatever, healed up or not tomorrow I am doing stuff.

But doing what? Being suddenly transplanted 8508km from 'home' hasn't made me feel out of place. The trouble is, I don't know where the fuck 'home' is. It doesn't bother me, I've spent so many years. Oh so many years. Years, being out of place. At least this time something is different.

I feel compelled to tell something of my adventures of eating several-years-expired food, twice already, and the resulting purging of every piece of goddamn old crap from the fridge, but that's kind of lame my most exciting happening has been smelly dairy products. So I won't. Here in the land of chilly winds, beautiful girlies, cheap beer, and a wild frontier, I should come up with something better to tell. So I will. Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow I set up camp, and start this shit in a forward direction. Onward and upward.

Or I might just harp on broken hearts and broken promises, and being a fichee swimming in the sea.