there are children who can't move, falling on the ice, and they look pissed

I woke up and it was all completely covered in fog. The outside, my window. The whole world was draped. And all the trees looked like statues instead of livings things. Not moving, still, as gray smoothly moved past and over the mountains and far away.

Today my Victorian Literature class was supposed to start. It hasn't. I sat in the room with maybe ten other people, in silence. Until the Norwegian broke through and they all started laughing. I asked them what they had said and they all smiled, looked at me. Sorry. The teacher is sick. Class won't begin for another week. Sigh. I laughed.

I ate cornflakes yesterday. It felt like home. Except after one bowl my milk is almost gone. I like sitting in the kitchen when my roommates or Alex cooks--she saunters over from her flat since her kitchen sucks, no one cleans their dishes, and they lack appliances. I sit and watch the steam cover the window that looks out to the forest and the soccer field. It starts to drip when they turn off their woks, pots, and pans. Raw salmon sits out and then is thrown in with some ginger or garlic, grilled, mixed with boch choy and chicken stock. They throw noodles in. They sit around for hours talking in Chinese. The door is cracked open a little and the snow is still piled high on our balcony.

A rusted tea kettle
A dirty chair
A broken mop
A empty bottle of vodka
A tray filled to the top with ash and cigarette butts

Our balcony has become a haven for the disused, the things that aren't wanted, and collected over the years. Building 18 is on of the oldest. My bathroom, I have acknowledged, is going to smell like mold until I leave, and whatever I do, minus steam-blasting the whole thing, isn't going to fix it.

I listened to Manitoba walking out from my room and towards the train. Covered in fog and it felt thick but wasn't heavy. And it was warmer than usual. The snow melting and I thought that the sky was sad and about to cry so the rain would moisten the green grass that pricked up out of the melting ice. Is this the dying earth? Or is that the silliest thing I could put into words. I thought about a beach far off. And realized the sea birds, gulls, were croaking and flying above my head. The sea actually being right there, not far off, the waves are still. And its frozen at the edges. I tend to ask myself where I am, and what excatly is a day, when I don't know where minutes will go, how it will pass.

I have laundry to do. And I suppose plan on going out tonight. Where to? Embarking on a collective mission with the smattering of international relations. My relations are better than the government I am country with. How funny.

I hate the laundry. I know I've put it down before in this Sunrise place. But it is small, and bleeds the colors in swirls of water, and the dryers are lame and are retarded in practice. They don't dry. I don't believe that they can get any more luke in their habits.

I want to go to South by Southwest. Maybe next year. I'm sort of far.

I have made a sandwich worthy of eating. I've been told its disgusting. I leave it in list form.

Fresh baked bread
Mustard
Mayo
Cucumber
Salmon
Ham
Salami
Sweet Pickles

I think I may just have given up on choice. Tuna fish is tunafisk. I fucking finally managed to sway the people over at BREAK, to make me a sandwich as I wish rather than fumble getting another strange wrap with strange meat, and weird corn. Tunafisk baguet. Takk. Thats it. I can say that. And fire. Which is four. But I only remember that out of a whole lesson of Norwegian Alex tried to teach me. I lack attention for it. I lack grounding. I thought this would be reality. But its not. And I go to bed and have the most insane dreams. Where everything decides to quit, and everything I don't worry about or think, comes up. And these dialogues with people commence. And shit happens.

Shit...

I would say but I honestly don't ever really remember the details. Just the lingering feelings of half-nightmares when I wake up. Imagine getting up at noon and the sun is just breaking. And the bed is just a piece of foam.

I decided, as an experiment, not to live with a heater. Could it be done I asked myself when I switched it off under my desk. Turning the 1 to a 0. After two days, I found an answer. No, its a necessary thing. Even if at night I throw the covers off in a fit because its too hot. My feet start to freeze and I feel a creeping sensation in my throat. The scares of sickness and cold in a place that swallows the warmth in gulps rather than sips. Norway is just frozen.

God how much space words will cover.

---
and your sheets, were growing grass all on the corners of your bed