Innleggene i Utetoalettet er few and far between. Men her kommer noe jeg skrev natt til idag. Til informasjon er jeg tospråklig, med både norsk og engelsk som morsmål. Derav denne teksten.
On this, the eve of the last day of the year twothousand and ten, I write a sort of eulogy.
Though the words may not be as good as the genre might suggest.
My pen is weak, in more ways than one.
But, then, so am I.
This year has brought much joy, but sadly I seem incapable of enjoying it more than momentarily.
Although the previous is not neccessarily all true, my state renders me unfit to feel otherwise.
Sorrow follows me everywhere.
It does not stalk me.
It does not have to.
Because it is within me.
I think it lives in the same place as the Me of childhood.
They were once well aquainted, and that unhappy friendship has since harrowed me.
I think of Sorrow with love, too.
Without it I would be different.
But it is a sad love. For I think if I were different I could have learned to live with it.
A new year, mind you, does not warrant speculation as to what might have been.
An old one does, yes, but I do not think I will learn to live well with my Sorrow if I continue to give in to this futile, imaginary nostalgia.
And that is what I wish for the new year; to learn to live well with my Sorrow.
To one day wake up from my mourning,
take off my black veil,
fold it neatly,
lay it in a beautiful box
and write it’s eulogy.
