1. My dad is most likely moving to Mexico for an extended period of time and I don't know how I feel about it. Maybe I'm numbed by the fear that I won't actually see him very often or maybe I've accepted that he simply has another life and he can leave me behind if he wants to. ( :( )

2. Today I technically ran my first long run in prep for my first full marathon later in the spring. I'm very excited. I loved training for the half-marathon I ran in San Francisco, and I needed another big race, so I signed up for Paris last night; hopefully I can book a place to stay before it gets more expensive than it already is.

3. Thinking of it now, I will actually really miss my dad.

4. I need some money.



I've started using semicolons; have you noticed?

Somehow my actions are narrated in my own head when I know I need to write. I've been narrating for a while now, so here you have me.

I've been awake since a little before three; me, who thought I had finally won the battle over this stupid jet-lag. I think I woke myself from light sleep, therefore I felt quite rested and not sleepy when I opened my eyes. I clearly remember what I was dreaming: I was telling someone about the time I had really done my face in falling over a car, bruising my nose and hurting my lips, and how Peter had manged to get it all on video. As I raised my arm to show it on my phone, I woke up.

Perhaps it was because my room was so light? I hadn't shut the blinds like I usually do; unlike the U.S., streets are very well lit here, specially in central areas, and since my room faces a big intersection, there's quite some light shining in, even at night.

I must've rolled around in bed for a little while before I decided to check the time. I kept telling myself; "don't look at your phone, try to sleep". But I felt so awake. I don't understand how this happened, my jet-lag seemed to be getting so much better; I didn't wake up in early hours yesterday or the day before (although I was waking up rather late). I gave up, checked the time and was surprised that it was still so early, I had hoped that it was at least five or so, but it was not even three. I heard someone get up and use the bathroom; someone, because I can usually tell who it is by the sound of their feet against the wooden floor. Today I wasn't so sure; both Mom and Alex wear slippers inside and whoever it was who got up was bare foot; heavy, slow, sleepy, tired feet. My guess was that it was mom. But maybe it was Alex. I guess I'll ask later today: "Who got up last night to pee? I couldn't tell from you footsteps".

Alexander once (or maybe twice, I'm not too sure) told me that his dad (or perhaps it was his mom, maybe even someone else) had told him to drink a glass of milk and a banana if he couldn't sleep (to be honest, Alexander was always having trouble sleeping when we were still together, so I'm not entirely sure this technique works (if it even works at all)). I have eaten a banana and drank a glass of milk countless of times ever since he told me, but today I was hungry and not too keen on a banana (even if I love bananas). Mom bought me a box of Paulúns oatmeal mix with delicious diced dried apples and cinnamon at Överskottsbolaget yesterday, and so I made some of that. Absolutely perfect on its own with cold milk (yes, I know, I need to stop drinking milk). I poured myself a glass of cold water from the fridge and took my bowl of oatmeal and the glass back to my room. Sitting on my bed, I ate my oatmeal and drank my water as I scrolled through Instagram.

It's been a few hours since then; I read "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" for a while till somehow I got hungry again; I have in fact now eaten two bowls of Paulúns with cold milk and it's as of now 5.36 in the morning. I put on spotify a few paragraphs into this text, but it's hard to find music to fit the mood of now. My "sad" playlists have beautiful beats and lovely voices, but I'm not sad, and not very eager on feeling the way I always do when Bon Iver and that sort of music plays. Right now it's Veronica Maggio's Sergels Torg but it's not hitting the spot.

I shall finish this by playing music that makes me think of you, Raúl.




and somehow i have managed to think of you a little too often since i last saw you.

i will miss you most.

i love you, my oldest friend.



This is their reality but I'm no longer sure it's mine, too.

Monday. Woke up. Feeling better after having caught a cold earlier last week. It rained nonstop for two whole days and it was all people talked about. It wasn't pouring, it was just normal rain. Back in Sweden it would've been normal to walk outside. Here, the rain took over every side walk and it was impossible to walk without getting your little feet completely and absolutely wet. I made the mistake of wanting to walk to the bank. I regretted it after just a few blocks; from then and on I've only moved around by taxi. 
It's strange being here. Somehow it feels as if time goes by, yet most things stay the same exact way. You only notice the difference by the fact that suddenly there's a new generation running around in abuelita's garden; the same garden my brothers and I played in just over 10 years ago. Some have lost a lot of weight, some look great and some look sad and depressed. I feel that our lives back home in Sweden are nowhere as monotone as what it seems to be like here. But maybe my life too is monotone, just in a different way?