Filth

I live in filth. I fuckin' mean it. Partly I don't even care, partly I feel I'm too deep in to do anything about it. I need to move out - now! I need to get my own vacuum cleaner and I need to be in control of my own fucking surroundings! Well, at least my own so called "home". This isn't a home to me. A home is a haven, or at least it should be. The forest, my room in Sikfors and grandma and grandpa's place are my homes. Those are the places I can call my home and I thought that I'd get another one here in Stockholm; somewhere I could go to when I needed a break from the stress, school and clingy shall-remain-unknown-on-my-blog or whatever, but I don't. Södermalm is where I go when I need to collect my thoughts. I love to look at the Boden-houses, or to sit for hours at Kafé 44 or Gunnarsons. But it's not my home either. Maybe soon, maybe next year. I don't know.

I don't even know where the fucking vacuum cleaner is, and that has tipped the scale.