torsdag, februari 7

London Report

Jag skriver pa engelska for jag orkar inte med att det inte finns prickar till a, a eller o...

Well... This wasn't exactly the way I had planned to spend my vacation. Stuck inside the apartment with a flu, that is. The inconvenience is obvious, I get to see Sara about two times a year and this is what I get for spending 1300kr on a ticket to London. My life is a big ol' joke, how could I not have foreseen this? Of course I was going to get sick once I got here...  though, I have a hunch that the thing that made me sick was a mixture of 1) kissing an unknown Norwegian guy 2) being out in the cold and 3) drinking far too much and eating way to poorly. All of this occured on the day I got here, Sunday. I should add that this Norwegian guy was not a good kisser, nor was he tall or handsome, and not at all a nice bloke. He came up to me all the time and interrupted my dancing and wanted a kiss. I got so sick of him I challenged him to a dance battle and said he was only allowed to kiss me if he won. Need I say he didn't? So then he went on to my dear friends Sara and Indy. I don't know what his problem was, but he really went around and snogged everyone. Why, oh why... Then when me and Sara decided to leave he called her 'retarded'. I got really angry and yelled at him, and he actually almost fell backwards. It must be pretty intimidating, I guess, having a 6'0ft woman standing over you and yelling that you are the one retarded enough to call someone who is obviously just reeeeally drunk 'retarded'. Heh. After that, I grabbed Sara by the arm - who could barely stand up - and went to Oxford Circus to try to find a taxi. It did not go well. Sara was cold, I was cold, we were both tired beyond belief and hungry as hell. It took us(me) almost 40 minutes to find a taxi that wasn't already occupied. Sara couldn't even tell what street we were going to so I just told him Fulham Broadway - "and quick, please!". Sara was craving for pizza so we made a pit-stop at Tesco's when the taxi had dropped us off and then went home to heat this delightful piece of garbage food. Sara first tried to put the whole thing in the microwave, she didn't even bother to open the box, I had to help her. While she stumbled onto the bed I removed the box, the plastic and the styrofoam, put the a-bit-oversized-pizza in the microwave and turned it on for about three minutes. Sara, Miss I'm-drunk-I-have-no-patience, turned it off after one minute, yanked it out and started eating it, holding the giant pizza in one hand, holding herself upright in bed with the other hand. I gave her a plate. Then we both feel asleep somewhere in between eating semi-frozen pizza, forcing down a glass of Resorb down Saras throat and listening to her calling me Frippe/Fluppis. A wonderful night indeed.

The next day my throat was really sore. At first I thought it was from screaming the night before, but as the day went on we went grocery shopping, turned back to the apartment and ate a lot of fruit and yoghurt and healthy things, and I didn't feel any better. We watched a couple of movies, Les Miserables and Pitch Perfect, and then continued with a bit of 30 Rock. I still didn't feel any better at night. Hypochondriac me started thinking flu, cold, tonsillitis and somehow I still managed to fall asleep. Miraculously.

Woke up on Tuesday with an ever sorer throat and my head was aching. Decided not to leave bed until I was going to meet up Sara on High Street Kensington, at the building where she works, around 5pm. We went shopping at Primark and took a quick look at Forever 21 before we both felt that it was enough. We were both sick and so very tired. We bought cookies from Ben's cookies and hopped on the underground to go home. Halfway home on the train I started feeling dizzy. There wasn't anywhere to sit and I whitened in the face. I remember telling Sara that if I don't sit down I will either puke or faint, so I sat down on the floor right by the doors, head between legs and just breathed. When we finally arrived at our station I almost rolled out of the couch and onto the platform. We made a stop at Pret a Manger and bought a sandwich. I needed it. Then we ordered hamburgers, hot dogs and fries at the local burger place, three minutes from Sara's apartment. We went home and started eating cookies, but it was a real project for me swallowing them, my throat hurt that much. Later on, when the food came, I could only manage to down half a burger, one bite of my hot dog and a couple of fries. It hurt too much. We fell asleep watching 30 Rock.

Wednesday, yesterday, looked a lot like Tuesday from my point of view. I stayed in bed all day, watched Pitch Perfect again and continued surfing YouTube, but instead of meeting Sara I just stayed in the apartment til she came home. We ordered chinese food, but much like the night before I only ate a couple of bites of everything. Didn't fall asleep at all, just layed in bed desperately trying to swallow the humongous amount of saliva I felt was in my mouth all the time. No matter how many times I swallowed, there was just as much left right after. My fever had gotten to my head and I was just twirling in the covers. Cold one second, hot the next.

Today I was still trying to fall asleep when Sara left for work at 8am. I've just now taken two pills of Lemsip (flu/fever relief, not available in Sweden, I think) and I'm going to try to clean up this mess of food we've left behind on the kitchen table over these last few days. So not OK. Then I'm gonna pack my bags and slip into something more comfortable than my hotpants and pajama-shirt. Tough mission, I must add, when everything I brought here lies in the category of 'hot-as-hell-but-around-as-comfortable-as-a-wetsuit-two-sizes-too-small'. Yeah. Sometimes I don't think further than my index finger. Also, to my defence, I really didn't believe I was going to get sick here since I've been sick for three weeks straight since new years. Typical me, it's just my fucking luck. Anyways, when all of that is done I'm going to write the world's cutest and most grateful card to Sara for letting me house-squat during my stay here. I really feel like I've been nothing but a burden. I haven't really been able to lift a finger over the last three days. That round of shopping was just something we had already planned long ago and I was so anxious to get out on the town and not sit and do nothing all day. Turns out my body couldn't handle it and crumbled under the pressure. Ugh, I feel so crippled... Sara says she might not get home from work in time to say goodbye to me before I must leave for the airport.

- Swallowing swallowing swallowing -

Fuck this. I hate it. I've come to the realization that I might have kissing disease. Ironic. You kiss one unattractive, retarded, super short, Norwegian moron and what do you get?! Kissing disease. So I'm stuck with this shit for about a month, I mean, til I can go back to normal, go to the gym, work for real. This sucks horseballs. Sucks harder than all the hoes in the universe together.

Despite all this, I would like to point out that, although me and Sara have been sick and haven't been able to do all the things we've planned to do, we've still spent time with each other and I love this girl to death. Fo' realz. I would give her everything and more and the fact that we've known each other our whole life (22,5 years!) is just making our friendship grow stronger by the day. The thing about it that's really remarkable is that we can be without each other for long periods of times and then when we finally meet again we're still us. Still same old Frida, still same old Sara, only a bit older and wiser - one can only hope, but we will always make a wonderful pair of friends. I read somewhere, I think it was on Instagram, a pretty funny quote: "Let's be best friends til we're old and senile... Then we can be new friends!" I can just imagine what we will be like when we're old, sitting on a porch somewhere and reminiscing the old times when we were young and stupid and free and just us. I love us. You are the one and only, Sara, you know that, right? Scooby-Doo-I-Love-You-Forever.

On that note, I'm saying goodbye to my dear ol' England, and til we meet again (London, I'm talking to you), kick out all scumbag Norwegian guys with kissing disease and I might consider coming back this summer!

Gosh, I've missed the English speaking world so much. Love, Friday

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Anonym sa...