The happy place

Today we were briefly to Oslo.

They’ve got this sushi carousel at the train station where the sushi is inside plastic balls going round and round to everybody’s delight, but it’s expensive and the taste is OK and it’s always been there as far as I know, spinning these expensive sushis round and round. At least it was there ten years ago when I was there last time (but the sushis themselves are of course new)

I have a very neutral relationship to sushi.

I am feeling sad or rather like there’s something wrong that I don’t quite know a sort of melancholy which visits me from time to time leaving a lump at the back of my throat. It’s strangely also a relief to feel this way as if it’s letting the pressure out. Maybe it’s a secret luxury to feel a bit sorry for myself here as I sit writing this text. Also this irregular temper, or rather temper like on a sinus curve, or like the ebb and flow like the gravitational field from the moon, is making me a more interesting person.

Some people equate being deep with being sad, or rather it’s a common theme in Bachelor that the women do no not only want to joke around and smile but also show they’ve got a deeper side, more serious, thus implying that the opposite; the happiness, with being shallow which I absolutely do not agree with as I find that laughing in the face of danger, much like Stubb did in Moby Dick, have you read that one? Is something perfectly rational. I had this quote written from an old book, maybe a planning calendar: something to the effect that you will have to live the same life, walk the same path, regardless if you do it smiling or not, and I hold this for truth.