Fucking hell. I never thought I'd start blogging again but here we go. It's been almost a year, and since I didn't have any readers last time (except you Kev, you weird bastard) I don't expect to have any now. But fuck that. It's always good to write.
I'm gonna take it slow and not reveal too much about what I've been doing since last November, at least not all at once. Right now I'll just let you know that the move went well, I'm now living together with my dearly beloved in a cramped apartment in eastern Gothenburg, and the everyday shit of grown-up life is weighing heavy on my shoulders. I hate doing the dishes, I hate cleaning and I hate that it takes a whole day to do the laundry. But I love cooking, I love going to bed and waking up beside my beautiful girlfriend (who somehow, almost magically, manages to grow more cute every day), and I love the view from our very own balcony. We can see the entire city. Well, not really. If it weren't for the obligatory Swedish big-ass trees blocking the view, we would see the entire city. The little we see is good enough though.
Anyway, I've also got a new job, I'm working long hours in a warehouse, packing and shipping delicatessen. It's a good job because there are no annoying costumers and I can walk around all day listening to punk rock on my cheap Mp3-player (NOT an Ipod). But it's also boring as hell. And I gotta get up at 04:45 in the morning, which is the closest you can come to hell in the cold and dark Swedish fall/winter mornings.
However, that's not the only reason why my bed is calling out to me. Since last time, the Herbert/Anderson-machine has managed to produce another Dune-novel: The Winds of Dune, that I opened up this morning. It's a little weird to return to that universe, especially since I know how it all ends, but I'm excited. However, I can't shrug off the feeling that they are just squeezing every last dime out of Frank Herbert's manuscripts. Never mind. I like the books.
