There is nothing to soothe the restive soul of a gay-boy than shopping for clothes, and today Maria and I spent our day wandering between shops in Västerås. She had a day off because of a doctor’s appointment, and she decided that I was the correct tool to alleviate her boredom.

It almost felt like old times. Bossy Maria trying to get into my head that I needed to think big, bold and beautiful. Yet, there’s so much between us now that it’s not the same as it used to be. The things between us aren’t negatives – just the last year of growing apart. It makes it difficult to maintain the old times, the old roles, the old order of her being incredibly bossy and me being the sheeple in her tow.

Have you ever had the sense of the water that’s passed under the bridge of time? It’s this huge mass of water, and it’s out there nearby and cast shadows like a big thick wall. I wouldn’t call the feeling negative, but maybe it makes us cling to our old roles and relationship extra much.

Finally I could talk to her openly about that which almost destroyed our friendship earlier this year, the big old douche-bag that outed me and who at the same time was the on and off boyfriend of Maria. Erik who now has an ex-athlete that work in a shop in my old hometown, and who Maria now see as yesterday’s news.

She is moving on, away, upward, and into the future, and she thinks that Erik will calcify in our old home town. In ten years time he’ll be married, have three kids, a mortgage, and look forward to maybe becoming the deputy of the store. It doesn’t sound bad when I think about it, but Erik wanted to be a footballer. He went to the Gymnasium to become an elite player. And now he’s stuck. I actually feel a bit of pity for him, and that’s not something I thought that I would admit to, ever.

Maybe the water under the bridge has swept all that business far away, and maybe that bit is not the shadow of the growing differences between Maria and I?


It is just four days left here in Sweden now, and I am starting to wish to be home. It is starting to affect my writing. I can sit there, and suddenly just want to be home already.

That is a funny feeling, since I’ve never really felt an attachment to a home. Any room, house or building I’ve ever lived in has only been where I hang my hat for the moment. But I can’t wait to come home to our house, and I really miss the dogs, and Auntie, and Mark’s parents. When we come home, we’ve decided that we’re going to have one of those Sunday dinners with all of them.

I sent out the text to Mark’s parents about that, and to Auntie, and they’ll be waiting for us when we get back home. Well, Mark’s parents will fetch us at the airport and drive us home, and Auntie is going to wait for us there with dinner ready.

Such deviously thought out plans I’ve made, eh?


I think Mark is mentally exhausted too. He hasn’t had much of a vacation, has he? I think he’s ready to leave now, even though he loves the place he’s working at. There’s only so much interest you can derive from operating a bunch of separators for four weeks, and there’s only so much data to glean from statistics.

He’s tried to tell me about that, but it sounds incredibly dull work except to him. He thinks its interesting to make charts and stuff, and try to make sense of what’s going on.

They’re going to have a cake for him on Friday when he works the last day, and Mark says they’ve asked him about working next summer. He hasn’t given an answer though, but he has told them that he won’t take the sponsorship offer.