About a dream

Hello. As most people know I have moved away from the safe haven that is 22 Vicar St but I thought I could make a little guest appearance - I am, after all, an utlandskorre*.

In August I left Cork and Ireland to move back to Sweden, but instead of going back to being the wicked witch of the north I ended up as a student in Gothenburg. It's all fun and games being in med school, until they tell you that you need to know every little part of the human body, in Latin. Anyway, I believe I kicked some anatomy butt and now, since I don't have any courses going on at the moment, I am trying my luck as an unemployed - at least until Monday when I will be going postal (stupid pun intended).

I live with a good friend of mine in an apartment about 5 minutes away from school and it is surrounded by loads of great take out places – those places are now getting the greater part of my study grant. Every now and again I go to Lund and visit that girlfriend of mine who I still adore – one of the few things that haven’t changed since I got back to Sweden (and it seems like it will stay the same for the foreseeable future).

What else do I do with my time? Well, I have bought myself a gym card and started going on aerobics classes. I am convinced that if all the aerobics instructors of the world ganged up they could take over, because you get a strange kind of zombie feeling when all you do is exactly what the person in front of you tells you – you stop thinking rather quickly (might be a kind of defence mechanism, because you look really silly doing that stuff). Another thing I am doing is dancing a Swedish dance called bugg where you get to do loads of fun stuff, such as lift the lady, throw the lady and the whirl wind. You get very dizzy at times.

But…You want to know the real reason why I decided to write this post? It’s because last night I had a dream about Ireland and all the people there. I really miss you all. I hope that if I work really hard I might earn enough money to at least be able to visit soon. Seriously, sometimes I really wish I hadn’t moved away from you all.

Loads of love from your very own squirrel.

* Roughly translates to either a foreign squirrel or a foreign correspondent.

Where's Your Head At?

I survived yet another bug - yey for me!

I spent Thursday and Friday knocked out in bed and did nothing except finishing my application to the University of Lund. Note to self: do not, I repeat, not write important stuff when your head is in a fever haze. In my very important mail to the admission board I managed to write that I want to move to Lund because I have a girlfriend in Luleå (the distance is 1220 km). Oh well, no biggie.

Anyway, the papers are now in and all I have to do is hope. And of course kick some anatomy ass on my upcoming exam.

The Brain, the Beer and the Bitterness

Okay, so the truth might be that the candlelit dinner was with Ida, and the time spent in bed consisted of me watching Oceans 13 while she slept - but can't a girl dream?!

Now I am home alone, drinking tea and listening to classic music as I try to force Latin words into my head. While I am gaining knowledge about the different parts of the brain and therefore getting smarter by the minute, the other girls are out killing their brain cells with alcohol. Oh, such irresponsible girls - drinking, laughing, socializing when there are arteries to name, nerve tracts to memorize and nuclei to... curse...

No, I am not bitter.