Jeg taper.

Jeg prøver å ikke spille.
Melder meg ut og satser alt.
Tenker føkk it, ingenting av dette står om livet.
Satser. Hopper. Tror jeg vinner.

Jeg taper.
Elsker, elsker ikke.
Spiller du spillet taper du uten at du vet det.


cry, baby

Når klokka er 01:37 og du griner for første gang på flere måneder.

Griner fordi du er overarbeidet.
Griner fordi du ikke får til.
Griner fordi du er redd.
Griner fordi du har blitt kastet ut på dypt vann, uten å kunne svømme.
Griner fordi klokka er 01.37 og du skal på jobb igjen om 8 timer.
Griner fordi du savner å ta tuben til uni hver morgen.
Griner fordi ting ikke ble helt slik som du trodde.
Griner fordi du bryter ditt eget løfte om å ikke grine.
Griner fordi du leser gamle blogger, og kjenner savnet etter byen du har flyttet fra langt inn i hjerterota.


Flink pike syndromet:

Trangen til å fremstå perfekt.
Behovet for å ha full kontroll.

Å grine er å vise svakhet.

Tilslutt ender du bare opp med å skuffe deg selv.


Morgensolen kryper gjennom gardinene. Jeg ligger naken, på ryggen og kjenner rødvinshodepinen komme krypende. Det er for varmt for dyne. Armen hans lurer seg rundt midjen min og idet solbrune ben flettes inn i hverandre  hvisker han lurt,  "jag vil ha dig"

for ingenting av dette står om livet

Take on step of the time.


Let time pass.

Don't stress.

Acknowledge the fact that you won't have time to do everything today.

Wake up happy, go to bed happy.

Clear your head.

Realize that there are no magic words.

Fell good about yourself, or at least try to.

For ingenting av dette står om livet. 


free falling

I never though, and I still believe, that no one ever reads what I write on this blog.
That was until a good friend of mine (hi) asked if I was OK after reading my online scribbles.
I guess it is just a way of getting thoughts out of my head.

The funny thing is, even though I believe no one actually reads this, I'm still not honest. I am still trying to impose myself as this person who I would want to be perfect. Who is happy, unique, standing strong, fighting for her believes. A person who deserves to be loved.

Or something like that.

I guess it is called the good girl syndrome. Personally I think it sound like bullshit, but when that urge to impose yourself as picture perfect, interesting, desirable, takes over, your kinda doomed anyway. And then this little thing that don't really concerns anybody else happens, and kicks you in the ass and your head spins the event into something so big that is swallows you whole and keeps your prisoned for weeks. Even though it is something quite common you let it mark you in ways not needed. You are still you, nothing remarkably has changed. I know this. I know that.

Er du med på leken må du tåle steken.

Still, you are in free fall.

I am OK. I'm not fine, but I'm OK.
I'm still alive.
I just need some time.

PS. One day I will press delete on this blog, I think. 


and you will be ok

I sent him a text, asking if he wanted to run away to Cuba with me.
"Let's take my car, baby",
he replied.

My heart skipped a beat and,
as I so often do,
I closed my eyes and sent out wishes for the future.


I read something that made me cry the other day; Life is never nothing.

It might be frightening.
It might be hard.
It might be frequented by events you wished to be without.

However, it is never nothing. You are still alive.



There is a saying "tired of London, tired of life".

I am tired of London.
I am tired of life.

 However, I am not giving up on either.
 Everything is going to be ok, right?


can you feel it?

You know that feeling?

That feeling of wanting to do something.
That feeling of wanting to get shitfaced drunk.
That feeling of wanting to run through empty streets.
The feeling of wanting to act like nothing can stop you.
Kissing strangers.
Smoking cigarettes.
Ordering whiskeys.
Stupid dance moves.

Yesterday I went out, and ended up sitting at London Fields tube station at 9 am this morning, in yesterday's make-up and clothes, waiting for the train back to civilization, aka central London (just kidding, I secretly wish I was living out east). Getting from Dalston to Archway is no joke, I tell you. An hour later I was home, greeted by my housemate who, when I blurred our "I smell like a boy and whiskey"laughed loud and long. I laughed with her.

But you know that feeling?

That feeling of wanting to do something? It's there, haunting like a post-festival depression, or in this case a post-good-night-out-depression.

I'm restless.
I want to be reckless.

I want to listen to this, skate the streets and meet cute british boys. I'm crushing so hard on this band:


little stupid things

I did snap out of it, or it nothing more, I am in the process of doing so. I need to accept that I can't control everything. I need to look at the facts. To quote artist Daughter, "If you're still breathing, you are the lucky one". I am still breathing. I am going to be OK. The fact is, this is no big deal. I can live with it, even though I can't control it.

Around me friends talk about babies, love, boyfriends, marriage, the future and I realize - I'm afraid of never having those things.

I'm 22.
I've never been in love.
I have never been loved.

And it all strikes me as one big hit to the heart, the irrational fear of ending up alone and miserable. To having to settle at age 30 because I was never able to find the fireworks, the sparkles and the love that could conquer everything. To have found it, but then lost it. To have found it, but only for it not to be mine to take.

I am looking forward to living my life. To fall in love, to scream and fight, to make up and to cry. Boy, all those hours I'm going to spend wiping tears. I look, even though I must admit it scares me, forward to those moments. But at the same time, I just want to skip right forward to being 30, just to see if I'm not alone.

I just want to be happy.

PS: I'm only writing this because no one really read this blog anyway, right? 


the day I met him

I said I had nothing too loose. I meant it in the best possible way. And I did. I had nothing too loose. So I went out there. I lived life. I had fun. But then the morning after came and kicked me in the ass. Although it was no big deal, I fell hard. Although it was such a common thing, I crashed. I lost control. I couldn't instantly fix it.

The rabbithole didn't lead me to wonderland, it lead me to a a dark spiral of doubt, anxiety and second guessing.

 At the same time, I don't regret it.

That moment. Nothing.

It's weird, isn't it?

 I just want everything to be fine again, to once more have control, or at least be able to face the fact that in this, I have no control. I guess it all leads down to that one word - love. Or more like it, the lack of it, and what the future will bring. I feel broken, and who will want a broken toy?

 Ps. I'm only writing this because I know no one reads it anyway. Ironic?


You can't always control everything, especially not your body, or your mind for that matter. I need to accept that and let go. To quote Ben Howard, "keep your head up, keen your heart strong" (and your mind sane). What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger? And I'm going to come out of this stronger.  Only problem is, I need to snap out of it in order to do so.

didn't I my dear

I fucked up. I made a stupid mistake and now I need to pay for it. Life sucks. (On the bright side it's easter holidays and I'm going back to Norway for three weeks. England is definitly not my friend at the moment).


bright side of the road

Spent the weekend in Oslo, went to 10 concerts every night, cried when I finally got to hug one of my best friends after too many months apart, introduced myself to the vocalist/guitarist of French Films with the line "Hi, I love your band", drank a lot of coffee and beer and kissed this really really cute boy. BEST WEEKEND EVER Now I'm back in Londontown, longing to be outside in the sun but finding myself behind my desk writing. Would say"YES it's only two months to summer!" (May counts as summer, right?) but then I realize that I'm going to spend my summer writing my MA. Never the less, this summer will bring at least one good festival, and a lot of dancing barefoot in the grass, even though I most likely will be stressed out. To end this post with the cheezyest quote ever; I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22. This is what life is all about, right?



Nothing to loose; Said in the best way those three words can possibly be stated. Because, really, I have nothing to loose right? If I don't do, I will never know. If I act, I will know. Easy choice. Either way there is a possibility of ending up heartbroken, again. But you know what, I need to make something happen. There is really nothing else to be doing, is there?



I just ate a whole bag of chips. Yeah, I know. Crazy, right? The reason behind the chips eating? The sweet feeling of being hungover. The reason behind the hungovernes? Koko, Camden, beer, dancing.

BTW, I don't blog any more. Not really. However, what I do occationally spend my time on in Tumblr; my number one go to for procrastination. So, if you're into cute boys, peter pan, love, lust and unicorns? Check out HIGH ON YOUTH.


this is for the moments you realize that you are not even close to being a grown up (luckily)

You eat breakfast for dinner, just because you don't feel like making anything. You over-think EVERYTHING. You present your MA idea with "I want to make something that I can throw on the table and say; hey you, this is why you should give me money to make digital magazines". Eat candy for breakfast. You spend your lectures hanging on tumblr, even though yes, you are paying £13.000 for the teacher to tell you all about leadership. Every morning, you dance in your underwear. You understand the heartbreaks of Taylor Swift (I just admitted to my biggest guilty pleasure).   You long for the weekends, starting on Mondays. At night, when you can't sleep, you lay awake, scared of what life is going to be like when you actually need to face it bigtime.


for the girls with messy hair and thirsty hearts

My head is a mess. My hair is a mess and my bedroom floor? Also a mess. So far, this year has not worked out in my favor. To quote a book I read this fall, Charlotte Street; I like London, but I'm not sure if London likes me.

What I have done to this city, or how this city expresses it's dislike I'm not sure of. It might be my lack of creativity, lack of being able to get up in the morning. My lack of wanting to face the day, lack of being able to cross things off my to do list. As a MA student and wannabe magazine editor, I have found these lacks to be, well, lacks.

Or it may just be the cold, the darkness and the famous fog. I hope it is, for I really do miss my adventurous, slightly manic self - and the thrill of the big city.

hometown glory

Except for when she was alone with it, she was not found of her hometown. But when she was walking in it, alone, at night, with the only sound around being the loud clicking of her heels - then she loved it. 


it still stings

I'm reading E.E Cummings and wondering about love. How someone can actually write those words, those beautiful, captivating, true words. It fascinates me, love. To me, it seems beyond that someone could actually sit down and write 'I carry your hart with me (I carry it in)'. Call me a pathetic, romantic fool, put his words, those three paragraphs, make my heart beat faster. They give me goosebumps.

I wonder what being in love must feel like. And yes, I am a pathetic, romantic fool. I know.


you and me, baby

My toes, nose and fingertips are cold. It's the end of November, and I'm not capable of actually giving you a recap of this month so far. I'm bored, I'm doubting every decision I've ever made, I work (a lot), I freeze (a lot) and I'm dreaming of moving away from London (why I have no idea). I force myself into doing stuff that I'm not really sure that I want to do, in the hope of actually feeling something. Running, studying, eating, lifting weights, cleaning, doing what is expected, making plans. I just need to get through to November 7th. Then, I am going to smile, and actually mean it.

Secretly I'm daydreaming about this really cute boy.


on a big jet plane

You wanna know what my favorite thing about London is?

Well, apart from the bridges, the view from the 13th floor at uni (from there you can seriously see everything), the skyline outside my window and just the fact that I live in one of the world's greatest cities it is that whenever you look up, let it be day or night, you will always see an airplane. On my way to uni, or anywhere else for that matter, I tend to stop up, stair at the sky and just look. Yes, I know I must look like a dork, but I find it fascinating, the way they are flowing around up there, leaving white stripes and crossing each other unnoticed. I wonder where the people are going, and long for the day that I am going to go on adventures.


love, and other drugs

Well, here I am. Three months has passed by and I am still the hopeless romantic that I have always been. I 'm still reading Firzgerald. I'm still tublering the above pictures. I'm still listening to lovesongs. I still get butterflies every time my friends tell me about their crushes. 

Every time my phone beeps I jump up, eager to see if it is the person I want it to be. Most of the time it's not. But when his name do pop up, my heart skips a beat. 

I think I'm in love with love itself. It is so damn beautiful to watch, listen to and read about. Luckily for me, LOVE is the theme for the next edition of my magazine. 


we are young

 So, what have I been up to lately?

 Well, I finished my bachelor degree, got accepted to London College of Communication (master in publishing, woho), spent my last three weeks in England getting drunk, dancing, sun bathing, eating and spending time with the people who made this year an adventure (needless to say, I cried like a baby when I left) and now I'm back in Norway, more bored than ever.

 I have fallen in love with baby blue and white, wrecked my brother's car, taken up baking, bought my first cropped top and read my way through most of Fitzgerald's work.

 The post-I-had-the-time-of-my-life depression is slowly letting me go and the thought of three months of Norway isn't all that bad. I just need a lot of wine and sunshine.


When it is 00.17 and you are fed up with proof reading. Why the hell did I decide to do a masters next year? Oh well, in 24 hours I will be one happy drunk girl.


you're my favorite daydream

Jalouse Magazine: Une Fille Comme Les Autres from Matthew Frost on Vimeo.

A friend of mine sent me this video, saying it reminded him of me. Well, thank you! Obviously the video, made by Matthew Frost, worked. I am so jealous of the life Ashley Smith have in this. This is what I daydream about. Except that my hipster will not have a beard. He will have curly hair, and maybe a mustache.


Starting a new project today. "Take a picture of what you are wearing in photoboot every day for a week, just to see how much black I actually wear." This can be fun.

Monday feels like Tuesday, and although this weekend went by without too much drama, there is always drama and those awkward moments. Seriously, what ever happened to boys and girls being just friends? Luckily my best friend comes visiting tomorrow, and with him it is going to be one drama free week. Started it all off today with ditching uni and went to the docks to eat ice cream and getting freckles in the sun. At this time a year, you just got to love England.


poesi for drømmere og studenter #2

Hårstrå faller mot bakken
De flyver
De flyter
Du kjenner kammen i nakken
Det lugger
Du kjemper
Hver lille knote
Skapt av dagen
Faller mot gulvet
Blondt hår
Bittre tårer
Dagen er snart over
Snart er håret blankt igjen.


life #6

Finally, after years of dreaming and haunting anything french I am in Paris.

Yesterday a woman came running up to me, asking for directions somewhere in french. Naturally she expected me to be parisian. I think that is the greatest compliment I have ever gotten.