Feels like home
All the stress of the last couple of days. Packing, clearing and cleaning out the apartment where I’ve stayed ever since I came to Oslo.
For a while, my life was separated into three different piles on the floor:
- Things to take back to my home town.
- Things to take with me on my trip.
- Things to take to a storage until I return.
I left the apartment in St Hanshaugen around 2 p.m this afternoon, caught a cab to my friend Jenny’s place in Grunerlökka, met up with her boyfriend and got the keys to their apartment, a bright, beautiful place in one of Oslo’s coolest areas.
Now, at 1.30 on a Friday night, I sit in their living room in my bathrobe and know that I can call this place my home for the next week and a half.
I love it here. The funky Scandinavian design, the retro posters on the wall, the white wooden walls, the high ceiling, the fresh flowers.
Makes me remember what it was like to call a place my own.
But as I told another friend, I am a bum by choice, and this is just a period of my life.
All the greatness that lay before me.