1981. I was eleven years old. We were going on a roadtrip through Europe. Me and my best friend, and our parents. In a Wolksvagen bus. They had made a bed for us girls in the trunk, where we had to sleep both. It was a bit cramped. We had both gotten books to read from the parents. I had gotten some hardcover 50 pages book about Rebecca and the stars or something and my friend got One Thousand and One Nights. I was terribly jealous. I read my book in an hour and then asked if I could borrow hers. Which I of course couldn't, because it was so much fun to deny me to read it when I really wanted to, but after a few hours of pouting and whining I could. So in the bus I escaped into a magic world with Scheherazade. First we went to Spain, through Andorra. We stayed there for a weeks I think, in Barcelona and perhaps Granada. Too many memories. Floating out on my rubber raft on purpose many times. They had to send boats after me, twice. I was dreaming. Then my mother dissappeared for a few hours too long and they called the police and went all hysterical that she was gone. I knew she would come back, but instead I had to feel bad for not joining in on the panic and should be ashamed of not caring. Yes, my parents were also psychopats, in case you wonder. Not my dad though, but my mother and my stepdad, bless their souls. Anyway, after Spain we went to France. Or wait, there was a few more traumatic experiences in Spain. The fact that the ice-cream vendor actually got upset with me for always chosing the same flavour; coconut. I felt obligated to try something different; melon. That was also good, then I went back to coconut, thinking I had thereby settled the argument. Maybe I was forced to run in there and ask if they had seen my mom when she was allegedly missing. They might had cooked up some scheme and staged this dissappearing to make me run around in panic by myself and eventually get taken by kidnappers. They might even had hired one already. I suppose I was lucky to escape them. If they could sell me to strangers, they could also have me killed. I think they tried several times. That's how I reasoned. Oh yes, the tried in the carousel, the ship that goes up and down. There weren't any straps or security of the seatings at all, just a metal rod on the seat in front to hold on to. Or maybe there was a thing that was so supposed to hold me in place, but I was so skinny that I literally took air everytime the ship went up and risked flying out. I couldn't fight gravity, or the lack of it. I thought I was going to die. Then again in Paris. In the Eiffeltower, when I fainted in the elevator up. I had fainted earlier in Spain too, In the common bathroom at the camping place. I told my mother I was feeling really sick and couldn't walk anymore. She just got annoyed, snapped and walked away. I feel down outside the door and a woman came and lifted me up and started yelling and running after my mother, who just got more annoyed. The woman carried me to the van. So in the Eiffeltower I knew what was going to happen and was prepared. I was supposed to hand my glasses to my stepdad and inform them that I was about to faint, which is exactly what I did. Apparently I had also farted when I was passed out and this my friend found extremely embarrassing, the whole ordeal I suppose, and didn't want to talk with me for the rest of the day and even a few days after that. I think we all were tired of each others company by then. We were also out of money and had all the way back to Sweden to go. Which means we took the autobahn through Germany, to get home as fast as possible. My friends family had a batch of chicken soup and we had nothing. The grown ups were arguing about the food, and my 'parents' though that the others should share what they had. They thought we should have planned better and didn't want to share their food. I was starving and hadn't eaten anything for the entire day. When they finally offered me a coup, a small plastic cup of soup, I said I didn't want any, that I could go without, Then they insisted. The reason I'm telling this lenghty story is that it was brought to my attention that I was Zlatans birthday today and I totally forgot. Or I haven't actually memorized his birthday, I'm tired of memorizing birthdays, so many to keep track of. But, it will try, The people who have names day in Sweden are Evald and Oswald. No, that won't make any difference, I keep track on numbers, not names days. Yes, so I just wanted to post something and this is what I got. Year 1981, The roadtrip through Europe. The newest version. I have been spending my day accordingly though. It has been a good day in many aspects. A form of relief from the past weeks horrors. All the seminars, group assignments and ...hm, yes there was actually this home exam that is due on Friday. Ta ta.