And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born in /
Then it's time to go /
And define your destination /
There's so many different places to call home

Definitely feeling like a tourist here sometimes. Not always in a bad way, certainly not when sitting on waterfronts and lazing the day away.

I'm selling my stuff (well, not that stuff...) down at Valtteri in the morning, come see a tired and weary me and finance my future travels!

I wish I had some pictures of the past days. How come the first days of Summer are always so chaotic? If I had it all on Polaroids, I would have pictures of drunken blurs, foul-tasting vodka, misunderstandings and me being an idiot towards people for whom I care very much.

But I would also have pictures of champagne bottles, fresh grass, slow moments on Vuorikatu with danes I had just met, walking barefoot and slipping on pieces of glass, hands running over the notches in spines, not worrying about the aftermath and soft hotel corridor carpets.

The first proper Summer nights are here and I'm relieved.

I bleached and cut my hair and bought Paris from a clothing store for 18€.

Actual footage of my four-hour sleep-habitus. Nothing beats ice-cold water, a size too big 80's shorts (hey, it's a pair of Lees) and tangly hair, eh?

Summer begun yesterday night, a long long way from home, when the night fell over fields and wooden houses and cider tasted a bit foul. Someone from the past reminded me of what I could've turned into if I hadn't been careful and unluckily lucky. New people reminded me that people that are interesting but not exhausting exist, I had forgotten it in the midst of all the tangles.

During the small hours I realized there actually are times when there is no direction home. While walking on the train tracks I counted all the good things to come and all the good things I've already got.

I'm listening to Paul Simon and eighties classics, feels good to be here, feels good to get going again tomorrow.

+ going to get some take away-thai from Kallio! Things couldn't look much higher up. Oh the simple joys of life.

Since today has mainly consisted of studying, being a walking and breathing nervous breakdown and listening to british new wave while dancing in my room alone in skimpy shorts and a cropped t-shirt (talk about being inspired by unimportant 80's teenage movies), I promise to drink a glass of wine or two or three or four tomorrow night. Saturdays were made for that. Especially those that remind you of real Summer Saturdays. I hope tomorrow night will, this rain is making everything ten times duller.

Goodnight everyone. If I weren't an atheist, I'd say God bless you.

Late Spring in the suburbs, concrete, Bob Dylan turning 70 and me staying 19, yacht owner's jacket and australian boots, occasionally feeling quite lovesick, tight jeans and studying in neo-renaissance libraries.

I rediscovered Charles Bukowski today at the library while trying to take a break from payne fund-studies analysis, he's breathtaking.

Saturday nights were made for kissing to be clever, weekdays for regretting it and avoiding awkward invites for lunch in the city.

Dress-size projects should be changed to stress-size projects, it looks like I'm prone to stress about anything and everything.

I spend money on clothes and things that make me feel like the stereotype of a rich finnish swede boy's girlfriend who spends summers on a huge yacht enjoying life (think white, stripes, healthy hair, tan, fit legs, short skirts, champagne and the sea).

I feel stressed out but quite serene. If I were to quote a very tired and cliché'd line I'd say youth knows no pain.