Supposedly, I'm a 22-year-old writer who is currently living in Oxford. I nowadays think of it as my home, although my mother still prefers when I call Sweden home, instead of England. I shouldn't even call myself a writer because I've never been able to finish anything in my life.
I’m addicted to coke (the drink, not the drug). I’ve always secretly (and sometimes not-so-secretly) wanted to become a ballerina but now I’m too old. Everyone keeps telling me that I was born in the wrong decade, but they can’t seem to decide whether I belong in the 40s, 50s, or 70s, I usually say I’m a hippie at heart though. My skin crawls if too much time passes by without me being alone for a while.
I had an E.T. doll when I was younger; I used to put dresses on it and loved it unconditionally without having seen the movie. I have a to-do-list for my life, and each year it seems to grow longer instead of shorter. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I’d love to go on tour with a band, but not for their music but because that’s the only way I’ll ever go on tour anywhere. Alas, it is what it is. I guess this is my latest bell jar.
Email / g-talk: fridha[at]gmail.com
Aim: Johnnypanic63
I'm a sucker for spontaneous emails.
I’ve always loved Christmas, and I always will. It’s the time of year that I always long for. I can’t explain why but I find Christmas so magical. It never fails, and I really hope this childlike fascination that I have with Christmas will last my whole life. I start counting down in October, listen to Christmas music in November, start planning what to buy and write my Christmas-list before it’s even the beginning of December. I can’t help it.
There’s a melancholy that sorta goes hand in hand with Christmas too. But unlike normal melancholy, I don’t really seem to mind it much. It was weird last year, not being able to go to the Christmas market back home and get into the holiday spirit in the same way as I’d usually do. This year I might be able to go home a bit earlier though, which means I’ll be able to decorate the house with my mom and all sorts of things.
For me, Christmas is watching Home Alone on tv on the 23rd as you’re decorating the tree, and listening to Mariah Carey’s Christmas album, eating candy in the shape of Santa and buying more presents than you’ll be receiving.
And if there’s one thing I pass on to my children, I hope it’s Christmas joy. I even have it all planned out for when I’ve got a family (a bit silly but whatevs).. I’ll have one of those old toy trains running around the Christmas tree, and red ornaments and fake snow on the windows. And I’ll get equally excited about opening Christmas presents as my kids. Because it’s magic. I won’t let anyone tell me otherwise.
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and I wish I had my very own Larry Paul.
Ally Mcbeal, ftw. (I’m not even remotely ashamed. I think it’s absolutely hilarious.)
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Bethybethybethy - You’ve saved me so many times. Writing letters to you this summer helped me so much, and I really hope it made you realize how amazing you are. You’re who I rant to, who I cry to, and who I drunk text. There really aren’t any words to describe how much you mean to me. I’m your bodyguard, and you’re the protector of my soul. You’re my soul-sister, forever.
Genevieve - You save me, constantly. You help me with boys, and sadness, and loss. And most of the time I don’t know what I’d do without you. I miss you when we don’t talk for a while, and I really do see you as a close friend. I share things with you that I don’t ever talk about in real life. You help me so much, and I hope that I sometimes help you too. I can’t wait to someday see you for real, and just give you the biggest hug and say thank you.
Hennypotter - You’ve saved me, and you didn’t have to. Your emails have helped me cry, and they’ve helped me breathe. I’m so excited for your move to London, cause then you’ll be an hour and a half away, and I’ll hopefully get to experience your awesome-ness in real life.
Beautiful-armor - You were my first tumblr-friend. You were my first Canadian friend. And even though we don’t talk as much, I’ll still keep you around as a friend. Cause you’re a total hottie.
Nathanieljames - It’s nice to have someone understand what you’re going through. I miss that. And I’m so thankful for the fact that you still reply to my little rants and cries for help, and never once do you tell me to snap out of it.
isay & iamchrysanthemum - I once said that I’d go into the world and find the kind of love you two share. I still plan on doing that. Thank you for sharing your love-story with us, and giving some hope for the hopeless.
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(via spinlighted)
that’s what i said. it’s how we live beth.
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I just had a panic attack for the first time in years. I got a call from my dad and he informed me that my mother isn’t allowed to come to my grandmother’s funeral. She had stated in her will that she only wanted close family there and my dad doesn’t consider my mom to be that anymore. As he put it “she stopped being close family when she decided to divorce me 20 years ago”.
Three years ago when my grandfather died he did the same thing. It broke my mom’s heart. She was so sad for such a long time.
And my mom has always talked about how special the relationship between her and my grandmother was. They never had any disagreements, not even after the divorce. I think it’s so wrong of my dad to say that she isn’t allowed there, that she isn’t allowed to say her last goodbyes, when his fiance who’s only known my grandmother for two years will be there.
My mom knew my grandmother for 35 years. It’s not right. And when I stated my opinion my dad said “Fine, she can go. But you choose, either you go with her to the funeral, or you go with me. Not both. If you choose her, I’ll go earlier and say goodbye on my own.” It’s not right to put that on your own daughter. It’s not.
It’s not right of him to make me break my own mother’s heart.
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Ugh, hungover. And I have a whole day of lectures to look forward to.
But at least I did what I said I would.. Get ridiculously drunk, and only drunk text Bethany.
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From now on I refuse to wait for something to happen.
So what if I make an ass of myself? I’ll laugh about it tomorrow. And all the people who think I’m making a fool of myself while doing just about anything? They’ll wish they had the guts to just laugh off drunken mistakes.
(this might be the vodka talking, and i’ll probably chicken out plenty in the future. but people are dying and i refuse to feel guilty for not living when they can’t anymore. i’m going to live, and i’ll make an ass of myself doing so.)
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From now on I will call everything that involves either alcohol, kissing, hot chocolate, flirting or sex..
Harmless fun. And I’ll be having so much fun saying it.
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I will drunk-text you damnit.
If I’ve got enough money that is.. otherwise I’ll drunk text you in my head. It’s the thought that counts. (as a certain boy told me today.. think he’ll make up his mind soon? to do or not do to.)
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