In January 2011 Marita arrived in Uppsala, Sweden, for a semester of exchange. She enjoyed it. She enjoyed it a lot. She enjoyed it so much she's here for a year now. This is what she gets up to.
The aimless post that turns sentimental
I’m lying on the couch in the TV room at Kalmar. I hate this couch. It’s not long enough. I’m feeling sleep-deprived and reflective. In the past four days (Saturday - Tuesday), I have spent over 44 hours here. I can’t remember the last time I cooked a meal at home. I don’t blog often because I feel like I’ve got nothing to say (“Yesterday I spent far too long at Kalmar making terrible jokes, screaming for the sake of noise and eating out of the corn chips box. Again.” Rinse, lather, repeat), but that’s a lie. I have stories. I’ve been doing stuff. The biggest problem is that realising how stupid, inane and alcoholic a lot of my behaviour sounds when I write it down.
Case in point: today. Why am I here, on this couch, when my shift doesn’t start ‘til 16.00? Because I just finished off my terrible assignment that was due four hours ago that I left unfinished here last night. Why’s it overdue? Because that’s become a habit this semester. And because I completely slept through my alarm and missed the class. Why? I worked last night. And then had a sexa (knockoff drinks). And then went to the Snerikes nollfyra släpp (after-party for a gasque that goes ‘til 4am). And then came back to Kalmar with Lloyd to continue beverage-ing. And then got home at 6am. But you knew you had class today? I planned to be here at 9.30am, finish my assignment, go to class, come back here, sleep for 4 hours, then start my shift. You do realise you’re a moron, right? Shut up.
Typical sexa. Cheers for the photo Kelsey.
Aaaaaaand now it’s a week later. Tuesday night and I’m just home from what was apparently the last corridor party for the year. And I’m absolutely exhausted. Writing the previous paragraphs I knew I had a big few days ahead of me, but I didn’t know just how big. Last Wednesday night was my final shift working in the pub, and half of Uppsala decided to hit Kalmar. We were still kicking people out 25 minutes after close. And a bunch of second curators (one of the “bosses” at a nation, in charge of money stuff) showed up from a dinner they’d been having, pretty damn wasted, looking to kick on. So we had a sizeable sexa, and I was given information as to how I could stay in the nation beyond the alarm being set. This is probably the most dangerous information I’ve been given all year, and it was probably all for the best that I was’t given it earlier in the semester, otherwise… well, shit, I don’t want to think about it. Anyway, got home at 7am. After a cheeky dinnertime nap on Thursday evening, Lloyd and I hit Stockens… for five minutes. Cloak room full? Fuck that shit, I’m going home. Well, Kalmar. That’s home, right? Sexa til 3am? Whyyyyy am I doing this? Ugh, don’t think about it. Just get your room tidy on Friday for all the people coming over for predrinks, then final Värmlands (good, in the trashy, best way, and I didn’t projectile vom down the stairs this time. What a woman). Saturday, maybe should take it easy…. or go to the corridor party in building 8. But Sunday? Surely sober Sunday? Nope, back to Kalmar for cleaning day!!!!! Yep, clean the entire building for personalfest (staff party) the following night, even though we have to clean it all over again on Tuesday. Ughh. Pizza and beers. Fuck, Swedish pizza is terrible. Then it’s here. Monday. Staff Party. We’ve been planning it all semester, and I feel sick as a dog, and I have to do a presentation on a book that makes zero sense, and there’s so much to do, and stress stress stress. But it all comes together. It works. And the dinner part of the evening is so much fun and I’m laughing my arse off at everything and we’re all so relieved it’s ending, but next thing it hits you whilst you’re singing the final song for the night: it’s ending. “Ohhh jeruuuum, jeruuuuuuummmm, jeruuuum…” *massive sobs*. This is it.
Weekend at Alex’s gradparents’ cabin in Tällberg. Ridiculous awesome was had. Clockwise from bottom left: Catherine (US. Caffran!), Lloyd, Kelsey, (US. Kesley!), Alex (France/Sweden), Viktor (Sweden. Lammkött… among many others), Christina (Sweden), Anna (Sweden. Fergdogz), Lucas (Germany).
So why the epic emotional retardation? Sure, I’d had a big week, I was super tired, I hadn’t eaten all day and sobriety was a distant memory, but that doesn’t really cut it. At the start of the semester, when I signed up to be a club worker, I was told the klubbverk would become like my family. I almost scoffed. Then the semester actually happened and I realise there’s no better way to describe it. I saw these people nearly every single day for the past three months, and many of them have become my closest friends. It sounds wanky, but the depths of these friendships are ridiculous. We know far too much about each other. The in-jokes run thick and fast, especially amongst my Munich bitches. A day without a boob- or arse-grab is a strange one. There’s been nudity, retarded nick-naming, gratuitous numbers of drinking games (circle, anyone?), and so much screaming. And somehow they’ve survived with me. They accepted the burping, danced to my tunes (sorry about the excessive hip hop), deciphered my speech, mocked the way I say “no”, tolerated my bitching, supported me through my worst hangovers, put up with all my stories starting with, “So Lloyd and I were doing blah blah” (and ended up basically adopting him as one of us anyway). I’ve had many Kalmar-related rages during which I’ve bemoaned just how much time I spend there, but it’s never been an issue with seeing too much of these people. Sometimes I just want to be in my own damn room.
The entire klubbverk, before the KMK-bal.
So, christ knows where I was going with this post, but I guess it’s become a love letter to the klubbverk and an explanation of why the hell my semester has been so totally different to the last. I’ll never forget the sexas, working gasques, the crazy that was Luciagasque, dancing with the djs at Plattenbau, Tällberg, Munich, cleaning days and so much other stuff that… I’ve forgotten, hahaaaa. Mum, this is everything I’ve been up to. Not quite sure why it was so expensive, but it was worth it.
As I was lying under the massive pile of bodies, struggling to breathe from a combination of laughter and compression, I realised how lucky I’ve been this term. So glad Viktor was able to grab a pic of this moment of reflection.
Hey kid(s), this one goes out to you.
