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I had a great time at my mothers 55 birthday party (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
akselwestlund you missed a real blast of a party). She loved the gift I gave her, and we started the evening out with little pieces of food on a plate and pink champagne. Then came the most amazing assortment of tapas I've ever had, and red wine. I was not the only smoker so only a few hours later I was sitting in the dark on our porch chain smoking and discussing the things you can only discuss with someone after at least four glasses of wine, three glasses of champagne and a beer. We discussed the meaning of life if God did not exist seen from an existentialist perspective and the differences between Kafka, Suskind and Camus. It was amazing and I realized that I too wanna be the doctor in Plague(?) (Pesten by Camus), even though I still don't think Perfume by Suskind is a positive book. Then after even more drinks, we discussed the importance of rhythm in Tom Waits lyrics and the brilliance of Jetro Tull. I love being able to talk to someone who really gets what I mean when I say that I feel like I'm caught in the unbearable lightness of being (call me pretentious, but it fit at the time).
I was, however, really tired so when the party moved on to the "I'm so glad we can really talk to each other martine, because I love your parents so much and I think you're so interesting"-state, I could excuse myself an go to bed. That didn't really mean I left the party, since they were so loud that I could hear all conversation and the drunken singing, but I did finally fall asleep to lovely '70s radical songs promising revolution. Then I kept having the same dream over and over again. I dreamed I had a firing squad all pointing at me with SMG's and shooting me over and over while I was begging them to spare my face and watching my body get sprayed all over the sidewalk over and over again.
akselwestlund you missed a real blast of a party). She loved the gift I gave her, and we started the evening out with little pieces of food on a plate and pink champagne. Then came the most amazing assortment of tapas I've ever had, and red wine. I was not the only smoker so only a few hours later I was sitting in the dark on our porch chain smoking and discussing the things you can only discuss with someone after at least four glasses of wine, three glasses of champagne and a beer. We discussed the meaning of life if God did not exist seen from an existentialist perspective and the differences between Kafka, Suskind and Camus. It was amazing and I realized that I too wanna be the doctor in Plague(?) (Pesten by Camus), even though I still don't think Perfume by Suskind is a positive book. Then after even more drinks, we discussed the importance of rhythm in Tom Waits lyrics and the brilliance of Jetro Tull. I love being able to talk to someone who really gets what I mean when I say that I feel like I'm caught in the unbearable lightness of being (call me pretentious, but it fit at the time). I was, however, really tired so when the party moved on to the "I'm so glad we can really talk to each other martine, because I love your parents so much and I think you're so interesting"-state, I could excuse myself an go to bed. That didn't really mean I left the party, since they were so loud that I could hear all conversation and the drunken singing, but I did finally fall asleep to lovely '70s radical songs promising revolution. Then I kept having the same dream over and over again. I dreamed I had a firing squad all pointing at me with SMG's and shooting me over and over while I was begging them to spare my face and watching my body get sprayed all over the sidewalk over and over again.
