This week has been a medley of blood, tears and fire. Oh, and sweat also.. of course..

I tried to bleed as obviously as possible, to gain some good old man-respect from the.. ehm.. men. I even dripped a little on the floor, and that’s quite the accomplishment in my line of work. Anywho, a tiny cut though, nothing big and important. With my finger freshly band-aided, I carried on and succeeded in starting a small fire.. It was actually just smoke and embers, but still.. I stood there watching it, and silently wondered if I should go get a toothpick and a miniature sausage to get the party started? A fellow carpenter walked by, took a look, said “whoops?”, and continued his work. After all of this I finally got my router template done and got to work, only to realize that I had misunderstood the drawing, and that all I had done the previous three days was ruined. It is my strong, personal opinion, that in a well-equipped workshop like ours, there should be a corner available, where one can stand and cry and/or feel ashamed when one has fucked up completely, forgive the language. For some strange reason I always take to tears in the workshop when something big is lost.. Still, after my two-week-old guitar body was destroyed by that hungry sanding machine, I learned to take anything and everything. And with a dozen of men hanging around, one can not start crying like a baby over a pile of mdf, can one? No, well.. at least one can try to look as pity-me as possible, but I got no reaction. Back to work then.

It took me a year of furniture studies, or maybe two, to realize that I can actually figure things out on my own, even though the end result might not be as shiny, as one mostly fumbles in the dark. This approach does not seem to be appreciated at my new workplace, though. Instead of being indepentent and capable, I think I coming off as distracted and slightly.. stupid. I suppose, that once I’ve learned that I can do it all on my own, I need to realize that I don’t have to, maybe even that I shouldn’t, in order to achieve the best possible result.

I’m no fan of big pictures, as I tend to get stuck in the details.

And onto the ever-growing pile of self-diagnosed problems I now confidently throw Linguistic Phobia. I find I fear languages. I see the complete logic in practicing a language and failing along the way, but I have, during the years, developed an uncontrolled panic-like fear when it comes to fucking up, forgive me once more. Finnish, German, French and Norwegian. I am sure that people who are afraid of mice realize that it’s a silly fear, but phobias, as all of us who’ve google them know, are left untarnished by reason.

I finally got my contract! Another completely messed up day at the office was not improved by this pathetic piece of paper. My complaint being that I actually get paid the riddiculously low sum I suggested when I was asked about the matter at my interview. No one else to blame but oneself then.

See, the problem is that I had already got my hopes up as mr. C happily told me about his hourly pay.. so I looked plainly bitter when I was handed the contract. I looked at my boss and said “I’ve never had such a poor salary”, and with my idiotically crappy Finnish explained that I had expected more, at least according to my own calculations.. So well, he raised my payment with one euro an hour, which still leaves me rather poor (especially compared to mr. C), but it was more than I had asked for at the interview, so I happily signed the paper and shook his hand.

I’m really terrible at standing up for my rights, I know most of you share my problem. I now get less money than I would have at the post office back home, but I can stand loosing 40 cents a day when I gain experience in return.

Mr. C is a fellow carpenter who started when I did, only difference being that he’s a permanent worker and a German. I can neither spell nor pronounce his name, but it’s a mix between Carola, Beowulf and Bush. He speaks english fluently and thus saves my lunch breaks as it’s the only time of the day I can actually behave and talk like a normal person. Apart from Mr. C I am now also occasionally accompanied by Kake (no, don’t go there). Neither are very talkative, but I figure this relates to them being men, there being food, and.. oh yes, me talking non-stop. As I talk to no one anymore I stuff as much nonsense into these fourty-five minutes as possible.

I do also talk to [or mostly shout at..] the wood sometimes, but this should maybe not be encourraged.

Now it’s weekend! and OH YES! I’ve been counting the minutes for days. I already got my first birthday-present today, and am now eating away at more than five different kinds of lovely, unhealthy stuff. This weekend can not go wrong. Even if I would sleep right through it, I would still count it as success.

I spilled orange juice all over me the other day, but as I had no clothes on this time either, no harm was done. My Vasabladet-horoscope told me yesterday that I should maybe reflect on what image I give of myself to others.

Nonsense.

And here’s the fuel of my fire:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZSjCZUSgJw
There’s nothing like playing depressive music when the sun is shining!