It’s Sunday in a small town in northern I—. I went to the information centre and then to church. Last night I went out with some guys from the hostel for beers, but I came back early. I wrote with my sister on facebook chat and she said Don’t be too hard on yourself. One of the guys was out smoking when I came back from church. He said, Nothing to do here, anyway it’s Sunday. I walked to the grocery store thinking, Yes, Sunday is a day of rest. I read in an interview that Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban named their eldest daughter Sunday because Sundays were the hardest days when they were single and lonely, before they found one another. That seemed quite poetic to me.
I had planned to go to the thermal pool but the guys invited me to bowling so I went. One confided that he gets bored here. I can see friendly relationships stretch out like this, like unmoored sandbanks in all directions in the sea, untamed and unbound, but soon enough I get toady like the lady in Tirra Lirra by the River. Anyway, it’s nice to see that it might be possible. We had our bowling and a game of pool, and I cooked up my vegetables and fish cakes. Not everything can depend on the thought that someone likes you.
Yesterday was clear and mild and I walked along the fjord, and half across the causeway. The fjord was snow-covered along the top sides.
It’s raining now, though a few snowflakes were falling whilst we played pool.