Proof that my brain is a little bitch-ass fuckwit: I have to spend today cleaning and prepping the apartment for the viewing, and am hella stressed about that. So naturally last night, I had a very long and vivid dream where I stress-cleaned a mouldy, flooded apartment for a viewing.

Incidentally, while I’m freezing my ass off at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere right by the ocean, I have learned that the Kalmar region’s slogan is “The Smörgåsbord of Scandinavia” and I do not know what to do with that information.

Because a potential buyer has decided they want to see our flat tomorrow, I am now on a very cold cross-country trip back to Malmö instead of cosily vibing in the Christmas spirit. I’d like a refund.

Okay nobody panic, but I’ve just realised that the piece I wrote on trauma and time and Taylor Swift landed me a spot as a citation on the Wikipedia page for my favourite Taylor Swift record. No biggie though. None. Nuh-uh.

Another day, another adventure! This time, pre-Christmas celebrations on the east coast. The first flight officer is well rested and foresees no turbulences.

In today’s fun cat fact, Jones and I managed to blow the kids’ minds with the fact that he does, in fact, know tricks. Shoutout to my golden son for flawlessly complying when I asked him for a suave high five after having delivered peak uppies before. Can’t believe my boy is almost 16.

Taking bets now: how long will it take for me to drink paint water? Watch this space.

The self-proclaimed people of darkness really need to learn not to dress in all black this time of the year, because the numbers of times I’ve just swedishly almost committed very Swedish vehicular manslaughter is off the charts. Nobody here seems to have the will to live. I’m in good company.

“I don’t want to be alive at this hour.” “Let the flames of revolution awake your heart, comrade.” Remind me not to talk to @bearlawyer.bsky.social before 9:00 AM.

Me every time I learn a new Swedish word

Every year, the Swedish airforce does a Christmas tree-shaped flyover (don’t ask). Went outside to see it, but it was too cloudy. It was incredibly loud, though. While looking up, a man came running towards me & yelled in broken Swedish “Planes Swedish?? Peace??” while pointing at the sky in panic.

I am never setting foot in that country ever again, lol

Things I didn’t have on my bingo card for the day: Having to explain to my mum that edibles are THC-based and she will not drop acid like she seems to worry she will, she will not have a heart attack, she will not have an aneurysm. I’m still laughing about her sheepish questions. I love her.

I’m not gonna call myself a clairvoyant here because it really didn’t require the gift of foresight to clock what was happening, but… ya know. Media literacy. I’m going to need y’all to put your hand to your heart and swear that you’ll be a little more critical of the next hate train.

”Double murder in Hörby?! WHY has nobody called me yet??” Dating a lawyer is fun.

“Was Skåne still Danish?” “No honey, grandma isn’t that old.” It’s a normal evening, and I fear we’re in for a patented @bearlawyer.bsky.social history lesson.

Ah yes, the horrors of children on public transport, I guess? However we here in Europe survive with all these trains and busses and boats and whatnot, the absolute torture we put our children through on the regular.

Do not cite the Deep Magic to me, Witch! I was there when it was written.

I do not have biological kids, and I’ve never had a super strong want for them. I was very indifferent to having them and my parents always knew and (bless their hearts) never pressured me. Anyways, this year is the first Christmas with step grandkids for them and they are positively losing it.

So, uh… at the moment, the only way to turn on the kitchen light is by dialing the leftmost stovetop plate to 2, and the setting of the extractor fan determines how bright the light is. Do I call an electrician or a priest?

"Men are in trouble, is the solution making them a problem for women and children too"

Ban hobbies that require your child to be somewhere every Sunday at 9:00 AM. 🥹

I’ve been rewatching the hunger games franchise as I’m still tripsitting the cat while she’s on morphine and it’s so funny to me how the immersiveness of Panem is entirely reliant on the obliviousness of Americans.

Tales from the K-hole - the cat is mostly off her post-surgery trip now, but please enjoy these works of art.

It’s the middle of the night and I cannot sleep because for the first time in her life, the antique cat has chosen to stretch along my entire body, pressed against me, purring her little heart out. I just cannot fathom the thought of accidentally moving her while I sleep. All-nighter it is!

I’m back to tripsitting the cat and my god, I want whatever they gave her. She’s currently bouncing around like a kitten while very softly meowing at a plush wombat. She’s tapping it as well, and gave it a few licks. Then she tried to hurl herself off the desk, which given her age isn’t ideal.

The cat is fine and made it out of surgery and is currently tripping balls. The cat, however, also flatlined, died, and came back not after proper resuscitation, but only after the vet yelled at her not to “die, you beast.” Vet says she isn’t convinced that Mia isn’t a demon or deity.

Beskatta de rikaste omni.se/musks-lon-ho...

Today’s the day, Mia has dental surgery to rob her of her last tooth. I’m eerily worried this time around, so I’m basically just posting here because all of you have become my “antique cat needs surgery” good luck charms. Just dropped her off, feeling like the worst cat parent in existence.

Dear Reddit, how do I (33F) get my cat (21F) to stop knocking on heaven’s door all the goddamn time when clearly she has no intention of dying? Anyways, surgery on Tuesday, Miss Mia’s last remaining tooth seems to have to go. Pretty sure I caught her browsing Amazon for nunchucks earlier.

Taking the cat to the vet because on top of everything, the cat has developed an infected tooth (which isn’t covered by insurance). Do y’all think I can ask the vet for a little treat? A little bit of euthanasia for me? A dash of Euthasol straight to the veins? Please? As a treat?

The last five years have been one big Monday. I guess at least the trauma made me funny.

I joked yesterday about how I was suspicious of my car, given how long there hadn’t been any issues. Given I’ve just lost my livelihood and was forced to move, it feels like the car is brewing something up to suit the occasion. Anyways, today my very expensive bike got stolen.

As a total aside to a super important post: it is so wild to me that the term “Kristallnacht” is still used in the anglosphere. My skin crawls a little every time I read it.

So y’all recall I got fired by my manager, who also happens to be the boyfriend of my team mate and direct competitor? Anyways, guess who inherited all my old contact leads and is now farming commission on them, and guess into which household that commission flows?

Imagine thinking immigrants are a recent novelty in New York City.

Motion to petition: forbid Americans from using the word “communist”.

their hysteria is delicious

It is just after eight and I’m travelling to Stockholm with a very excited eight year old, who is about to see her long distance bestie again. I’m begging my ADHD meds to kick in; I love this child with all my heart but I don’t think she has taken a singular breath between words since we left.

Halloween things are afoot.

“Why is the council opposite sending me cat photos?!” No clue what @bearlawyer.bsky.social is complaining about, being a lawyer in Sweden sounds like great fun.

We just signed the contract, so it’s written in stone. Excuse me while I positively lose my mind.

Starting off this morning with @bearlawyer.bsky.social giving the small orange son a stern talking to for attempting to eat the jelly Halloween window stickers. I maintain it isn’t his fault that he’s perpetually unlucky when it comes to thinking. Also, those stickers look delicious. Jelly!

I’ll be honest, preemptively announcing that you will be ghosting candidates unless you’re interested is a new low in HR. “Please invest two to three hours of work for the chance to be considered for a rejection!”

Side note: I have a mental image of old wooden cottages esp. in Central East Europe having flower garlands painted on them on the beams or right beneath the roof. I’ve frantically tried to google this but can’t come up with anything. Anyone know what they’re called? Or am I hallucinating?

Y’all. The crossed fingers worked. We got it half a million SEK under asking. I hope you’re prepared for lots of annoying “renovating my ancient house with my equally ancient cat” content. Did I mention it’s from the 1700s? And has exposed green timber? And a barn? And a fireplace?

Okay, I’m going to need all your fingers crossed. We found ✨the✨ house. Nothing in my life has been smooth sailing as of recently, and if there is one thing I need to go smooth it’s this. I don’t mind the rest of the chaos, but that house? That’s what I need to work out.

In true “we are a trustworthy family that you should totally sell your house to” fashion, we all collectively overslept and will show up to the viewing of this idyllic lake view villa one child short and presumably at least two shirts inside out. They’re lucky at least one of us brushed their hair.