Norway has now been moved from several thousand miles away to a mere thought in my head. This was accomplished by learning that I won't be going to Norway any time soon.
Apparently, my parents' method of telling me I couldn't go involves never really saying anything about it. They never really said anything about it for a few months, so I went ahead and took that as a sign to mean I could go. When you consider that I bring up a trip to Norway almost every day, that wasn't too big a thing to assume.
The trip was planned for next month. What a convenient time to be informed that I won't be going after all. I'll still be going to France, of course, but guess who doesn't live in France?
(The answer is "Katerina." Another valid anser would be "Kaja." Bonus points if you guessed them both).
Any autobiography that I choose to write will no doubt contain long passages expressing the emotional turmoil I have suffered because of my trip to Norway that never happened. That IS a lie, because I haven't suffered any emotional turmoil, but if I don't add something like that the book will never be published.
So there's your update on my travels of Europe.
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I have just been informed that four emails currently reside in my inbox. A clever little pop-up window that doesn't annoy me in the least came from the bottom of the screen and told me. It was under the impression that I was interested in my emails. Such a misconception...
There is a bit of satisfaction in closing out of those clever little pop-ups. There is also a bit of satisfaction in the knowledge that I have absolutely no intention of checking those emails for many weeks. In fact, the only thing I intend to do with those emails is blatantly ignore them day after day after day until their numbers exceed what is generally considered a healthy number of unread emails. That's my small way of fighting the system.
