Mrs HagenFölj
If this was a matter of projection on my part, it is far more prudish than I would ever like to admit.
I sit at the back of the bus, and every time somebody approaches the empty spot next to me is coughing, I cry. I agree, hence all the coronasnoriga companions in the distance, all the way up to the T-centralen underground station.
on the escalator down to the tube, turning the I have my head so far to one side as possible, away from the probably infected a number of days, which roll up to the stairs next to it. No-one has allowed themselves to feel the desire to wear a dust mask. The one has been brave enough to wrap the scarf tightly around your nose and mouth.
On the way out of the building again, press the I in my travel box, that will open the lock and I push and I push but nothing happens, and way too close behind me, a manifestation muttrande a queue has been formed. I blush deeply when I realize how bortgjord I am, how confused I seem to, out of, by the latch is no need for a ticket, which is to the right of the.
I want to pay for my normal supplies, and my ridiculously numerous bottles of hand disinfectant at the mataffärens cash, I do not find my cards. I was pouring out the entire contents of the above, the refined treasurer, fumbles excitedly around among the gadgets available on the market, there is no card, what should I do? Then, pointing to the cashier at one of my waving hand, where is it, I am holding the card in his hand, and apparently has done this all of the time.
Now I am totally confused, I am at risk, too soon, I'll die."
back at home I realise that I am in a coronastress forgot to buy saffron for risotto even though it was the most important of all, and my latchkey to come out, so I had quite a while ago, but I didn't have to come in, and I've done it? Then call it on the front door, there is a neighbour: ”the Key was in the lock”, he enlightens me with kindness.
Dropping down in the reading chair, eyes closed a long time, know the following: have I gone completely crazy since yesterday, when I was a how to on the alert that at any time, and I'm now totally confused, I am at risk, too soon, I'll die."
Open the reluctant eyes, and saw a copy of the magazine Focus, which I happened to subscribe to, but I got tired of it a long time ago. On the front cover in a clear rubrikbokstäver, the jökunge. Jökunge! No, something longer, with a cover on top of it all, so terribly embarrassing!
Now, I am quite invigorated, pure effervescent delight. Show hånskrattande the extraordinary stavfelet of his nephew, who looked past it. ”It's not spelled wrong,” he said, ”it is going to be jökunge, jök is an acronym for the januariöverenskommelsen, didn't you know that?”
I have no shares in this day and age of extreme movements in the stock market, I'm trying to comfort me, and it's probably against all better judgement.
in the end, I give up, throwing one last worried eye on the Guldbron as it passes through the spot where the ship sank, the steering wheels in Donald's comforting Snedtänkt the radio on, and crawl deep under the covers for an undetermined amount of time.
< Date Of Update: 11 March 2020, 17:00
