wifi

Finding wireless connections when you are in the bush is sweet! The fact that you have to place the computer in a corner, stand on one leg and tilt your head in just the right angle to get it to work is unimportant when the reword is so great.

Sweat

Burning sun, almost thirty degrees, 96 stairs and lots and lots of mail. Good training, thats for sure. It is probably nothing compared to a marathon, but I will never run a marathon, so I can't really say.

Sprinkles

Sprinkles must be the Golden Nugget for the ice cream seller. 5sek for the sprinkles that cover a soft ice cream cone. All of which except for perhaps 0.20sek must be pure profit. Sprinkles has probably paid for more luxury than all the other side-orders combined.

Smile

Every time I pass the door where Nocera lives I, for some reason, find myself smiling.

Sigh

I just wrote what I hope is the last letter to the unemployment office. I appreciate every held thumb...

Sex droger och rock n'roll

(ok, erkänner, rubriken är bara till för att jag vill komma upp i mer än tio hits på en dag, vilket jag inte har gjort på länge)

Tips till CM anställda i uppsala. Om ni ska göra en felaktig eftersändning, så gör den inte till en som är anställd på CM i Eskilstuna och som kommer att skratta gott åt er i fikarummet i morgon. (i och för sig så vill jag minnas att jag även under min tid som boende på blodsten fick just scoutmagasinet hem till mig..) Hm, nu blev det fel, den här bloggen är ju på engelska ju..

Translation:
(Ok, I confess, the headline is just there cause I want to get more than ten hits on one day, which has not happened in a while)

Tips to CM employees in Uppsala. If you are going to do an erroneous forwarding of a letter, don't do it to an employee at CM in Eskilstuna who will laugh at you at the coffee break tomorrow. (Ok, I do remember that I at my time at blodsten got the scouting magazine to me) Hm, this is not right, this blog is supposed to be in English..

Darn it #2

One person. One person was at their mailbox today, and I handed her the magazine that was hers. Or, more correctly, I thought was for her. I try to do my job carefully and accurately. I take pride in that. I mean, I check before I put something down a mailbox that the address is correct, just to double check that I sorted correctly. And on the entire round, I had made no mistake. Until I got to the house where she was standing. Maybe it was that I had to interact with her or something, I don't know, but at this house I only checked the number on the address, which was correct, and then handed the magazine to her. And of course it was wrong. It was for an entirely different street. The error was corrected, and she got the right mail, but why, why darn it, did the only error that I did today (cough cough) have to happen at the house where someone was standing?

Another moped flashback

Silencer burns on the calf after driving with bare legs.. Aaah, memories..

80kg of post

Eighty kilos of post do have a tendency to make a bike a bit, hmm, tricky to handle. It is a bit like driving a tank, a tank on two wheels that you control with one hp (human power). Tipped it over my leg the other day. Not recommended.

Another thing that I don't recommend is to be tall and run out a too low doorway. That I tried today which resulted in me falling over in the gravel with a spinning head. Why is this country built for dwarfs?? One previous head bumping experience took place at our summerhouse ten years ago or so. Then I hit my head on a beam that was part of a clothesline stand. It resulted in me getting medieval on that fucker with a sledgehammer. That felt good. Another time I think I got a light concussion hitting my head on the concrete ceiling running out from the laundry room at Olofshöjd. That did not feel very good.

Tried a new pizza-place today, one that was recommended by some of my colleagues, and boy did they know how to make a pizza. It was just delicious.

Moped

I have not driven a moped since I was, hmm, something like seventeen, but now I am doing it again. One that goes 45 km/h (a bit slower than my old Puch Dakota (that was supposed to max out at 30)) and has an automatic gearbox. Three hours on a moped. Gas. Break. Gas. Break. Gas. Break. Gas. Break. (I think you get the basic idea). Fun? Hm, I don't know, it's not as fun as it was driving around on small roads outside of Uddevalla when I was fifteen thats for sure.

Soup #28

Long time no soup, but Now we are on again! Lettuce and pea soup. I had very low expectations on this one, I mean hot lettuce, how good can it be? But I was surprised. It was green, tasty, filling and quite a lot of it!

820

Did a rough calculation of how many meters I climb on one of my rounds, 92 different stairs that take me 820 m up, and back down again. In about three and a half hours. It would be fun to have a gps watch so that I could find out exactly... But anyhow, it is good training!

Mattias är trött

Trött på akassan. Sedan jag slutade från universitetet så har jag gått en del ronder med akassan. Det har tagit tid. Fem veckor innan dom ens såg på ansökan. Fler veckor innan universitetet skickade in arbetsgivarintyg. Fler veckor innan repliken från akassan kom. Och nu har dom kommit på att jag slutade av mig själv, något som jag skrev på den initiala ansökan, och vill att jag ska ange varför. Jag slutade för att jag mådde dåligt. Flera år av deppression. Jag var sjukskriven mycket de åren. Tillslut så orkade jag inte mer, jag hade inte mer fight i mig. Jag har under de senaste åren förlorat så mycket av mig själv och jag klarade helt enkelt inte av det längre. I februari kände jag att jag höll på att sjunka ner i en djup grop igen och jag gjorde det enda rätta. Det som jag skulle ha gjort för två år sedan, jag sa upp mig direkt. Dagen efter hyrde jag en lastbil och flyttade till min flickvän i Eskilstuna. Sedan den dagen har jag återhämtat mig. Att leva utan att känna press, utan att känna att man inte duger, utan att känna att man är dålig har varit underbart. En dag hade jag två ton över mig, nästa dag så var jag fri. Det har tagit tid, men nu så mår jag mycket bättre. Jag har fått ett jobb som jag kan gå till och känna att jag är bra. Att jag är duktig. Där jag slipper gå hem efteråt och ha det kvar i skallen (ok, det finns där, men det plågar mig inte). Jag känner att jag har återfått en liten gnista i mig. Att jag är gladare. Hjärnan har också återhämtat sig lite, jag hoppas att jag kan komma tillbaks till den kapacitet som jag hade för fyra år sedan men det är inte så säkert. Och så kommer akassan och slår undan benen på mig. Ok, jag förstår deras motiv, men jag förstår inte deras metoder. Jag är fortfarande svag och små motgångar företer sig enorma för mig. Det är nästan i det läget att jag säger att jag skiter i det och slänger alla papper åt helvete, men det kan jag inte. Jag har levt på luft de senaste månaderna. Mina reserver är helt tömda, alla konton är tomma, alla fonder är sålda och lånekontot hos pappa har byggts upp. Jag behöver verkligen de här pengarna. Och om någon anser att jag inte har rätt till dom, för att jag slutade jobbet av mig själv, så ... jag vet inte ... jag orkar inte. Om det är så, om det blir så, så kommer det vara ett hårt slag. Ska det verkligen vara så att systemet bryter ner folk? Ska inte systemet hjälpa folk? Ska det ta så lång tid? Ska det vara så svårt?

Mailbox designers

Mailbox designers have all the possibilities in the world to fuck with mailmen. And they do. It seems that their only motive when they design the boxes is that it should be impossible to deliver mail to a household easily. If they are a bit in the mood the boxes also fuck with the mailmen. And if they are really in the mood, the boxes also hurt the mailman.

Some of the ways that they fuck us is:
-The box (that I hereby will call the slit in the door) is so small that anything larger than a A5 envelope will not fit.
-The box is so thin that e.g. two magazines will not go in together.
-The box (the rat-trap design which is a hole straight through the door which has two metal flaps on either side of the door) has to be pushed open with a finger to let the mail through (both of the metal flaps), the finger has then a 50/50 chance to get stuck on the way out.
-The box above is also so small that a A4 envelope / magazine don't go through unfolded.
-The box has something that traps the mail on its way through the door -> the mailman must then stand there and fipple with the mail until it goes through.
-The box is hard to open.
-The name tag is incomplete.

When mailboxes at regular houses are concerned several of the problems above still hold, and then there are some additional once:
-The mailbox is hidden so that your mailman cant find it.
-The mailbox lacks number or name.
-The mailbox is positioned in a way that you have to get of the bike/moped to get to it.
-There are some plant or fence in the way of the mailbox.
-The mailbox looks like if it would open one way, while it is in fact the other way.
-The mailbox is full.
-The mailbox is hidden behind the house.

The fact is that the number of good, easily opened, easy to find, easy to drop anything down in, name clearly visible boxes in all the rounds I have gone is less than 3%.

I think that mailbox designers should have their own place in hell where they (yea I know I am an atheist and don't believe in hell, but it works to good as a metaphor not to use it) are exposed to their own contraptions all day long.

Wildlife

The score from this Sunday:
#deer 5
#moose 1
#rabbits 1
#cranes 2
#eagles 1
#pheasant 1

The morose mailman

The mailman is supposed to be merry. A morose mailman is not supposed to exist. But today I was one. It sucked. But tomorrow is another day, and I will try to be a bit happier.

Note to self

When it is hot as hell and you are going to spend the day running up stairs, a half liter of water is NOT enough.

Full time and #100

As of tomorrow I am a full time employee at CityMail. My mail-sorting skills must have impressed the bosses. Nice to know that I have a job to go to every day instead of being a temp that they call when they need reinforcements. I celebrated by eating a Magnum in the sun.

Another reason to celebrate is that I today spotted number 100. I started my plate-spotting career at Christmas time year 2003 and it was slow at first. About a number a month used to be the rate until half a year ago. Then the speed increased for some reason and I have seen 065-101 since then. Today was hence the day that number 100 came rolling by, and to top that of, I had a hunch that I would see 101 since I saw that one yesterday and knew where it used to hang out. So I biked over there after work and found it close to its usual place. Hence today was a double day. There has also been one triple day (a very happy day indeed).

After spotting number 101 I stopped at Röda Korset to see if they had something of interest and found the note on the electrical organ extremely funny. It said 'Orgeln har ett visst pipljud' ('The organ has a certain peep noise').

What T F

One of the ideas behind getting a job like the one I have now gotten was that I would be able to leave the job behind me at the end of the day. I would not lay awake at night brooding. But that was exactly what I did yesterday after the fcking long day. I just could not fall asleep. Today is better. Today I will sleep.

Tired

New week, and a new office. It is on the other side of town from the other one I have been working in. And I don't know if I was slow today or if there was something else that is the culprit, but I was on the job 11 hours and thirty minutes today. Five and a half of which I was biking and delivering mail. And god damed I was tired when I came home. Another month of this and I will be ready to do what ever comes in my way fitnessy wise.

Some words about the Helsinki trip, and some photos, can be expected when I regain consciousness.