I rarely count sheep but I often count at night. My new sleep mantra is about the war. I have managed to get hold of a modern public bus. The last one available when the aircraft alarm sounds over Södertörn. Packs for a life on the run, unclear where, more than away.
I’m not at war, so I have to make peace. The nearest shelter feels very temporary. War tends to go on. Also, Harry is not welcome. My soothing dream is therefore a very own mobile refugee camp. Ready to be relocated wherever war is not going on. To a territory where people understand the value of not killing each other.
So I pack. Calm and methodical. Follows the handbook “If the crisis or war comes” which recommends everyone at least three liters of water a day and charges for a thirty-liter can. I store kerosene lamps, tealights, crankable solar radios, computers and powerbanks. A large gas tube must fit, as must the litter box. I’m hanging the bike in the back.
Fills food supply for me and the cat for a week. The kitchen cabinets hold half a set of dishes as well as glasses and cutlery. Three sharp knives, one small and one large and one bread knife. Wooden spoon, potato peeler, scissors, whisk and garlic press. Three bowls, two pots and a frying pan. A suede brew, coffee can and a water bottle. Detergents and detergents.
I stow two pillows, a duvet and bed linen. Two blankets, towel and bath towels. In the toiletry bag I put shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, hand soap, toothpaste and toothbrush. Also fits with hairbrush, tweezers, lipstick, mascara, foundation, skin lotion, foot cream and deodorant. Patches, alvedon and rubbing alcohol are a must, as is a six-pack of toilet paper.
The wardrobe varies with the weather. At least I’m not going north. Will probably cross both Brahehus and the Öresund Bridge. To the south, it feels more warm and peaceful.
Four pairs of trousers fit on the shelves. A pair of jeans, two pairs of tights and a pair of flared trousers, thin enough to work in both hot and cold. Some tops and cardigans in different colors, a dress and a skirt. Underwear enough for two weeks, although I have a very vague idea of how long I will be away. Take the fine jacket, the soft hood, the windbreaker and the warm Iceland sweater, not the winter jacket. Sneakers, flip-flops, a pair of ballerina shoes and boots.
It is monotonously meditative to count pinals. Seemingly sedative occupation for a troubled war novice. My mobile peace camp is never packed, I fall asleep comfortably enough before then. That’s why I’ve never seen the Öresund Bridge.
Just hope it stays that way then.
Read more kåserier by Jessica as when she announces that she will become a writer, then it must be so, right?