Give me something to believe in

It's April already. I don't know how this happened. I also don't know how the last week happened as well.

Stockholm was wonderful. It was in all shapes, in squares and block colours. Catching up with Dick so many months after the last time we saw each other was wonderful. All the stories and all the laughs, all the silly things we said, all the places that we visited; all the beer, all the soup and all the midnight baguettes.

It's been a while since I had a heavy feeling of not wanting to get on that airplane back to Scotland. Actually, never. I've always looked forward to anything that would happen when I'm back home. But this time, no. So here I am, sitting in my bedroom almost two days after I arrived, realising how for the first time I have nothing to cheer me up, nothing to be looking forward to but a pile of work and the group of people I will meet tomorrow at work.

I have more stories from the windy North, I have plenty of them, but I'm still trying to arrange them in my head and suppress the urge to just catch the next plane back. I also don't feel like sharing any and all of them, which made my mother very disappointed several hours ago.