Standing on the commuter train platform at Älvsjö Station waiting for my train home after a lovely, relaxed birthday party at my friends Anna and Tove’s place. Anna turned 30 and she had wished for flowers and modern art, so impulsively I decided to make her a drawing last night—something I’ve been anxiously second-guessing all day today, when it was already too late to make other arrangements because I’ve been working all day and night—but it turned out I wasn’t the only one who showed up with a homemade art piece so it was okay…

My own birthday is approaching as well, and I really want to celebrate it somehow, but I haven’t got that many people in Stockholm that I could invite to a party and even if I did I don’t have a flat to invite them to… Because I really wouldn’t want to invite anyone over to the where I’m staying at the moment. For one thing it’s really out of the way, and for another it just wouldn’t feel comfortable. But I’m working on it. Maybe a picnic somewhere or something. I haven’t celebrated my birthday since 2008 when I was living in Vancouver, and it’s not like I haven’t wanted to, it just hasn’t happened, because my parents and closest friends weren’t living in Stockholm, and until a couple of years ago when I met Anna and Tove, and other film colleagues (and on one occasion a day job colleague) that I’ve really clicked with, I only really had two friends that I hung out with on a regular basis and one of them I was extra close with (and she forgot about my birthday. Thrice.)

This isn’t a blog entry as much as a diary entry, I’m starting to realise… But I’m too tired to care right now. It’s half past one in the morning, I’m sitting on a train, listening to Janis, and I’ve had a really nice day when I think about it but somewhere between the street lights and the ache of exhaustion I’m feeling melancholic. So, don’t mind me. Good night, sleep tight (whatever that means.)