Igår gick jag igenom gamla hårddiskar i jakten på bilder till ett blogginlägg om Sri Lanka. Men som vanligt när man letar igenom gamla hårddiskar (brukar ni göra det ibland? Det är en minnesresa utan dess like!) så hittade jag en massa annat roligt. Som den här novellen från engelskan i åttan. Jag läste igenom den och skrattade högt.
Tänk hur annorlunda hjärnan fungerade då. Kreativiteten var på en helt annan nivå! Det är som att hjärnan var friare när man var yngre. Mer plats för skapande – mindre dömande.
Om jag var hälften så fyndig, påhittig och rolig nu hade jag för fasiken haft nobelpris i litteratur för länge sen. Typ!
Mitt 29 åriga jag önskar att jag hade hälften av den fantasi som mitt fjortonåriga jag hade!
Vill du läsa? Inte? Spelar ingen roll, här är den, min novell från åttan. Helt oredigerad, med stavfel och allt. Varsågod!
It’s great to be young!
As I’m sitting here, writing my essay, I just can’t stop myself thinking of how absolutely fantastic it is to be young! When you’re as young as I am you don’t have to take so much responsibility. You go to school, do your homework and get some money every month without even exert oneself. Isn’t that just wonderful? Like when you get older, you have to start working.
You have to cook your own dinner and everyday when you get home, you can’t just run all the way up the stairs, pull up the door and go to your room and sleep away the whole afternoon.
No, nowadays when you’re going home, you first have to stop at the supermarket. You’ll have to buy potatoes, meat, butter, toilet paper, milk, porridge, fruit, carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, toothpaste, diapers, baby food, shampoo, bibs.
And after a hell of a race in the supermarket, when you finally get to the cashier you realize that the money on your ICA-card never is going to be enough. You then blame your stingy husband for not giving you as much money as you need. Doesn’t he know that the prices on diapers gone up from 2.15 to 2.21?!
When you finally made it through the supermarket (reluctantly leaving all that nice ice cream behind) you try to carry all that food the long way home without breaking your shoppingbags. Of course your husband took the car this morning, after all, he paid for it. When you finally get to your neighbourhood they’re recoating your road with asphalt and you have to make a detour around the next two blocks.
When you at last make it to the door, with your back and your knees aching, you see a seven feet bill sticking out of the mailbox exactly at the same time as you realize you’ve forgotten your keys.
What you do is that you drop all the shoppingbags on the wet street (did you really think you would get away from the rain on a day like this?) you fall down on your knees and pray for your son to be home.
You pick up your cell phone and to call him and you just can’t remember his number.. 073?…070?…
For a whole hour you’re just sitting there, down on your knees on the cold, wet street, trying to remember what you were about to do.
Luckily enough, the domestic help comes by to change your diapers and she helps you inside the house.
Later on in the afternoon, a very nice young man comes by and asks you how you feel. He looks familiar… He? … Who? What did I say?
”Novell i engelska, Amanda Matti 8A”