The reason I am writing this last blog in English is mainly because the thoughts that have been running through my mind for the last weeks have been in English and I feel like the words might lose some of their meaning in translation. And if the family where I have stayed gets the crazy idea to google me and wants to know what the hell happened; here it is.

I have no regrets, maybe a little about the amount of money I spent on it. But then again, who cares about the money? I have learned some things I think, although I am not quite sure yet what those things are exactly. One thing I am sure of though, is if I meet the perfect guy and he tells me he is a farmer, I run like hell. I consider that a valuable lesson that may prevent trouble in the future. And I believe to be a little stronger, physically and mentally. It has been an experience, that is for sure. I am glad I have at least given it a try, a real try. I thought I would like this and it turned out I did not. There was no other way to find out than to just do it.

I have truely tried. I did not like week 1, I did not like week 2. I don’t give up that easily. It might get better. I just need some time to get used to it, feel more at home, get to know some people and then it will be fine. Week 3 and 4, after giving it time and after meeting some people, still did not feel right. I did not want to get up in the morning and no matter how my body ached I did not want to go to bed at night, knowing what was waiting for me in the morning. I did go to bed immediately anyway, because I had no energy left at all. I did not feel like a guest, but like a ridiculously underpaid employee, working 10 hours a day without a single thank you, cooking dinner, getting the kids from school, it just never ended. Bruised and battered and no time for recovery.

After realising that I spent quite some time during the day taking deep breaths and telling myself to think about something else, just to prevent me from crying, I knew it was time to do something about it. Crying is not a good sign. It does not only make you look like shit, it also drains your energy and is a pretty obvious warning something’s wrong. Obviously I was not happy, most of the time just plain miserable. Being quiet, sad and angry all of the time, did not make me much fun to be around either. I could not remember the last time I laughed out loud. Except for missing a cheap employee, they might even be happy that I am gone. I sure as hell am.

So I cut my 6 months short to 4 (which was already a warning sign) and then cut it even shorter to 5 weeks. But hey, if you’re wrong about something, you also need to be brave enough to just admit it. I was wrong and there was no other reason for me to stay there except for not wanting to tell the family that I was unhappy and wanted to go home. Not a very good reason, I know, but it stretched my stay with some days. Untill I had reached my limit and had no other choice than to quit being such a chicken and get it over with.

The conclusion is I need people around me instead of trees or cows. I need to be able to go wherever I want to go and especially whenever I want to go. I need a city. I am a city girl. And most of all, and that is exactly what I was running from when I came to Norway, I need to not work so damn much. So here I am, back home. My nails polished and my high heels on. And loving it.