"However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as you are. It looks poorest when you are richest. The fault-finder will find faults even in paradise. Love your life, poor as it is. You may perhaps have some pleasant, thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poorhouse. The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the almshouse as brightly as from the rich man’s abode; the snow melts before its door as early in the spring. I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contentedly there, and have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace."
Henry David Thoreau, Walden
Icelandic artist Muted. Vocals by Jófríður.
House music is so unbelievably irritating. Magnified exponentially when housemate is playing it whilst my sick self is seeking relief in the form of sleep.
Am currently sitting in the cosiest cafe, Stofan kaffihus, in the heart of Reykjavik. I have had two perfect lattes, and the music has included Diana Ross & The Supremes, Air, El Perro Del Mar, and now the best of Elvis. I am writing this because I never, ever, ever want to forget this moment. I am so content. So happy. On my own, and so happy.