Doll parts

I am staring at a box of doll parts.
I have returned to haunt my German mansion in the north, apparently to be joined in my room with a creepy wooden box brimming with the standard (blonde haired blue eyed) vintage plastic body parts.
Although, in this light, it's almost not creepy. In fact it feels nostalgic.

I tried to find a google image of 'doll parts' for accompaniment, but everything just looked terrifying and that's not what im feeling right now.
So instead I gift you with this not-terrifying link.


This house is gorgeous, all rugged and full of wooden beams.
I'm sitting in a room with slanted ceilings, a modest chandelier and a white four poster bed.
It's nice I like my family. This feels like home, which is good because I've been hit the second wave of homesickness.
I miss the incredibly little things that I've grown to adore - like the smooth bulb of my stick shift in my little teeny volkswagon.


But you know what I love here? Bars with friends, train rides and school and gluten free bread, the chaotic feel of hostels and sleeping in past the normal hours of the farmers market. I like dancing to our little iPod playlists at 4 am because the clubs are closed and we aren't finished yet. I like being offered wine from people I meet and lying to bar creatures lurking around my stool, making friends with the Danish cashier at a well to do secondhand store, or racing the stars as I struggle to make the next ubahn home, cheeks pink and gray sidewalk rising to meet me. I like getting a kiss on the cheek from scruffy young Germans and debating politics with desperate canadians.

It's a nice life here, I suppose I'm a bit lucky.