Of the grain is a daily satirical look from Dagbladet journalists.
Ski touring, baskets, familiefrokoster , kafébesøk, julegavehandel. All that you had done this Sunday, you’ll get thrown in my face.
You lie in bed, can’t sleep, you slept the as usual far too long that day. So long that it paralyzed you with a guilty conscience the rest of the day. That also this perfect Sunday went in the sink. When do you do any time nothing. Ashamed of you alone, on the couch.
the Clock is approaching half past two on the night of Monday, and lammelsen turn into again. This time with palpitations, and with the certainty that next week will begin uperfekt. You will struggle to stand up. That you have to run to work. That you do not have time to makeup you.
Young people today fear too much. And the parents have a good part of a Debate
In all uroligheten search the great love and the peace of mind in your life, your smartphone.
You read it you bother to read the papers, and takes you on to something even more hjernedødt and loved: Instagram. Here, you press yourself into the chosen reality to your friends, enemies and acquaintances.
That’s when you get to the third battle in the face. All that you have done, have “all” others have done – before you even stood up that day.
When you see it, perhaps. That we have become our own worst enemies. That the pressure we feel does not come from the bloggers, Frank Løke, or social media. That it really is our own fault.
you may also only choose to expose all of the polished, selected reality you are living. The with baskets, and ski.
It is only to admit it. The trip is always best if you can document it. His girlfriend, the smartphone, needs to always be with.
You may have had such a numbing ashamed Sunday. I have, and for a few Sundays ago, hit I up with her boyfriend, with Instagram. I decided that, “no, this bother I won’t be on anymore”.
Have sofaskammen been less? Nja, maybe a little bit. But, as in all breakups, there’s always a chance that we will be together again. Maybe already on the next day of skiing.
A mother gave me praise for being a good loser. Then I realized that something was wrong On the corn
