I am back in Sweden. I walked off the plane at Arlanda and was greeted by drab gray skies (it was in the 90s and sunny before I left in Greeley), a concrete building right next to the plane (which just added to the gray really) and a people that thinks it’s ok for men to wear Capri pants (it’s not for those of you straddling the fence on this issue).
After taking the requisite public transportation back I walked into a somewhat stinky apartment. Due to a various reasons, one being the decaying plants that I neglected and the other a fish.
Now I consider myself a half-way intelligent person. I read a lot. I did well in school. I can carry on a conversation about most things without sounding like an ignorant lout. But sometimes I make some choice that I look back on and wonder about.
The day I left Sweden I made one of those choices. Instead of flushing the fish down the toilet or trying to find someone to take care of it while I was away I came up with a brilliant little scheme. I put it in the bathtub. Full of water of course. And lots of food. I had been plotting this before I left and was dreaming up little contraptions that would be hooked to an alarm clock that would feed Poseidon every day. Then I remembered that I am not an engineer. And rely on my brother to fix my computer whenever something goes wrong.
So instead I bought a bunch of slow release food and normal fish food and just tossed them in. I gave Poseidon the proverbial slap on the ass and sent him on his way. I expected fish bones when I got back. But Poseidon is hearty and he lived through the ordeal. Kind of a strange reddish color that has since faded after getting fresh water and some fresh food. A little haggard but better for the experience I’m sure.
The smell was coming not from a dead fish but instead the nasty fish poop clouded water in my bathtub. Nothing a quick rinse out and shower couldn’t fix.
And so here I am. Back in Stockholm, Sweden, still searching for something. But at least the fish is alive.
Welcome back to Sweden.