Five weeks to live

I have five weeks to live. Yes, really. No, I am not ill, not even pregnant. After five weeks I am supposed to go to my so called home. And I'm about to lost my newly-found identity.

For ten lovely months I've been running around the City's streets with my killer heels (yes, I can run with them; I needed only two months and an broken ankle to learn) drinking uncountable number of cappucinos and vodka-martinis, having boozy dos and herpes (to my lip, thank you very much). To say it shortly, having a blast! Now, what's the f*cking problem then?

Almost 18 years of my life I've been living nearer Polar Circle than anything else significant (though I have to admit I don't find that very significant either). Please, imagine: a big, beautiful, white house next to a small lake. When you look around you all you can see is the lake, a sauna, thick woods and a small road. No irritating neighbors like here (God bless 'em), nobody staring at you through your window, fresh air, animals... And I'm terrified. The main activities include walking in the forest, swimming in the lake and watching telly (and well, getting pissed drunk. Alone). All that is very well for a week or so but after that I'm really starting to get frustrated, annoyed (and my dear parents even more so) and most of all, annoying. How on earth am I going to live there again?!

Did I already mention that becoming an alcoholic/drug addict is not an answer either? As there is only three pubs and everyone knows you... To give you a general idea how it's like I tell you about my latest visit.

Last Christmas one bartender told me how delighted he is to meet me again and I could drink there for free as much as I like to...For a sexual favor. I was slightly drunk so of course I told that greasy guy (50-years-old, overweight...Yummy!) to piss off and suddenly he told me to piss off and get the f*ck out of there. Sadly, that is the only pub of the town even worth mentioning.

One of the greatest things about living in a place like that is of course the fact that never mind if you don't know because for sure the others do. Like I was wearing heels (mistake #1) when going to hairdresser (mistake #2) and someone yelled at me: "what a city slut you are!" Excuse me? I'm a slut 'cause I'm wearing heels?! Great then. But to be positive: no need to worry about my ankles anymore as I will be wearing sneakers and tracksuits most of the time anyway.

After these images, who can honestly say that he would prefer this wonderfully healthy life in a teeny-tiny town to a hectic, stressful life in the heart of the Europe? Please raise your hand.

I need to find a way to stay here. Maybe I could blackmail my boss? Tell and cry how my poor family needs the money I send? No, that's tasteless.

I have to find a solution. Think. Think. Think.