I woke up this morning at seven o'clock to a strange sound of calink. Turns out, for the second time, I left me keys in the keyhole. On the OUTSIDE. And the paper delivery person is sweet enough to take them out and put them through the mailbox. Mailslit. Whatever. For the SECOND time in like a month. I love my paper delivery people. I figure they are two who do the route together, one does Fréttablaðið and the other one does Blaðið. I sometimes hear them talking.
Guess nobody really wants to rape and murder me in my sleep. Which is a comforting thought. (Sjöníuþrettán, sko)