(no subject)
Stephan and Katie went to Prague this past weekend, on a Goethe organized trip. I elected to stay behind, for reasons I wasn't quite sure of, except that it's become very apparent that Stephan and I have EXTREMELY different ways of travelling... He treats cities (in his own words) like amusement parks, planning his day minutely so that he can see as many things as possible in the time he has available. I prefer to come up with a short list of two or at most three things I want to do or see in a single day, then meander quietly through them, spending a long time sitting in single spots and very likely deciding not to do whatever I thought I was going to do and just wandering around. Both of us are firmly convinced that the other's way of travelling wastes time, and it came within a few inches of getting us into an argument a couple of times, but we've since come to some kind of understanding... besides, the two styles are not necessarily incompatible. When we go to Prague together at the end of the Munich stint (and any future travelling we might do) Stephan and I can go to one spot together, I'll hang out there for two hours while he goes and sees four other things, and we'll meet up again for coffee. It'll be cool.
Anyway, for whatever reason I decided not to go to Prague, and it ended up being a very nice weekend all by myself. I spent a long time just wandering around, looking in shops and not buying anything, contemplating passersby and trying (by which we mean failing) to speak German to the few people who spoke to me. I finished the Astrid Varnay book and most of the new Harry Potter, read a full collection of short stories by Saki (a brilliant cross between Oscar Wilde and Roald Dahl, the most cruel beautiful British humor ever, and anyone who hasn't read them should) and started Camus' "La Peste" in French (very good, and I understand 85% of every sentence the first time through-- yay me). On Saturday night I got kind of antsy and depressed, probably as a consequence of having spent so much of the day reading, so I went out on the balconey and paced and talked to myself. There was an incredible, rain-less thunderstorm going on---almost constant thunder for over half an hour. Cool.
After I'd been out there an hour or two, some giggly German girls who live on my floor came out in blankets to listen to the thunder. They decided I must be lonely and homesick and took it upon themselves to entertain me. The spoke a tiny bit of English and one of them had some French, and between the three languages we muddled through something like conversation. The best parts of it were when we were talking about horror movies and one of them tried to explain to me the difference between 'der Gheist' and 'der Boomann'. She got up and demonstrated how der Boomann sneaks up on you and says 'boo'... which, unless I am gravely mistaken, is what American ghosts are known for saying. Turns out der Boomann is the German version of the Boogeyman, and he says 'boo'. All I can say is, I hope the American Ghost Union doesn't catch wind of such blatant plagerism of copyrighted material, or Herr Boomann is in for one hell of an American-style lawsuit.
Sunday I had an absolutely amazing two hour practice session down in the basement of my Wohnheim. Somehow my voice was just ON-- low notes easy and resonant, high notes coming out perfectly on pitch with even vibrato and full rich sound... it was awesome. I wish I could figure out how to make that happen every day. Then I spent the rest of the day making a lentil soup and listening to 'Alcina.' Stephan and Katie came back from Prague at around 11 and wanted me to come out to dinner with them, which I did, although I was very full already, having eaten lentil soup in various stages of seasoning all afternoon... I simply couldn't get the damn thing to taste right. There's still half a pot of it sitting in my fridge, patiently waiting for me to find some more salt to put in.
The last two days have been weird. I've been having nightmares, the worst one of which was about Mum dying of cancer very suddenly... the whole dream was just me finding out that she was dying and then crying so hard (in the dream) that I woke up with my chest aching. I was so shook up I didn't go to class, I just wandered around until I was supposed to meet Stephan. He cheered me up by taking me to his Wohnheim and playing me lots of Chilean protest songs. Then today was another miserable day, one of those ones where I can't let myself alone and where everything I can think of is evidence of my own weakness and seflishness and hypocrisy... What an waste of time days like these are... not only does the misery of them not make me a better person in the future (I'd be perfectly happy to be miserable if being miserable helped me find the resolve to CHANGE some of the things I beat myself up about, but I just go on being lazy and hypocritical and disliking myself for it), but I also can't do anything useful at all. I just wander around telling myself what a petty, small-souled human being I am and wishing it were time to go to sleep so the day would be over.
Anyway, not going to dwell on it. After 19-odd years if having days like these on a fairly regular basis, there's really nothing new I can say about them... just wait for them to pass and wish I had more strength of character.
Mum, although I've just gotten an email from you and know that you are not currently dying of cancer, I would still like to send you all my love and hugs and tell you please to avoid doing so. 'Kay? Ditto to everyone else.
Anyway, for whatever reason I decided not to go to Prague, and it ended up being a very nice weekend all by myself. I spent a long time just wandering around, looking in shops and not buying anything, contemplating passersby and trying (by which we mean failing) to speak German to the few people who spoke to me. I finished the Astrid Varnay book and most of the new Harry Potter, read a full collection of short stories by Saki (a brilliant cross between Oscar Wilde and Roald Dahl, the most cruel beautiful British humor ever, and anyone who hasn't read them should) and started Camus' "La Peste" in French (very good, and I understand 85% of every sentence the first time through-- yay me). On Saturday night I got kind of antsy and depressed, probably as a consequence of having spent so much of the day reading, so I went out on the balconey and paced and talked to myself. There was an incredible, rain-less thunderstorm going on---almost constant thunder for over half an hour. Cool.
After I'd been out there an hour or two, some giggly German girls who live on my floor came out in blankets to listen to the thunder. They decided I must be lonely and homesick and took it upon themselves to entertain me. The spoke a tiny bit of English and one of them had some French, and between the three languages we muddled through something like conversation. The best parts of it were when we were talking about horror movies and one of them tried to explain to me the difference between 'der Gheist' and 'der Boomann'. She got up and demonstrated how der Boomann sneaks up on you and says 'boo'... which, unless I am gravely mistaken, is what American ghosts are known for saying. Turns out der Boomann is the German version of the Boogeyman, and he says 'boo'. All I can say is, I hope the American Ghost Union doesn't catch wind of such blatant plagerism of copyrighted material, or Herr Boomann is in for one hell of an American-style lawsuit.
Sunday I had an absolutely amazing two hour practice session down in the basement of my Wohnheim. Somehow my voice was just ON-- low notes easy and resonant, high notes coming out perfectly on pitch with even vibrato and full rich sound... it was awesome. I wish I could figure out how to make that happen every day. Then I spent the rest of the day making a lentil soup and listening to 'Alcina.' Stephan and Katie came back from Prague at around 11 and wanted me to come out to dinner with them, which I did, although I was very full already, having eaten lentil soup in various stages of seasoning all afternoon... I simply couldn't get the damn thing to taste right. There's still half a pot of it sitting in my fridge, patiently waiting for me to find some more salt to put in.
The last two days have been weird. I've been having nightmares, the worst one of which was about Mum dying of cancer very suddenly... the whole dream was just me finding out that she was dying and then crying so hard (in the dream) that I woke up with my chest aching. I was so shook up I didn't go to class, I just wandered around until I was supposed to meet Stephan. He cheered me up by taking me to his Wohnheim and playing me lots of Chilean protest songs. Then today was another miserable day, one of those ones where I can't let myself alone and where everything I can think of is evidence of my own weakness and seflishness and hypocrisy... What an waste of time days like these are... not only does the misery of them not make me a better person in the future (I'd be perfectly happy to be miserable if being miserable helped me find the resolve to CHANGE some of the things I beat myself up about, but I just go on being lazy and hypocritical and disliking myself for it), but I also can't do anything useful at all. I just wander around telling myself what a petty, small-souled human being I am and wishing it were time to go to sleep so the day would be over.
Anyway, not going to dwell on it. After 19-odd years if having days like these on a fairly regular basis, there's really nothing new I can say about them... just wait for them to pass and wish I had more strength of character.
Mum, although I've just gotten an email from you and know that you are not currently dying of cancer, I would still like to send you all my love and hugs and tell you please to avoid doing so. 'Kay? Ditto to everyone else.