5 days alone in Dublin...here are the stats: 2 novlels, 9 movies, 1 French film star, 3 new dresses, 0 Irish boyfriends (unless you count the bum I gave a cig to who offered me a date). The upside is I have learned to appreciate my own company more, or at least entertain myself so I don't go stark raving mad. I can always fall back on my inside kid tendencies and read or draw, good time killers (though do little for making me seem like less of an unaproachable douche bag). However my love of drawing with pencil has been saved from the annals of history, if only because Im sick of a dreary selection of ball point or sharpie. In little over 5 days my grand European dream will reach its natural conclusion. Ive been here forever, but also not so long. I never want to leave, but Im also desperate to get home. I'll miss moving to a new town every two weeks. I'll miss my wild pack of feminists. Fuck this I want do overs. Oh well, theres always Yuck.
Monday, November 7, 2011
I walked home tonight through the park and the cold burns my cheeks in the most pleasent way. Then coming inside to the warmth feels that much better. Also beer with ginger syrup is the best thing I ever had and amounts to less than three dollars. On Sunday I had the most delightful intelluctual date with myself. First a tour of all the galleries I could find in walking distance, which on the lords day are mercifully FREE! its like they WANT people to look at art. Weird. Next was the most luxurious sit in the "art bunker" cafe. It over looks the park, and I could look up from fighting my way through Deleuze, to smoke and watch people walk by. Also I ordered a sandwich and it came with a side of three dipping sauces which was a relief to some one with as much sauce scarcity as myself. It is a freedom I may never know again, to sit there and not have one troubling thought about what I am SUPPOSED to be doing, or when I have to work next etc. To not feel the constraints of time is the ultimate privilage. Then I wandered through the square listening to Franz Liszt and watching the moon rise. Last stop, a lecture at this neat bookstore cafe about the comparison of the Polish solidarity movement to what is now being called the Arab spring. Cool to sit in a cafe in Krakow with a room full of feminists from all over the world and hear them talk about current affairs. I felt for a very brief moment apart of something larger than myself. It was the most perfect Sunday of my whole life. I want to thank you Krakow, for showing me what simple pleasure life can be. I don't ever want to go home.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Krakow is lovely and amazing. It is a late fall, the weather is unseasonably pleasant, and I am here in time to watch the leaves change. walking through the park is pure romance. Also the food is better than anywhere ive ever been. AND THE VODKA. It is a whole different animal. tonight I tried greapfruit, honey pepper, and wormwood at the vodka bar across the street from my apartment. It comes in tiny frosted goblets and is sipped with great relish. My Polish classmate is convinced that in my heart and soul I am secretly Polish too, I am pleased to think maybe she is right. Krakow is edging in on the imense room Berlin has taken up in my heart. Perhaps there is room for both. The end of the program is very clearly in sight. I don't want to go back to real life.