Taken from the journal, the paper variety, just cause it needs to be said

Perhaps I'm being a bit overdramatic. Perhaps this is just a lesson of intent, a reminder that giving a damn what people think never gets you anywhere. But damn it all, I refuse to to let this semester become another experiement in futile solitude and antisocialism. I want to leave here in four-ish months having made connections with people here that I care enough about to still remember three years down the line. Or really, to have people still remember my name in that many years.

Ah, sweet Nirvana. Somehow I think whatever comes on via shuffle songs on my way to school in the morning determines the way the day goes. And today is most definitly a Nirvana day, pounding loud enough that these cheap ass headphones buzz, and my hoodie blocking out the world. THat and my ripped geans from the weekend, ah so punkass counter suggestion. I refuse the Ani impulse, angry right now beats nostalgic murmering.

You know, I was starting to get philosophically worried the other day, after reflecting on the general mood of the last month here. My bad mood led me to start thinking what the hell is going to happen to me if I'm unhappy here, and yet, this here, this right now is all I've craved for the past three years. Since I came back to the States all I've wanted was to reclaim that carefree adventurous spirit that I felt I'd lost, to again be in a situation like that where everything was ridiculously difficult but the triumph was all the more worth it. THe thing is, looking back on AFS, its such a happy idealization, generalization. Yea, I say I loved it, I say it changed my life, it changed my world view, all of which is true. But that says nothing about how upset I was alot of the time, how lonely, how frusterated. I remember, right after we got back, how conflicted I'd get having to answer "So...how was it?", and how I eventually settled on a neutral "Great, thanks". Yeah, in general yes, but that says nothing about the every day battles. Today is a battle, tommorow will be also, and that struggle is a big part of what I feed off of. Its not that things have changed in me betwen then and now (well, not in that sense), its not that I've fucked up here, its not that I'm no longer fit or cut out fo rthis kind of thing anymore, its a big picture thing. This wasn't supposed to be easy, easy is sitting at home in Columbia with everything handed down on a silver platter. I'm here to be, to experience life the closest to the Russian way as physically possible. I'm here to speak Russian untill I'm understood. I'm here to have conversations with people, with natives, that enlighten and confuse (like Lena and the high cat...)me. None of that comes quickly, or easily, or consciously.

So ignore the world day turned out much different than I expected. After classes I walked towards the metro with Bruno, Rachel the grad student, Ben and Sara. I haven't laughed that hard all month, it felt so good. I don't even know what we were talking about, something absurd I'm sure which I probably instigated atleast part of the conversation. Bruno and I ended up sitting in a cafe for an hour or so, takling about...life. Then I walked home in the drizzle feeling infinitely better.

And Natan was an AFSer. Who knew?

Fall Out

Otherwise known as my new favorite russian song, by some pop wannabe britney character, none of which I understand except the chorus of:

"FUCK THEM ALL....FUCK THEM ALL....FUCK THEM ALL"

Fuck school. Fuck creepy Russians. Particularly the ones I apparently gave my phone number to that keep calling me. Fuck homework. Fuck rain. Fuck Pavle for discussing me "anonymously" for an hour and a half of conversation class today, and needless to say now the whole class and my favorite prof just thinks I'm a big irresponsible child who cant drink. Fuck Natan, the CIEE coordinator, to whom I had the brilliant idea of confessing what happened today so that he could take me to a friggin' doctor and xray my hand which is now about twice the size and the color of scary thunderstorms, who now thinks I have a drinking problem. He basically told me "Well, what youre describing sounds basically like a hangover, so be more careful next time..." creepy wink wink leer. Why in fucks name would I make this up people?!??!! I'm not a fucking child who is too embarassed by her indescretions to admit what really happen. It wasn't the first time I've ever been drunk, I know the affect that alcohol has on me, and that most definitly was not it. This is not some big repressed dream, there are LITERALLY HOURS OF MY LIFE WHICH ARE UNACCOUNTED FOR. Fuck condescending people whom by some quirk of fate landed in authority positions. Fuck the rain and my non-waterproof umbrella. Fuck my hand for hurting 24/7. Fuck the stray dogs for chasing me through the park this morning. Fuck everyone in school for looking at me like some vanquished 7 year old. Fuck all of this for actually happening. Fuck the world for not understanding the words that are coming out of my mouth.

Damn it, I need someone who speaks Peggy cause this whole self-expression thing is just not working out for me.

Ok, Ok thinking positive. Um...tickets to Prague for November vacation are booked. And Bruno the Mexican is coming with me (Sarah...yea...how fucking great will it be to watch the fam react to the swarthy looking Mexican....ahahaha I can't wait...) Ok what else...Making friends at Choir I guess, just not the whole social activity kind...maybe it'll come...I've found my niche with CIEE people, so now its only kind of Peggy hiding in a corner being ice bitch from hell...Only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Lesson with the invisible drummer was freakin' awesome, and he didn't even laugh at me for my travails of tracking him down.

I know, I know. This day is just turning into one of those that makes you wish it were two months from now, just so you could look back and remember with wonder feeling like shit, and then marvel at how you could have ever been so naive and uninformed.

God damn it woman, I miss you.

The one in which I get drugged in a bar...

No seriously. I wouldnt be writting this if I weren't really friggin' terrified right now, not that anything tremendously damaging happened to me, but that all of you are out there getting drunk of your ass and not paying attention to what happens around you. Its my retroactive shame impulse, but more than that I don't want this to ever happen to anyone out that that I care about. Please, you guys, be safe. Be careful. Just be there in four months in one piece when I get back, ok?!?

It went something like this. I was walking back from choir rehearsal Saturday night when Pavle, a friend from school, called me, and is like "Hey, I'm in your neighborhood, lets meet and go do something." So we met halfway between the university and my house where he was coming from, stopped and bought a beer from a tabac on the street, and sat and drank it out behind the Rostral Columns, basically, on wall overlooking the Neva River and all the most beautiful buildings in the city. Good conversation, which I think more than anything else I've missed this month here. The thing is, I shoulda gone home then. Instead, we decide to walk back over to this bar on the square by the hermitage, some fabulously sketchy dive bar ontop of a grocery store that he knew about. I remember getting a beer, having no free tables, and sitting down with some russians. And thats about it. Asides from what he told me later, I have no idea how I woke up in my bed the next morning. Not a single recollection. And yes, Ok everyone knows I'm a ridiculously easy drunk, but theres drunk, and theres blacked out for long periods of time. This is not me being ashamed of how drunk I got, I really honestly don't remember I thing. I know that Pavle saved my life, on several occasions that evening. I know I must have fallen repeatedly, because I have some scary looking bruises and possibly broke some bones in my hand. I know that I'm going to have to work on restoring what was a great relationship with my host mother for a while, since she was up till 3 worrying about me, and had the pleasure of opening the door to Pavle and a group of random people he stopped on the street to help get me home. Thats not something I would wish for anyone. I know that I was not in my right mind until about 5 pm yesterday. I'm sure that nothing horrible happened to me in the sense that no I wasn't raped and nothing was stollen from me, largely thanks to his presence the entire time, but the feeling of, emotional violation...is really frightening.

So please, you guys...be careful. This shit really does happen, not just to ditzy girls at college parties. I love you all and I miss all of you, and I just want to come home in one piece.

RACE AGAINST TIME

OMG STALKED THE STATE PHILHARMONIC AND POTENTIALLY CRIMINAL ACTIVITIES BUT I THINK I FOUND MYSELF A DRUM TEACHER!!!!!

Holy fuck I cant believe I actually just did that.

AHAHAHAH THIS ROCKS.

And I am potentially going to Prague in October.

Where the hell did my brain run off too??!!!??

Come back!

Oh on second thought...eh fuck it I like it better this way.

In which I am vindicated

I was walking home from Smolny today, on Troutsky most jamming to whatever it was that came up on random play on the iPod. The song ended, and time stopped with it, I swear, everything except the wind and the whitecaps on the Neva. THe next song that started, automatically and completely unconsciously ofcourse, was the song from my dream. Its called "Five Hebrew Songs" performed by the Choral Project, and the string accompaniment is unbelievably haunting. It makes me wish I had any talent for composition, because I'd die to turn the orchestral backing into a symphony. I'd have it played at my wedding, and then again at my funeral.

But alas. I'm vindicated, ie not completely friggin' nuts.

This choir thing is officially the greatest thing ever. We worked some more on the Vivaldi, which is nice traditional classical literature, happy and basic if for no other reason then I can phonetically almost read latin. Today we spent about half the time on that, and then the rest on a bunch of traditional Russian folk music. The folk songs are...enchanting, for lack of a better word coming to mind. Sitting in the middle of it, I felt like I was on some plain off in Siberia frolicking through the woodlands or better yet, sitting in some anciet village spinning wool, or milking cows, or some such women's work. I dunno if it was the eight part harmony, or just the crazy cutglass clarity of all these girls' voices...again, just ethereally eery. I perhaps was told today that we have a concert in three weeks, but for now I'm going to plead selective incompetence, and not worry or even just attempt to process untill I'm told a second time. Horray for semi plausible idiocy.

Not to be the overdramatic freak of nature that I am, but song of the moment is so very definitly "Amen, omen" Ben Harper. I think I might just have to perpetually ban it to the list of music I can no longer listen to ever again withought horrible connotations (ie...lifehouse, half of my Dave collection, Change in my life Rockapella...um...all of Moulin Rouge). It came up unexpectedly this morning on the way to class, and I was literally chocking back tears in the marshytka. Some songs just hit you in that tender spot, saying exactly everything you've been trying to elucidate for days. And then the sheer revelation of having all your pent up emotions out there in plain English, exposed to the real world, is almost oo much to bear. And then every time after that the song brings you so clearly right back to those emotions, and you're right back there in that moment, reliving over and over all the thick throbbing passions. Maybe thats just me being musical and weird, but I definitly tie everything important to music, and right now that song is...exactly.

Twangy Little Me

Wow, I feel like an idiot now, actually looking at the date in print. I noticed piles of flowers outside the US consulate on my walk home today. I even asked the security guard out front what the deal was, and he looked at me funny and said he didn't know. Duh. Funny the ways we mark time through our days, what we remember, what sticks out so brilliantly, and whats been dulled away by the rush of ages.

I lost my nerve today. I already feel stupid about it. Always say yes atleast the first time, take advantage of every chance that comes along, because you never know where each evening ends. Yea, I talk the theory well, but cant always wrap my head around it when things come my way. Tonight the choir is singing at the wedding of the director, Edvard. They wanted us newbies to come, too, and I was all set to, but lost my nerve at the last minute. I didn't know the area, am not at all connected to the couple getting married, don't have anything to wear...etc etc etc. Basically, couldn't summon ehough balls in the end. I felt really out of place, or rather, assumed I would if I went. Stupid stupid stupid. How cool would it have been to not only see, but be a part of a Russian wedding?!? Grr on me.

In which I'm a heinous bitch. Again.

"He said I looked for you, I don't know why. I said I was wearing black so you could see me against the sky..."

Whomever names that tune wins my undying love and affection forever and ever amen.

No really.

You know you've been in a bus too long when you swear the parents of your favorite sitcom "Not born beautiful" (Yes, exactly like Oskliva Betty...like...completely) just drove by in the other lane...

The only neccesary summary of this weekend's CIEE enforced tour number one to Novgorod:

Tour guide: Oh look at all the beautiful churches! blah blah blah blahy Russian hour two and my brain kicks off
Us: Blah Blah Blah we're loud and anoying and disrespectful and we swear in churches and just generally ingratiating...
Tour guide: Novgorod was the ancient seat of Russian Orthodoxy, blah blah...cultural mecca blah blah
Us: Oh look, kittens!

Yeah, thats all I'm gonna bother to say without sounding like the pretentious prick that I am.

I'm realizing again what a different experience I had living in the boondocks that year in Kostelec. The places that we visited and the landscape we've been driving through reminds me soo much of Bohemia. The condition of the buildings, the houses with patched tin roofs, and the huge garden plot out back encompassing three quarters of the property, the babyshki sitting by the road trying to sell potatoes, even the scary-ass drivers. THe problem is that I keep expecting Kostelec to explain Petersburg questions, and while it can, atleast personality wise, and on the surface, sociologically the mindset is totally different. The extremes are much broader here, between city and country, rich and poor, whatever the determiner, the space between black and white is much more distinct. Even though everything I know culturally from Czech probably applies here, and probably moreso than I know, its just buried under city life and european cosmopolitan urges. This country has a lot further to catch up from than Czech does, those who can run thus run faster. Those who can't are stuck in villages not much different than the ones I knew.

In the end, its what you know of a place, how well you've established yourself, made it your own. Thats all that determines perspective, comfort, attitude, whatever you wanna call it. And I'm not quite there yet, though its coming.

EEH!!!

Short tonight since its 1 am and I have to get up and out on our trip too early tommorow morning (today?)...in five hours. But good news and a great mood were worth at least a few lines. Fred and I went tonight to hear the University Choir, and by some stroke of luck, they actually accepted us!!! Chris, thats my token stupid-ass thing I do in your honor this week...I can't belive we pulled it off. I feel so much better, that drudgery and pit in my stomach is all gone, all for the love of spontenaity and music- like I can breath again, in a tangible sense. Rehearsals for three hours twice a week seem fairly daunting, but life as we kn ow it is a big giant daunting city, and I just found a way to make it mine. Music and real live Russians, and just sittin gin the middle of it soaking it all in, chords, harmony, facial expressions, impassionate useless pleas of directors...my spine tingled. They managed to reconeect me to that circle of wonderfully insane people and things, worldwide, who thrash violently in the direction of artistic expression and far removed passionate perfection.

Thank god. And not a moment too soon.

In Which I finally encounter Marshytki

Behold the wonders of a rapidly westernizing fledgling capitalist society. The most popular form of transport in this city, after chastniki of course, are marshrytki, or in plain english, a crazy mother fucker with enough money to buy himself (or enough connection to steal one) a fairly larged sized minivan and drive it on a relatively fixed route through the city. All the vans are rigged out to sit 10-12 people, and basically, anyone at anytime can request to be dropped off somewhere along the route.

So this morning, by dumb luck, stroke of fate, or the fact that I'm retarded when it comes to blowdrying my hair (Lena, upon seeing me blowdry for the first time "Oy girlie! Theres hope for you yet!") and thus left the apartment later than usual, ended up catching a marshytka instead of the normal assrapage on the bus. They run on the same route, so its really a crap shoot which comes first. SO I see it coming, stick my arm out, shut my eyes, and pray I just dont get struck down on the sidewalk. Yes, sidewalk= oh fuck I'm late lane. The van comes rushing at me, screeching to a halt like fifteen feet further down the road. I grab my bag, take off for it, and climb in with just enough time to slam the door shut as the driver pulls away at like 50 km ph. I sit down in the last seat behind the driver, facing backwards, the lucky one with the priveledge of spending the ensuing half hour starting back at 10 morose Russians. Luckily, we were full up for about half way to my school, which mean the driver could just cruise past all the crowds on the corners. Unlike the busses, which seem to be in competition for who can carm the most people into the smallest foulest smelling place. My luck held up untill half the van emptied at the business complex not far from downtown. Then, in exchange for the six or eight people who got off, twelve more got on. This meant about 5 business men in suits stood crouching between the seats and in the wheel well by the door. Its no mean feat to stnad for any amount of time in a van of any size, and these psuedo-dignified suits looked so absurd standing there, I couldn't help but snigger. Then the whole company growled at me, so I pretended to by tying my shoe for the rest of the way. Just thankfully someone else asked for a stop at Smolny, so I didn't actually half to deal with the driver. But yea. Definitly a change of pace, and much cushier than the bus.

Sorry for the bitching long post, but I'm up to date now...

August 26, 2005

And the deja vus continues. I’m beginning to think that maybe my initial hesitation about drawing Russian conclusions from Czech experiences may be unfounded. After being verbally accosted by several old men today, I’m convinced this place is just as bizarre as Cheznovice, and the camp for demented little boys was. Maybe the difference really only is that this time I understand the language and can actually tell when people are laughing at me. Earlier today we had a break from orientation, so we’re all sitting around chatting or smoking. Some dedushki pushed their way through telling us that we should all be ashamed of ourselves, smoking. So I told him not everyone did, that I didn’t and he said, “Well good. Now you can get married.”

The second anecdote involved a perhaps drunken old man on the way to dinner and a quick rescue by one of the Russian students, so we won’t mention any specifics. Again, I’m not completely convinced it’s a good thing that I understand what people are saying about me. Makes them harder to ignore.

Dear Riana: I met a muy bonito interesante mejicano today. You’d be proud.

…

Well, still hate discos. Oh well, it was worth a try. Still way to weak when it comes to vodka. Still way too uncompassionate when it comes to stupid “American” behavior, and way too tolerant of drunk people. So, in other words, things are exactly the same, except when they’re completely different.

But it smells just like sitting on my windowsill looking down on the namesti in spring time.

August 28, 2005

I’m watching some really badly dubbed Sylvester Stallone movie, wishing I hadn’t passed out earlier and thus would be remotely sleepy.

Today was, monumental. We had our first outing as a group this morning. I was…well…not happy with the whole group thing, to put it lightly. Or in Peggy language… GOD DAMN I can’t stand crowds of foreigners. Oh the hypocrisy, but CHRIST PEOPLE. Judgmental, yea, I know, and I’m sure I’m really not that much better, but it damn it, we’re loud, ethnocentric, obtrusive, picky, impolite, and frankly, it DRIVES ME UP THE FUCKING WALL. I look back on everything, and just pray I wasn’t that offensive that first year, and cringe because I know I was just as bad. Sometimes I just hope that all the people in the world who have had to deal with me at various awkward stages in my life just know how thankful I am, and that I’ve eventually figured things out to some extent. That it wasn’t all in vain…

Even in a group like this I find myself gravitation towards the foreigners, the freaks, and the guys. After our outing today Pavle, the Serb from Johns Hopkins, and I went out to lunch. I wandered around with Bruno, the Mexican for a while later that night. But the squeaky girls with their sparkles and flashing the money not at all inconspicuously and their accents, and just dripping sarcasm and ridicule for their situation here, make me feel like I’m back in High School. Again, I wonder how you can go about teaching cultural sensitivity and flexibility, or just plain tolerance. Or can you teach it at all, is it just inherent. Was I that bad three years ago?!?

Right, so, soapbox done for the moment. Back to the adventures. The metro is less scary than I expected. It freaks me out having to open my bag in public, I’m so terrified of pickpockets after umpteen “Oh my god you’re all going to get mugged” lectures. But it wasn’t that bad. I haven’t yet had to go by myself, but in general Metro less scary than marshrutki where you actually have to deal with the driver. Much less frightening. Tomorrow I go to the institute by marshrutka, but Lena said she’d go with me to show me the way.

I’m actually quite happy with the family situation. I feel really comfortable, which I definitely was not expecting. My room is about the size of Bara and I’s room in Kostelec, no joke, or Masha and I’s room in Akindom minus the closet space. In the first bedroom sleep Lena, and her younger daughter Lilia (13), then my room, then in the third bedroom liver her older daughter Valia (16) and her boyfriend Ruslan. Very interesting, and all the more scandalous because he’s *gasp* from Moldavia. Not because he’s 19 and lives there. Yea. Oh, and most importantly our three cats Dima, Lisa, and Vasia. Lena is fairly young, I’d guess early 40’s but in name only, talks a blue streak, but really amicable. She even gave me an extra SIM cart for my phone. She seems very helpful, but not remotely overbearing. The daughters so far are pretty chill. We spent the evening dyeing Valia’s hair and looking at pictures. As awkward as it is, I’m all for the sitting and talking, even if the only thing I can contribute is “Yea, interesting”. But yea, I’m satisfied.

Now that family stuff is out of the way, I can happily start dreading school in the morning. And several hours of placement exams. Hurrah.

But there is something authentically cool about looking out my window at the spire on top of Peter and Paul fortress while someone sets off fireworks somewhere over on Vasilievsky Island. Or discovering that I live like three blocks away from the world’s most northern mosque.

I have some serious shopping to do if I ever want to pass the blend in test. After lunch, Pavle and I were walking near the Church of the Spilled Blood, and were asked twice by some oldies from the states to take their pictures. D’oh. I think its shoes for a start.

Killer robots. Enough TV.

August 29, 2005

I think I might just swear of the internet for the duration, and for that matter, all non-classical music. This whole homesickness phenomenon is so foreign to me; I really don’t know how to handle myself. Checking the email tonight really sent me over the edge, that plus the rest of my 47 emails, and reading school people’s notes and journals. Its such a difference, now that I actually have people and things at home to miss.

Ok, in the less emotional side of the day, I got heinously heinously lost somewhere in the neighborhood on my way home today. Well, not exactly. I went with a crowd to an internet café on Nevsky downtown, and from their Fred and I decided to find our way back to Petrogradskaya (our neighborhood) by ourselves on foot. That in itself was enough of a hike, but then I got a bit turned around between his building on Bolshoi prospect back over to anywhere remotely familiar. I ended up walking the entire length of Bolshoi like, twice…and its friggin long. But yea, alls well that ends well, right?

I even survived our wicked long test this morning. I was feeling pretty ok for the first like…four or five pages of it, and then my eyes glazed over and my brain turned off. After awhile I just started x’ing answers. The interview portion went fairly well I thought, besides from my continuing incapability to give anyone a simple answer ever. I can’t even give my name without a drawn out explanation, so don’t even try hobbies and other such information. I guess we’ll see in the morning how things turned out??

I CAN’T STAND BEING THIS PERPETUALLY TIRED. BOZHE.

August 30, 2005

So who ended up in the highest group?!? I did! Yea, I know, how the fuck did that happen?!? Out of 50ish CIEE students, there are four of us, a little more for reading and conversation classes. I don’t at all believe I belong in a group with a heritage speaker and a serb, me the twangy white girl. Confidence, confidence. Oh where did you flee to? Today, more than anything else, revealed how hellishly long 24 hours of class during a week will prove to be. My brain turns off for long intervals between coffee breaks and meals, which is all told…like half my day. I was actually really happy with all the teachers. Today included analitika, fonetika, and conversation. I’ll agree with Pavle, in saying that phonetics will be my most despised but singularly useful class of the semester. Like he said, you can recognize the teacher’s intonation as correct and familiar, but none of us have managed to reproduce the right sounds yet.

Tomorrow we have grammar and again conversation. Riana, trust me when I say I’m commiserating with you sitting and actually having to do grammar in a class. Oh what joy. If by joy you mean making me want to gouge out my eyes.

Note to self: bring one extra layer than you think is necessary in the morning. Don’t argue

August 31, 2005

Victory of the day: well, besides not rolling over and dying in Grammar, most definitely walking home from the institute. Pavle and I walked along the Neva up two bridges over from the one I know in front of the fortress, and then cut through the neighborhood. The exercise felt really good, plus more exploring always puts me in a better mood. It only took us about half an hour, but when I’m upset and cold, I walk super fast apparently. We sat in the pivnice in Alexandrovsky park and had a bar in this old wine cellar. Russian beer definitely not up there with Plsner, but beats the shit out of what we’ve been drinking in Portland for sure.

I’m getting a cold. This is ridiculous. Maybe less wandering on the embankments and more clothes.

The spire on the fortress is glowing brilliant golden against the clouds. It looks like its backlit, but its really just the gold against the storm clouds and the sky.

MTV Russia is, so very weird.

September 1, 2005

Somehow I always forget how absolutely lonely being sick away from home makes me feel. Or for that matter, the effect antihistamines have on me. I’m a little disconcerted about having to cut into my cold pills stash within the second week in country, but yea, it beats vodka shots.

Today was the first day of school for normal Petersburgers. It was kinda cool to see everyone all dressed up carrying their flowers to the teachers. I couldn’t help but thinking how cool it would be to live in a country with such respect for education. But then I started thinking about living here, with these girls, who have no desire, much less prospects for higher education. Its such a different attitude, with that expectation handing above you all the time. Maybe that freedom allows them to actually appreciate what they’re doing. How’s that for a giant generalization in all directions?

My bus coming home today was stopped by the police. Yeah, definitely one of the most scary things to happen in a while. The driver got out to talk to the cops. They looked at something under the bus for a while, then the driver came back, and we drove away. The whole concept of living so tied to your documents just freaks me out. You know the one day I don’t have my papers with me is gonna be the day I get stopped on the street. I told everyone what had happened this evening, and Ruslan was saying it probably had something to do with how scared everyone is, since today was the year anniversary of Beslan.

Eery.

September 2, 2005

The first step of any negative is taking control of the situation. I’m slowly remembering the tricks of keeping oneself in the right state of mind. My self imposed internet ban failed, as I knew it would, but this second fix was even less satisfying than the first trip. But than I realized that sitting in the apartment in my room feeling shitty is stupid. What a waste of everything. So then I went for a walk, got lost again, and felt ten times better. Now that I’m sitting back here though, yea, no good.

We had an outing this afternoon to the fortress, but I didn’t really understand anything, and forgot all that I did actually get. I was OK for the first 20 minutes or so, and then the days of feeling shitty and tired and sick I guess caught up with me. The most interesting thing I got out of the tour was watching the other guides interact with their groups of foreign dignitaries. My favorite was a tall willowy very Russian blonde conducting a Chinese tour. Very possibly the whitest person I have ever seen speaking Chinese, well, not including Killmer. Every time any other group came through speaking another language, I totally lost all concentration till I figured out what they were speaking. I know some tsars were buried there in the cathedral, and I know the walls were actually painted to look like marble cause they were too cheap for the real stuff.

September 4, 2005

I’m ecstatic! I spent like all day today with real live Russians. I didn’t believe I could pull it off, but I did, and it was awesome. They brought a group of Russian students with us when we had orientation last week in Repino (god, was it only a week ago??) and I spoke a bit to some of the girls. They asked me for my phone number, but I didn’t have one yet, so I didn’t think anything of it. Then one of the girls showed up today for our excursion to the park out on Kristovsky Island, her name was Nadia. She has her friend Lena with her, and I talked to them for most of the trip. Afterwards, most of the group went to some restaurant or bar or something, which I wasn’t particularly interested in, so we went out instead. I kind of invited myself, but yea, since when have social graces been a particular talent of mine?!? They seemed genuinely happy to have me along, if I read the situation right… We went to a theater pretty close by actually, somewhere on Bolshoi prospect, to see a French film called Les Choiristes”. Since Russians don’t believe in subtitles, I was freaked that I wouldn’t understand it all, but things went fairly well. Of course I didn’t catch every word, but got the gist. It was a beautiful film, about a music teacher in a state boarding school for …bad boys? And how he started a choir which inadvertently went on to solve a lot of the discipline and attitude problems in the school, and changed a lot of the boys’ lives. Beautiful music…but how I’m missing playing now…

But most importantly, I made a friend! Maybe even two! A real live Russian who knows my name and maybe even something more besides from just social pleasantries. Two weeks, not even, in the country…and all without even going on one of my infamous “damn it be my friend” campaigns. Maybe this whole social thing isn’t so overrated after all…

September 5, 2005

Shower problem officially solved. Hooray for proactiveness. But the whole hygiene factor still sucks after standing on the bus for an hour, ass up against the world. Eh.

September 6, 2005

So things get interesting-er and interesting-er at our house. I sat with Lena last night drinking tea, and she told me about her husband, all her lovers, how they got married a month before Valia was born, and so on. It was…a most interesting conversation (read: awkward as fuck) but I wasn’t sure whether this was supposed to be shocking material or normal. I had absolutely no idea what to measure this whole interchange against, so the whole time I just kind of muttered semi-coherently, and hoped she would interpret something useful…

…
Sometimes I wonder if my reputation is forwarded wherever I go, and this great big giant kick me sign that screams my endearing pushover qualities is just perpetually pinned to my backside. Well, no, not really, but that’s the gut impulse whenever I find myself enmeshed in new activities. Stress on the “find myself” and “enmeshed”, even though I know its nothing but my own choices, I’m the only guilty one. But busy is always better than not, and rationally (hah) thinking, I will feel a lot better when doing something productive with my free time, besides getting heinously lost in the five block radius surrounding my house, or reading, or sleeping. Ideally, productive would be music, or sport, or something in which I could deal with Russians regarding a mutual passion. Volunteering as an English native speaker at least gets me out there on a semi-regular basis involved in the community, dealing with Russian outside of our small classroom.

Feeling this displaced is rattling, but maybe because of the parts that don’t really freak me out at all. I’m totally fine being in this household, getting around the city for the most part, school, etc. I’m fairly well oriented in terms of waking up in the morning and feeling confident to get through what I need to in my day. I guess its more of an emotional displacement. I wasn’t at all rattled by seeing a guy pop a squat and take a crap on the street (not like that first morning way back in Hradec…ah…memories…) I’m disturbed by dealing with myself and my reactions to interactions. I feel like I haven’t found something to latch onto yet, pour my energy into, and thus, haven’t really let my feet touch the ground here yet. I mean yea, duh, of course. Hurray for the introspection and all of unoccupied time and space, but its also a very surreptitiously false experience, as false as I let myself be all last year, and I don’t want that. The question remains: how to infiltrate, how to take the plunge. I almost wish I wasn’t so easily adjustable to my surroundings. That would at least be a concrete issue to deal with. All this emotional abstraction is just a pain in the ass.

September 7, 2005

I had that dream again last night, and I woke up so happy because of it. I dunno if that’s because of who was involved or just how calming the string symphony is (wish I could figure out what the music actually is!! Not knowing is driving me batty…) but either way, the ensuing realization is like coming down off of a chemical high-disturbing, cold, and empty. I do this to myself, I know it, so what right to complain…

I think lying in bed and staring out at the clouds scurrying across the night sky around the tower must be some kind of spell…

In which I go insane...Take eight million

I'm auditioning for the choir at the main campus of the state university tonight. I've officially gone insane. Like, certifiably. Oh, lordy...why do I get myself into these things?!?