My second autumn in the city.
I shuffle between work, home, and classes. I read a lot because I cannot stand the screens anymore. I am studying a couple of new languages (only because I can and because I don’t have to). Who knows where it’ll take me. I finished the Sapiens book earlier in the week, which definitely set off something new inside me. I don’t write given that I can’t catch a long enough stretch of time. I am capable of lists only and my bullet journal goes everywhere with me.
Autumn broke in the city. Leaves cover the pavement, the wind blows fiercely. It’s mostly gloomy and colorless. Sort of like a duvet of depression that we all sink in, everyone in their own way. I spend my evenings at home with my nose buried in a book. Late night espresso has become the norm. I spent all of October in Prague and there is a chance I won’t go anywhere before the break. I am okay with being static for a while; there is a lot of work to get done around here. Mental work rather than the physical kind.
October was gray and dull and cold. It’s only the last three days that I get to marvel at the blue sky and the sun. It means so much to me. These are the things I’d tell him about if I could. About books, and weather, and how my flat smells nice after I’ve hung my clothes to dry. The fresh scent of laundry coupled with the heating turned on.
Or that article I read in the Guardian about the problems of long-term expats. Or the one about Kafka and Prague. How it made me read Kafka’s journals and how happy I was when I found the whole set for only a hundred crowns near the synagogue in Old Town. There’s so much that I am thinking about that he’d be interested in particular. The little flicker in his eyes to prove it. Then he’d offer something in return and I’d feel enriched.
I’d also tell him about things that wouldn’t interest him at all. How I cracked my hand-sculpted glass ring bought in Croatia after an evening of foosball in a basement bar with a bunch of strangers. How I killed a basil plant in four days (my other plants are doing fine). How I struggle in the morning to get out of the bed because it’s too cold and dark. How the daylight saving time completely messed with my inner clock. The pumpkin lasagna I had for lunch. And other trivial shit. But I’d offer all of it to him. Because everything is all I have.
It’s sad and primitive that we aren’t capable of placing relationships in a dynamic and dimensional sphere where they belong. Instead, it always has to be one thing or the other. Love versus not love. Platonic versus sexual, or worse, emotional. Serious versus casual. Because what if it’s not that simple? What if the bureaucracy of a relationship means nothing and it’s all in the atoms of the universe? How will you ever get past that? I learned a couple of lessons about these things last year and I left the exit sign far behind me. Except it wasn’t simple or painless. Which is to say, I understand. I could stress this over and over, and it would make no difference. And so I shuffle between work, home, and classes and look for signs that would indicate to me how much longer, even though I know I won’t find them.