I don't mind telling you that I'm having a lot of trouble figuring out what to do with this space, lately.
I mean, sometimes I think: "I'm gonna tell stories about my life as an EXPAT in PRAGUE!" But, halfway through writing those tales of life abroad up, I've totally bored myself. So, nevermind. Then I think: "The hell with it! I'm going to just write about whatever I'm thinking about!" Then, halfway through a long treatise on the tension between authenticity and artifice as revealed by the latest breath taken by Trent Reznor, I realize that even though I'm totally not bored, the rest of the world is ready to freaking KILL ME. Best to CLAM IT.
So, I think, well, maybe everyone would like to read some excerpts from the Kierkegaard I've been reading...
That's actually a good idea. Here's one:
If there were no eternal consciousness in a man, if at the bottom of everything there were only a wild ferment, a power that twisting in dark passions produced everything great or inconsequential; if an unfathomable, insatiable emptiness lay hid beneath everything, what would life be but despair? If it were thus, if there were no sacred bond uniting mankind, if one generation rose up after another like the leaves of the forest, if one generation succeeded the other as the songs of birds in the woods, if the human race passed through the world as a ship through the sea or the wind through the desert, a thoughtless and fruitless whim, if eternal oblivion lurked hungerly for its prey, and there were no power strong enough to wrest it from its clutches -- how empty and devoid of comfort would life be?
Crushing question, yes, but is that a freaking beautiful passage of writing, or what? Jesus. I love Kierkegaard. Religious anxiety never made better reading.
On a similar tip, I could tell you all about the trouble I got into with this English guy I work with last Friday night, but MY DAD reads this website, you know? I don't think he wants to hear all about it, frankly. But, let's pretend you all already know about the trouble I got into. I could tell you about how weird it is to have felt bored by the whole thing before it was even over, and how all I can really say is that I sure hope he doesn't want me to be his girlfriend, or something, because seriously, I want something so much more undeniable, which I'm sure never to find because it's romantic bullshit that doesn't really exist. But, then again, my romantic angst and the latest evidence that I am going to die alone and be eaten by wild dogs is pretty boring, really. I think I'll spare you.
Here's the story, my friends: I live in Prague. It's beautiful here. Yesterday I spent a beautiful, wintery day in cafes with my dear friend, and walked through gorgeous, frigid cobbled streets. I bought a honeypot for my kitchen, and I'm growing hyacinths in a window box in my flat. At night I drink tea and eat chocolate in my PJ's and slippers. I have a cat who won't shut the hell up, and I live in a lovely, clean, peaceful place. I teach English, and it has it's ups and downs. I'm generally happy, though I miss my friends and family.
Lately, I just don't have much to say. I'm sorry to be so quiet. I love you all, though.