-blissful inconsequence-

I've decided that I need to journal more often; my entries come in random spurts of word diarrhea. Reading the livejournal of my former literature professor in Moscow reminds me exactly why I should - Dmitrii Petrovich's entries are staccato insights into his daily routine. He doesn't update ежедневно, but at least once a week. At times, his posts consist only of trigger words, each intended for the author and not the reader.

Isn't that the point of journaling? To take a snapshot of your day or, at least, your week? My physical journal is more like that: random musings jotted down in inexplicably restive script. I am torn between my fear of forgetting my own life, my desire to beautify it, and my perfectionism.

I go through most of my days with my energy shooting out of me like air from an errant balloon. Or, on bad days... have you ever seen a salad shooter? A rather gross analogy, I know, but it feels something like that. I blame it on the smoking. I only have 2-3 cigarettes a day, and only at night. I never smoke during the work day, although I take frequent smoke breaks with Jenny. It's not even tempting sitting next to her, because her chain-smoking rather frightens me. But then I get home, I allow myself to have a cigarette on the porch, and all motivation leaves me; all I want to do is crawl into bed and watch "Flight of the Conchords."

Other than that, I have no complaints. My only problem is my lack of motivation and a nagging cold.

That, and my sister isn't moving back, as previously expected. She's reconnecting with her very first boyfriend, all the while repelling the advances/stalkings of her ex-boyfriend. What happened to being single for a while, to focusing on herself and what she wants for her own life? I know I should let it go, but it bothers me. I worry that she's going to spend her entire life flitting from one man to the next, just waiting to find the one who will "complete" her, and never realizing that another person can never complete you.

Kate had a farm in Africa....

SO...

I graduated, returned home, and resumed work. I'm still a little stunned at how happy I've been at work, how glad I've been to see my friends, and how easy the job has become. I've already had one Russian client, Sabir S., an 80 year old who accidentally backed into the car behind him when trying to clear the crosswalk for pedestrians. It was quite an adventure in Russian; I conferenced in a translator for clarification since I'm not familiar with industry-specific jargon. Incidentally, this translator was one of the best I've ever worked with and was obviously familiar with insurance/claims terminology. The three of us had a rather chummy conversation...

The subtleties of language never fail to intrigue me. 'Нет, нет, не ударили, импакта не было - аварии не было!' ("No, no, there was no collision, there was no accident!') At which point both the translator and I tried to hone our word choice: 'Ладно, вы столкнулись...' ("Ok, you touched/made contact...') 'Да, тогда на бампер' ("Yeah, on the bumper"). I was finally able to explain to him that, from a liability/legal standpoint, we had to repair the other vehicle no matter how minor the impact was. He readily admitted to tapping the other car, but was adamant that it wasn't an accident, per se. We worked through it and had a few good laughs in the process.

Later, I had to reconcile some warring coworkers in California who'd backed into each other in their office parking lot. Neither of them had more than a scratch, neither of them wanted repairs done, but they were locked in strange rivalry that I, unfortunately, got to mediate. Eventually it was worked out - my people skills amaze me sometimes! Everyone hung up happy.

I finally got my phone card recharged, so now I can call Kate! It's surprisingly cheap to call Uganda, but it's hard with the 8 hour time difference and the fact that she has evening classes. I've been reading her blog and having Russia flashbacks (http://katyakurtovavonrockinov.vox.com/). Her latest, drunken entry reminded me of my rambling journal entries in Moscow. Hemingway had it right - there's nothing better for artistic inspiration than drinking in a foreign country. Even her french press story brings back memories - it was hellish finding one (easier in Moscow than in Africa, obviously) but I used that coffee press every day for a few months... until one fateful day when, as I was washing it, it cracked in the sink. I burst into tears on the spot. It's amazing how connected I felt to that object, how it represented an element of home and was a comfort every time I used it.

I'm so sorry she has to go through this phase, though - the 2nd month "blahs" of an extended stay on a strange continent. For me, that phase never completely ended, but it did get A LOT better by the 3rd or 4th month. Even at the time I knew it was the most perfect form of "suffering," because you still feel very mentally stimulated - a lot more than at home. Emotionally, you're a wreck and you have no equilibrium - but you've never felt more alive. Colors, smells, and sounds are all a thousand times more acute.

I laughed out loud, reading about how Kate didn't understand a word of her professor's lecture. I spent all of my undergraduate years and the majority of my graduate program in a state of quiet confusion. I completely missed countless lectures, even though I was physically present. Over the years, I developed a finely-tuned pattern of behavior to feign comprehension. I would pay careful attention to the reactions of the other students, subtly mirroring the professors' expressions and moving my head a fraction of an inch forward and back in a muted nod of agreement (only when I was 85% certain I understood). Good times! I wrote this during a poetry class, my first semester at RGGU:

"Surrounded by the unfamiliar
Hiding in the rear
Others see me as peculiar
Relief is never near
Why did I choose a path so wretched
just to stay in school?
All shades of intellect have faded.
I can’t speak; I am a fool."

That being said, all of it... I'm glad I did it, but I'm also glad to be home.