So it's been an eternity. It seems that I have tapped out Ostrava almost completely. Ironically, though, that fits with the theme of things. The sands in the hourglasses are dwindling. Tesco had a fifty percent off sale on luggage, so I picked up not one but two superduffels, so I can finally retire the broken shell of a bag I've relied on for so long. The Vítkovice archive has been drained virtually to the dregs, with only three files standing between me and completion.
After a busy few weeks in the intermediate era, I've mostly returned to a solitary life of asceticism. It's not a remarkably fulfilling life, exactly, but I have at least gone back and completed the entire run of Scrubs, fallen slightly in love with Sarah Chalke, and (finally) begun my forays into How I Met Your Mother. Admittedly, it's something of a strange timing question to finally begin at the tail end of my stay in East-Central Europe, but I'm a slow learner. It's only been a few episodes, I've yet to make the conceptual shift from Willow to Lily, but I'm optimistic. Clearly I've lost all of my interesting stories in the past month. Next step, talking about the weather. I've even picked up decaf coffee, I've become all that I ever hated. At least I still have a balcony. For a little while longer.
“Outside it, in the scene of his actual life, he moved with a growing sense of unreality and insufficiency, blundering against familiar prejudices and traditional points of view as an absent-minded man goes on bumping into the furniture of his own room. Absent--that was what he was: so absent from everything most densely real and near to those about him that it sometimes startled him to find they still imagined he was there.”
-Edith Wharton
