This happened before the whole trip back home - Bucharest thing. Ligota said goodbye, in the most wonderful way possible. Since I've decided it's time to stop living in the future and start focusing on the present, no word about July and leaving Kato, Ligota and the tent for good. Even though I don't think anyone can really leave for good. They all come back. And somehow I feel this time I won't make an exception. But there's another time and another post for this. In the meantime, the pic was too pretty to keep to myself:
June 18, 2009
Not even an exam. I wrote it this morning and passed it with 9 points out of 10 *bragtime*. One step closer to my BA in Polish Philology.
I spent most of yesterday's evening with Asia, my Polish teacher (well, she was teaching in Bucharest, now she's going back home - to Kato / Ligota - so whoopee! we'll finally meet in Poland, and have time for all the things we've been planning, like writing projects, organizing concerts and exhibitions and artsy-stuff) . I got back to Pupi's place way too late to revise anything for the exam. But now it doesn't really matter, turns out the year spent in Kato was enough of a revision.
Today I was supposed to do some writing, because my paper is still far from having a finite form. Instead, I met Pupi and we took a long walk in the center - there's way too many stories to be shared when you haven't seen your best friend for almost a year now - and on the way home she decided to impress me with her cooking skills (as if I still needed to be impressed. as if cooking could impress me. but we gave it a shot - actually she did, while I was drinking coffee and smoking. and of course in the meantime we were talking about the tent, art galleries, boys, learning Polish and tomatoes).
Artist at work:
Pupi's world famous pasta:
*note: they are world famous because her significant other also enjoyed them, and he's French. Since I'm 10% Polish and an elf, Pupi's pasta gained world recognition.
The sunset, out on the balcony. Charging my batteries. There's no words to describe how much I missed this city. And how happy I am with our long distance relationship.It's best if our love keeps us apart, at least for the time being.
June 13, 2009
Speaking of the tent, I recently discovered I still can't get along with children and I have very little tolerance of those small creatures running around, screaming and eating ice-cream while their parents have a beer or two. The afternoon shift may sometimes resemble a trip to the kindergarten and I become neurotic.
On the other hand, I have Ciechel to thank for a wonderful suggestion: using the verb bartenting instead of bartending. Bartenting, not yet to be found in dictionaries, is the art of bartending practiced in the tent, with its very own standards and code of behaviour. It's what we do best, and it's what I'll miss most after leaving Kato.
Yes, I'm quite nostalgic and even though this past week has been very, very rough (I'm quite pleased with myself, no nervous breakdown yet) I've had the tent to keep me going, and everybody's been extra nice. Szabot suggested I should stop wasting my nights studying and writing, take a break and get drunk for three days in a row. I considered it, but I was afraid it would only complicate things even more, so I'll have to pass the idea, at least for now. Three days is too much, one night was quite ok :)
Once this mess will be sorted out, I'll have time to write something more elaborate about these people and what a wonderful gift they were for me, all of them (all of the regular customers, that is).
For now, I have to focus on my paper - which, of course, is not yet complete.
Being under this much pressure, I've come up with an idea for the following few years, which involves fellowships, a PhD, translations and another blog (thank you Bilus for the hint, I didn't think I'd make it, yet somehow things worked out, later than expected but nevertheless they did) - it's such a gorgeous plan, now I know how the goose that laid the golden eggs must have felt.
Oh and one more thing: as to get my BA, I have to take an exam in Polish, which makes perfect sense. But that's not all. On the 23rd of June, I also have to take an exam in English. I did that a few years ago and I do have a BA in English Philology, but no one seems to care. So yes, I'll have to translate something to / from English and rephrase, fill in the gaps and prove I am capable of building a flawless "if-clause".
Update: There's something wrong with the car. Something very wrong, so it's highly possible Dad won't be showing up in Poland after all. I have three days and no money to get to Bucharest. The money part is easier - I'll do what I always do in such situations, even though the older I get, the more embarrassing it is, ask my parents for cash. Now time, that's a real problem. But the number of people involved in my complicated life keeps getting bigger and bigger - mechanics, cousins, aunts and uncles, friends of the mechanics, ex-husbands of distant relatives I have never met and the list is still open. Maybe I'll start a club: People who never want to deal with Rux again. And then I'll run for president of this club.
June 6, 2009
And I also have a dilemma. Is it possible to dream that you're having one drink too many and then wake up with a hangover? Because if it isn't, I have a problem.
June 3, 2009
But I'm exhausted. And I can bet I'll find other reasons to be confused by the end of this week. Hopefully, they'll only be related to grammar and the history of Polish literature, and these will be the only things on my mind at least in the foreseeable future.
June 2, 2009
Yesterday, my kit was just not powerful enough. In the morning, shopping for fresh fruit down at the market in Ligota - there's nothing more refreshing than all those colors and smells waiting to be taken home - I saw a clown. They've given me the creeps ever since I can remember. Maybe it's some childhood trauma that I never managed to overcome, once I made a fool of myself in a supermarket when a green haired clown tried to be nice and offer me a balloon, and I ran off screaming, the thing is I simply can't deal with them. But yesterday... yesterday was the drop that filled the glass. There he was, strolling in my cute little market and spreading some leaflets. The clown in tights. Really, really tight tights. The red nose and the pink wig did confirm the fact that he intended to dress up as a clown, so did the make-up. But tights? What ever happened to clowns in baggy pants and ridiculously huge shoes? Who allows them to get out there dressed like that? He showed up next to me and tried to hand me a leaflet, and of course I did the only thing conceivable under such circumstances: I ran away, leaving behind the most perfect zucchini.
I could barely recover from the shock, came back home and tried to forget all about it. Later on that night, while enjoying my latest discovery, a vodka-cactus-lime drink which is also to be found at the market in Ligota, I decided it was about time I did some writing. So I sat down in front of my laptop, resting my hands on the stuffed puppy designed for people who spend too much time writing, to prevent those annoying aches in your wrists, going all the way up to the shoulder. And then I saw it. My stuffed puppy who, by the way, doesn't have eyes, has a penis. Just for the record, I would like to add that it also has a tail, so it's not my imagination running wild and mistaking the tail for a penis.
Clowns wear tights and stuffed puppies have penises.
I don't care what people wear and I do believe we're all free to make our choices when it comes to clothes. But clowns in tights? This is where my tolerance and open-mindedness refuse to cooperate. I'm also aware of the fact that puppies have penises. Real puppies. Stuffed ones have big, cartoon-like puppy eyes and sometimes a red ribbon. Some newer models bark or sing if you squeeze their paw.
It is commonly believed that one loses innocence when figuring out that Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy aren't real, when beginning to experiment with drugs and alcohol, when losing virginity or when paying the first bills in a new home, as a responsible adult, away from the parents. Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny say the 4th grade is the end of innocence, the loss of the playful youth our parents warned us about.
I would like to add clowns and puppies to the list.