Reality check

The bubble is about to pop. I'll finally be able to see Warsaw. I'll meet other bartenders, not just the staff at Coffee Heaven. I'll go dancing. I'll go back to the tent. I'll buy notebooks and post-its and go to school (yes, they accepted me. I'm doing an MA in translation studies at the University of Warsaw). I'll sleep.

As I was walking home, I passed a group of yuppies. Every now and then, perfect strangers do know exactly what to say and when to say it. Even if they have no idea you're walking by, thinking about the very same thin: the shit starts in two days.

This is one of those few times in life when I'm happy that every beginning has its end.

When I'm done, I'll tell you a story about the old ladies in Warsaw.

Happy

Once again, I feel like I can change the world. I'm not afraid the world will change me. And even if it does, I have a feeling it will be for the better. One more week, full speed ahead, and then I'm back to my normal life, back to my friends and the ones I love.

I'm so tired, I don't even know my own name anymore, but looking back at the past two weeks, I am very proud of everything I've done.

Now all I need is a few days to sleep and eat.

Apart from some minor sleeping and eating disorders, everything is going just great.

Salsa

Every now and then, I enjoy a good crappy movie, that does not require any kind of contribution or implication or interpretation. Sometimes, I even like them more than I'm ready to admit. That's why I'm not going to give any titles or even any clues about the latest good crappy movie I've seen, as it seems to have had quite a strong influence upon the deepest darkest layers of the self. But because lately these deepest darkest layers have sent me all sorts of signals, I couldn't help but remember the movie.

The weird dreams are back. As if my life wasn't complicated enough. Sleep is hardly relaxing, resembling hallucinations. Every morning I need a few seconds to remember where I am and why. I can't rest, I can't breathe normally, and because during the day I'm too busy to have time for panick attacks, I think I have them in my sleep. The nights are greenish-bluish-blackish, shady and noisy, and when I do manage to crawl out of bed I'm relieved to discover it was just (another) bad dream. However, two nights ago, there was a malfunction in the current pattern. I had a totally Disney dream. It was still greenish, but the green was nice and comforting. We were barefoot (the hippie-nightmarish dimesnion of the dream), the grass was wet and it sparked as if sprinkled with diamonds. And we were dancing salsa.

I still feel like dancing. Once my life is back on track and all the checklists checked, I'm determined to take dancing seriously. Ready to go pro :)

Double-dealer

I betrayed my agent. This morning I went to see another apartment. It was love at first sight. Once I'm done with planning a million events at work, I'll dedicate all my time and whatever's left of my energy to organizing my housewarming party. Until then, I felt the need to celebrate with a new pair of shoes. It recently dawned on me that it's going to be kinda tough being in my shoes, so they must be as pretty and as reliable as can be.

Where the Devil says good night

It has always been my dream to have an agent. Ok, maybe not always. As a little girl, I was convinced I'd grow up to be an archaeologist, move to Greece, study old rocks and learn The Iliad by heart. In the meantime, I gave up that thought, and all that's left of it is a trip I'm planning on spring break, from Sparta to Troy. Then I wanted to have an agent. And now I do. He's not exactly the kind of agent I had in mind, mainly because he's not in the publishing industry. But I still like to hear myself say "I just got a call from my agent".

So today I got a call from my agent, and we went to see some apartments. Because my agent didn't take the time to get to know me, he made some horrific errors of judgement. He took me to the quiet, green and peaceful areas in Warsaw. Where there's nothing but trees (he's also blithely unaware of the fact that I spent a year in the forest in Ligota, so he can't fool me with some parks), old ladies walking their dogs and / or their grandchildren, churches and grocery stores. In the end, I told him I wanted something in a noisy area, without trees, preferably near a bridge, and that I was lookng for some other kind of entertainment than the one provided in church. And then I popped the question: "What about Praga?"

Of course everyone warned me about Praga, the unsafe neighbourhood which people tend to avoid when looking for a place to rent, otherwise quite popular among artists, renowned for its hip coffee shops, galleries and parties.

My agent was not happy. He told me Praga was either for people who were born and raised there (I find that sweet, it means everybody knows everybody), either for poor people (I find that discriminatory and mean - for a moment, my agent sounded like Cartman "no way, dude, Kenny's family is poor, they live in the ghetto") or for artists, since they are easily accepted there (I find that perfect). He told me Praga was the place where the Devil says good night - far from the city centre and dangerous, where there's nothing much left to do after it gets dark - unless, of course, you're willing to take a risk. So he went on and on about the residential neighbourhoods, but I was not listening anymore. Without knowing it, he had just offered me the perfect reason for a drama of small to medium proportions. What he meant to say was that responsible people, who go to work from 9 to 5, need a cozy and safe home to go back to.

What I meant to say was that I needed a place that will match my out-of-office personality and lifestyle.

Unfortunately for me, I looked responsible. And it was me who fixed the appointment at 5.30, after work.

My first night in Warsaw was one of those perfect Kato nights.

to be continued...

Later edit

I barely got to smell the cool Warsaw air on my way from the airport to the hotel room, while trying to keep my enthusiasm within normal limits. Only this time, it wasn't just the enthusiasm of finally being reunited with my dream city.

In a way, I was enthusiastic about going back home.

Kato has never seemed so beautiful. The tent and its people were everything I hoped for, and a little more. I had missed them so much, and of course I assumed they missed me too, but once we were back together I figured it wasn't just an assumption, it was as real as it could be. Hearing them tell me we were finally back to normal (5 minutes after showing up in the tent I was already behind the bar, back in action) was one of the nicest things I heard in the past few weeks.

It was the best night at work (yes, now I have another job in Warsaw. A day job. Yet to be seen if it rises up to the standards of this blog, if it's worth being mentioned here.)

... followed by a perfect Sunday morning - in the tent, where else? - and a lovely lunch with Pan Janek and his family. When they told me I could spend my weekends at their place, and that I'll always have my place behind the bar, I got so over emotional that I felt the need to change the subject before I started crying.

So this means I'm back to my old pattern: two cities, late night trains and always having something to look forward to. It worked just fine between Bucharest and Brasov, I don't see any reason for it not to work between Warsaw and Katowice.

And because of this pattern, I'm back to my old self, the one I'm so happy with: energetic, ready to change the world, ready to take on any challenge. Happy to be in my shoes. I know now how it feels to be grateful for what you have.