There’s nothing but clothes in my closet. Except for occasionally a cat.
This past few weeks have been really crazy for me. Starting with Christmas that hasn’t been as bad as I thought it might be, all the way through New Year’s party we had in the mountains, in my friend’s parents’ house, and “Saltimbanco”, the Cirque Du Soleil show we attended in Gdansk, northern Poland, to an exam that I blew and had to retake. There have been meetings with friends, emotions, much tv shows watching, learning, revising, nervousness, drinking, sheesha smoking, working, translating… Stuff happening. You know, living.
But nothing compares to what happened this weekend. You know, I bought a dress – first one since my prom, and that was some four years ago – and went to church, just to please my mom. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I talked to my mom and came out of the closet.
Recently I’ve been involved in creating a group of volunteers, a group that strives to work for the good of the lgbt community. This is happening quickly, we’re in the middle of creating a foundation, because we need to be legally registered to be able to try out for grants from the state, the EU and some NGOs. And I am to be a member of the board of said foundation. This means my name will be officially displayed in the court legal register. I am also to be the treasurer of the foundation. So I could really use my mom’s expertise when it comes to taxes, bookkeeping and stuff, since my mom is an accountant.
The problem was that she didn’t know I am bisexual. She does now.
We went to a shopping centre yesterday, me and my mom. I needed new jeans (I ended up buying a jeans, a top end a dress). I knew I needed to tell my mom, but I didn’t want my dad to be around for this. If I ever get a girlfriend and want to present her to my family, that’s when my dad and my brother will know. I don’t feel the same internal urge to be absolutely honest with them as I do with my mom. They were never really interested in my social life anyway.
So I told my mom I needed to talk to her alone. We went to a coffee shop, got a tea (I know, taking tea in a coffee shop must be some kind of a blasphemy) and talked.
It was one of the hardest things in my life, to just start speaking about this. If not the hardest. I love my mom so much, she’s been my major and sometimes only support throughout all the crap I’ve been through. I would never want to hurt her. And even though I knew my mom is tolerant, I also knew she’s Catholic. It made me unsure of how she might react. I was afraid she wouldn’t take me seriously, she would say it’s just a phase, that I couldn’t possibly know what I want in life. I was partly right.
I don’t remember what words exactly I used. I know I started with the foundation and that I really wanted her to know this. I said I was identifying myself as a bisexual, that is, that I like both boys and girls. And that I might create a relationship with a boy, someday, but it might happen that it will be a girl. I told her I used to be in love with a boy and with a girl, and that if she thought carefully, she’d know with whom. I said that it wasn’t long since I’ve admitted that to myself. She didn’t say a word, and when I stopped talking, she remained silent. She haven’t said anything for so long that the stress almost ate me up from the inside. But I felt like I had to give her time to process this. “Say something, please”, I said at last, when I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve never been so tense in my life. Finally she started talking; her words were slow and careful, I saw her struggle to shape them just right. She didn’t want to hurt me. I was dropping a bomb on her, and she didn’t want to hurt me. I feel like crying when I think about that.
But she said she felt like I didn’t know what I was saying. How could I know what I liked if I had no experience? (She was spot on, I don’t have any; does it make me lame?) I asked how straight kids know they’re straight? They don’t need to experiment to be sure. And I was in love in someone of the opposite sex, but I was in live with a person of the same sex as well. I know who I am. She said she just didn’t want me to close any doors for myself. Our world is so not prepared for this. It would take years before people could accept this. But I insisted this is the time to act. Now. It’s a historic moment, and I don’t like learning history, I want to make it. That is why I am getting involved, I believe we can change the world. It starts small. It starts now.
And then something incredible happened. She said she didn’t care. She just wants me to be happy, no matter with whom. I could barely contain myself, I told her how much I loved her and hugged her closely. She said she still didn’t believe I am inclined towards both girls and boys (she avoided the word “bisexual”), but she thought I just wanted to stay open. I agreed. The important thing is that if I ever do come home with a girlfriend, she won’t mind. She told me she would prefer me being with a man, but whatever makes me happy. Also she wants grandchildren. I reminded her I’m sick, so there’s a possibility I won’t be ever able to have children of my own, or that I will have to use In Vitro. But adoption seems like the most probable solution. If ever. But I would want to have children one day; adopted or mine, that’s secondary.
So now my mom knows. She knows I think of myself as a bisexual, even if she doesn’t exactly believe that it’s true. She knows I’m in that lgbt group, and that we’re getting involved, and that we’re creating a foundation. She knows, and I feel three times lighter. Like I’ve been liberated. It felt similar when I told my friends.
I also feel like I don’t deserve all this. All this… acceptance. People liking me the way I am. I never believed it could be possible, not for me. I was such a lonely, sad child. I missed out on a lot, but it’s only now that I realize that in order to get others to accept you, you have to first accept yourself. For me, the process of being freed has been long – started in high school already, but it picked up speed only when I moved to Kraków and started my studies. I have now three sets of friends I love insanely, and they like me and support me even though I am far from flawless. But who is? Before I talked to my mom, I knew I would have to do it, and I was nervous, and though my decision was already taken, I needed an emotional support. And I got it. I got it from Ola and her boyfriend when I went to visit them, I got it from my Sabbath when they came over, I got it from my friends from far away through Twitter. It calmed me and made me stronger. And I am infinitely grateful for this.
And I want to be a support to them too. To other people. I want to give back the good I’ve received.
I am so blessed.
This is a deeply personal post with a therapeutic goal.
I’ve had a very bad week.
My Group Dynamics professor keeps telling us that when we talk about our feelings, it helps us to canalize them, and therefore resolve the tension, calm emotions. If this is true, that’d be the first useful thing she said during that class. I’m not convinced, but I can’t just sit there anymore and be silent, and I have no one to talk to about it. I mean, I guess I could… but then I think that I don’t want to burden anyone with my bad mood. It’s enough that they have to put up with me in a state like this.
So my blog is an ersatz of this therapeutic conversation that I need. I could write in my own personal diary, but here there’s at least a potential that someone sometime might actually read it. I probably should be freaked out about it, but the thought is surprisingly soothing.
So let’s start with this: I am beyond exhausted.
There was a complaint from one of our clients, and the fault for it was pinned down on me. Let’s not dwell on the fact that I have NO decisive power in my job, so basically I do what I’m told, thus it couldn’t be my fault. Let’s not. Let’s just say that due to that client complaint I was instructed to do something very boring, very time and effort-consuming and I had to finish it before 6 pm today.
So basically I’ve been doing it at work all week, and then I realized there was no way I was going to make it on time if I leave it for office hours. So yesterday, after work and classes at Uni, I came back home and started working on that stupid thing. It was around 10 pm. At 7 am my spine gave in and I had to lie down for a while. Woke up three hours later. Didn’t go to classes. Sat on my butt in front of my computer and worked instead. Finished at 5 pm.
16 hours of working, contorted on my not-so-comfortable chair, with spine killing me and brain slowly shutting down. I drank a sea of Yerba Mate to stay awake and got through it.
The worse in it?
I probably won’t get paid for it at all, because it’s due to a client complaint.
So yeah, I’m really exhausted, but I overdosed Yerba Mate and can’t sleep yet. Welcome to my personal brand of hell. And, oh yeah, my spine is still hurting.
But it’s not the end of the story. Or rather, it is the end, but I wand to take a step back. Because the whole week was like that: I slept for 3 hours tops, went to the office and for classes at Uni and basically worked my ass off. (Or arse, as my British friends would say.) (You know that stereotype about British English being the elegant and sophisticated one? SO NOT TRUE. At least judging by what I learn from Eleri and Lou.) (Eleri and Lou, and Bri, are my new friends. Together we are KLOT4. I shall add the appropriate note in my “The Cast” sub page.)
And before that, there was Falkon. Falkon is an annual fantasy fan convention held in Lublin, which is 5 hours away by train. It lasts four days and is pretty awesome. But you don’t get to sleep that much during it. I mean, there are all those distractions… like my friends whom I see roughly once a year, exactly then, during Falkon. And a night before that I’ve been preparing questions for our pop quiz on the Witcher Saga (we, that is me and Jod, held it on Friday and it was a success). So all in all, during that five days, I’ve slept around 12 hours. Which is 3 hours per night. Well.
So you can see why I am so damn tired.
But of course there is more than physical exhaustion.
(You didn’t think this post would be short, did you? Well. It won’t be. It will be, however, rather personal, so you can ignore it. Ooops. Maybe I should have said it on the beginning. Welp.)
So I met someone during Falkon. Not that it’s strange, I met a lot of new people. But that person was pretty special. Mainly because it was the first girl I got interested in that wasn’t helplessly straight.
You know, I have a long record of failed loves and crushes. I’ve been in love with my best friend for ten years before I found out he’s gay. Then I’ve been in love with my other best friend who was straight and I still thought I was straight too, so I pretty much pushed it out of my conscious brain. There have been moments, though, when I wondered. I remember one time in particular, when we were lying on a huge bed in a hostel in Wrocław, me, M. (the gay friend I’ve been in love with; it was after he came out to me and after I managed to get over him) and our friend A. (we were all classmates). I’m trying to remember whether I talked with them about it and I think I did, but I’m not sure. But I certainly thought about it. “What if…?”, I thought. “What if I’m not just very close to her? What if that’s love? After all, I don’t know much about love.” I never admitted to that friend that I was in love with her. Mainly because I was never sure until recently, because only recently I came out to myself as bisexual or pansexual, or whatever you want to call it. (I really don’t like etiquettes. They’re good for clothes, not people.) And we don’t speak anymore. I mean the contact just faded away, died naturally. Which is very sad, because I really liked… well, loved her. Even if we could never be together, I still grieve the lost friendship. People grow apart and I don’t like it, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
After that, there have been a long list of guys and – recently – girls that caught my attention. I suppose I could call them my crushes. The problem is – all the boys were either gay or taken and all the girls were straight (and sometimes taken too, ugh). Well.
The story of my life. I think I should preside over a club for Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys. Also Girls Who Like Girls Who Like Boys. Oh, fuck it.
Anyway, Falkon. First time in my life when I met a fellow bisexual girl that I actually got interested in. (I’ve met bi and les before, of course, but it doesn’t mean I was immediately drawn to them.) And for a moment there it seemed she was interested in me too. Or maybe I just misinterpreted the signals. Did I make it all up in my mind?
“She’s weird”, this was what my friend said about her. I agreed. Yes, she was weird. But apparently I like weird. I thought she was cute. And pretty. And, omg, when she put on that shirt with a low neckline… well, let’s just say my IQ dropped significantly for a while, before I could pull myself together. I never knew it could be so… animal. The infatuation.
Yeah, I kinda developed a crush on her.
Only to see her getting together with our mutual friend. A boy.
So…
Yeah.
I’m a tad disappointed.
Not that it’s a big thing anyway. My world didn’t collapse and shatter into little pieces like it was with M. I’ve known her for a day before the situation was made very clear. It’s not like I was ready to jump into a relationship with her just because I thought she was cute and my heart rate raised sligthly when she was close. I’m far too picky for that. I also have high standards. Probably too high. But there, right there, I saw a glimpse of hope, an opportunity that doesn’t happen a lot to me. Or maybe I was only interested because she seemed to be drawn to me. I’ve been single my entire life and I long for a grain of… something. An emotion. A feeling of being close with someone. Absolute acceptance. Confirmation of my purposefulness in this world. I don’t know.
I’ve been single my entire life but it’s only after something like that happens when I really feel lonely. And sad. This isn’t something frequent, I’m usually a very happy person and I embrace life with full positivity and openness. But at times like this I go back to that time in my life when everything was dark and there was literally no one who could be my sparkle of light. When I felt so lonely and worthless and unimportant that stupid thoughts got into my head. Sometimes, in some very rare moments of absolute self-doubt and self-pity, those thoughts come back. They’re just glimpses, but they’re there. I’m an overly emotional person, my mood swings are rare but very deep. (Unless I’m on pills. Then mood swings happen every ten minutes or so.) (That’s why I’m usually not on pills, though I should be.) (I’m a bad patient.) I had a moment like this today. Coming down the stairs, barely alive after those 16 hours of working, painfully aware of my every flaw, forgetting all the amazing things in my life. Feeling like I’m only a burden to all those awesome people in my life, feeling like I’m worthless, like I don’t matter. If I had a gun in my hand in that short moment… I don’t know. I don’t know.
But that lasted only few seconds, a minute at most. I went out, felt the freezing air biting my cheeks, put on my headphones, took a deep breath and everything returned to normal. I’m still exhausted, I’m still sad and disappointed. But it’s manageable.
Also, if not for three bright spots in the darkness of this week, I’d go totally nuts. I mean like take-a-sharp-knife-go-on-streets-and-attack-innocent-passers-by-and-then-cut-your-own-veins kinda nuts. (Exaggerating only a little.)
And those three bright spots were: my Morpions, whom I barely saw this week, but even this little of them could push me into a tad better mood; new episode of Glee, because that’s my obsession and I love it and I totally invest in fictional characters of this show as well as the actual cast, and I do so way too much; and my KLOT4, that is Bri, Eleri and Lou, who all three have inadvertently kept me sane throughout the week by just being themselves and putting up with me.
Thank you, guise.
There, I said it all. (Well, almost. But that’s far too private to share with anyone. I guess I’m gonna have to canalize it with my mirror or something.) I don’t know if I feel better. Maybe a little. I’m still very tired and not sleepy at all, damn you, Yerba Mate. I love you too much, I shouldn’t have overdosed you. Ech. I’ll try to take a bath and maybe then the sleep will come.
Goodnight, I guess.
I am back!
I was gone way too long. So many things have happened in that time! In my life, in the world, in myself. This post will be only an update on my recent doings, but I promise I’ll be back with my pointless babble in no time. After all, I’m doing it mostly for myself. Though I appreciate HUGELY every comment and every visit to this blog. Sometimes it’s nice to know you’re not talking only to the mirror.
Anyway, last time I wrote I was saying that my exam session was going well. And it did – with one little exception. I flunked the oral Italian exam. It was entirely my fault (though I really wanted to blame Glee for that, I can’t, it was me who preferred watching it and reading Dalton instead of actually learning). But the consequences are just not fair. Usually when you fail an exam, you get to retake it in September and all is fine. I get to retake it too, but because I need to pass all my exams before my BA exam, I couldn’t get BA now, as everybody else, I have to take it in September too. And that means I can’t apply for the studies of secondary level, the MA studies. Everyone will get in before I even get my BA. My only hope is that there will be the second enrollment in September and I’ll get in then, but it’s not certain and I might be facing the possibility of loosing an entire year. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself in that case. Of course I’ll apply for MA studies next year, but in the meantime… I’ll have to find a job. And what if I can’t? What if I have to go back to my parents’ home and leave everything I have here behind FOR A FREAKING YEAR?! Not mentioning that my roommate would be in extremely difficult situation, having to find a new roommate very, very fast and all.
Or maybe I’ll just go to Warsaw, get a visa and come living in USA for that gap year. I’m not joking – I’m seriously considering a year in USA as an au-pair or a nanny. I’ve been in France twice for summer vacations exactly to do this – be an au-pair, so I have some experience. I speak decent English. The family would provide me with accommodation and some pocket-money. I’d have to use all my savings from France just to get the plane ticket, but one day I’ll have to use it anyway, so why not for this? I really want to visit USA – and not only travel as a tourist, I want to feel this country, live there for a while, just like I did with France.
But all this is a consideration, in case I don’t get in to my MA studies. I really really really hope I will.
I had a serious breakdown when I found out about this. A darkest day of my life since high school, or maybe even since middle school. I was hysterical, crying all the time, wanting to curl up on my bed and never ever get up. But I got over it and next day I was fine. And I am fine.
Surprisingly fine. Better than I ever was, actually.
And I don’t know if this is because of that flunked exam, or because of my new internship, or because of Glee, but I am feeling better in my skin than I ever felt. Like I’ve been reborn. Everything is new. I’m looking at the world with wide eyes and feeling it more intensely than ever. I’m not afraid anymore.
And that’s probably the biggest change: the one in me. And I guess I have Glee to thank for that. But this is a topic for another post. Because you probably raise your eyebrows right now, thinking how silly I am saying that a simple show (and not the best quality one, as I’m sure some of you might think) could make that big of a difference. Well, it did. It showed me something very important; more than that: it made me believe it. Something no one could do until now. But as I said, it’s a topic for another time.
There’s another thing that happened while I was gone from here: the History of French Language Exam. I got a decend grade from it, but two of my best friends weren’t that lucky. The teacher had done something unforgivable and frankly just criminal – opened our private e-mail even though the girls were protesting. It’s against the Constitution of Republic of Poland, let alone the penal code. Moreover, in one of the e-mails he found a silly name that someone made up for him. I can’t stress that enough: it was our private correspondence. He had no right to read it. But he did and then abused the girls for it verbally to the point they left the room crying. We are trying now to file an official complaint agaist that guy. I am just disappointed in our colleagues: the whole year that teacher was mean to all of us and with what he did to those girls… it’s unforgivable. But the whole class, with a few exceptions, says they won’t even sign that complaint because it’s not their business. Really, I thought we were more of a group than that. But okay, they don’t want to, we’re not going to force them. I just think it’s opportunistic and cowardly from their part. I wasn’t in the room when it was happening either and I am going to do everything I can to make that guy pay for what he did. Not just because it’s my friends we’re talking about, but because it’s the right thing to do. My blood pressure is still raising every time I think about it.
Another thing is more cheerful (sort of): I started my second internship. I work at the office with some pretty jolly gals doing mostly what I do for that first internship: spell checking and proofreading the translations, fixing the formatting and stuff. Recently I also did some other things, like filling forms concerning freelancer translators who work with us. Very, very annoying stuff – boring as hell. But I’m an intern, so I do what I’m told to do. I gain experience. And when I’m done, it’s gonna be a huge advantage in any attempts to get a real job in the future. I hope.
Also? I got totally addicted to Tumblr. And I’m translating “Dalton”, a Glee AU!Klaine fanfiction, into Polish. It’s all fluffy and not at all realistic, but I love it anyway. Huh.
And yesterday, for the first time in my life, I got a little drunk. I have a very strong head and usually I get just a little buzz in my ears at most, I honestly don’t know why yesterday was so different. T’was a strange experience. Not at all unpleasant (I was just slightly out of control, singing, dancing and saying silly stuff, but nothing more disorderly), but also not sky-high cool. I mean, it was fun when it lasted, but right now I’m a little embarrassed for myself. I can’t think how I would feel if I did something really stupid. Or if I couldn’t remember what I did.
(I know I’m 22 and I should have this kind of experience long behind me (legal age in Poland is 18), but what can I say? I am usually a good girl. And I really have a strong head.)
Oh, and I have totally rainbow nail polish on right now, Darren Criss style. Also his pink sunglasses. That is a real obsession, ya know :D
(I also want a sea monkey wrist aquarium, just like Chris Colfer’s, but I guess finding it would be a little problematic, since that sorts of things are not popular in my corner of the world.)
And that’s pretty much all for now. Thanks for putting up with me and see you soon ;)
Knight in a Shiny Armour.
Me and my roommate, we have our own knight in shiny armour. He comes to the rescue of princesses imprisoned in their own rooms and saves them from the floods. His name’s Maciek and he’s our neighbor from below.
First I was locked up in my own apartment. Our lock is constructed in the way so that you can lock it from outside and no one from inside can open it. I have no idea why and what for, but it’s what it is. And my roommate, while leaving for the spring break, has locked me from outside. I didn’t even know till she called me; I had an exam the next day, so I stayed home, studying. (Yes, it is like that in here. The exam session can last even a month and so there is no spring break, like for me this last February, while my roommate got to go home.) I couldn’t go out and I had to drop the keys to my neighbor so that he could open me from outside.
Then, few weeks ago, my roommate locked herself in her room. I am still not sure how, since she doesn’t have a lock, only kind of catch. There is no key, you just push the knob down and the door opens. Only, this time, it didn’t. It was morning, I was already awake, because I had some classes coming up. (And I was trying to be a good girl and go.)
I tried to open the door.
Nothing.
We both tried.
Nothing.
I pulled out a door knob.
Nothing.
At this point Bastet called the owner of our apartment (we only rent it). The owner’s name is Paweł. She was sleepy. She didn’t realize she was talking to Paweł… only not the one we needed. She was talking to her friend from classes. It wasn’t till after he promised to come and got on the bus when she realized her mistake. Well. She was really sleepy.
Paweł didn’t do much, so after the call to our owner (the right Paweł, this time), our neighbor came to the rescue. With a drill. He drilled a whole in the catch of the knob, but couldn’t open the door anyway. Fortunately, while he was gone for a moment, Paweł (Bastet’s friend) took a tent wire he had in the pocket of his jacket (I know, normal people don’t carry around things like that; then again, I never claimed that my merry bunch is normal) and somehow managed to open the damn door. Bastet was liberated! The main thanks, though, are due to our good neighbor and his drill.
No, Bastet didn’t get a new door knob. I think she’s a little paranoid about them now.
And yesterday the faucet in our kitchen broke. Bastet was home alone, I was at my parent’s when it happened. It just sort of started leaking more and more. Bastet had to turn off the hot water so that it only dripped a little. Today, she went to Castorama to buy a new faucet, but of course we, two girls, weren’t able to install it ourselves. And yet again our brave neighbor came to our rescue. He removed the old one and – with some difficulties – installed the new faucet and it works. (Finally we can wash that pile of dishes.)
As a thank-you gift, he received an original, Lithuanian Šakotis the first time (after the lock) and now we got him a Guinness, Heineken, Desperados and Tyskie (we heard he liked beer and we know nothing about beers, so we chose four that seemed best. Not that we don’t drink alcohol, just not beer). It was all packed in a bag with pink roses printed on it. (We loved it. And yes, we know we’re five degrees of crazy.)
Thus, our neighbor became our official Knight in a Shiny Armour. Basically, we’re alive thanks to him. (Well, okay. Maybe not alive, but certainly we owe him a lot.) It’s good to have a neighbor like that!
This week sucked.
It really did. I had an Arabic test on Monday, which I blew completely; I’ll have to retake it. I did completely nothing on Tuesday, which was very lame, because on Wednesday I had an exam on Theory of Literature (which was held in French). I got up at 4 a.m. to study for this exam, wrote it at 10 a.m. Then did nothing for the rest of the day.
And then Thursday came. I had another exam on Friday, so I really wanted to study. But. My flatmate, Bastet (this is not her name, of course, but a nickname; we met on the Internet, been friends for two years in real life and then moved together when the option presented itself), ahs been sick for some time before. I told her on Sunday that she should go to see a doctor, but she didn’t want to waste time. She, too, has to pass her exam session. She’s already certified dentist, but she wanted to do something else, so she started studying ethnology. It’s pretty darn impressive, if you ask me.
And Thursday, at last, she went to the doctor. She was feeling so bad that she asked me to accompany her, because she was afraid she could collapse. Of course, I went with her. We waited some time, but once she got into the doctor’s cabinet, it was quick. Doctor said it was an abscess of tonsil and told her she had to go to the hospital. The ambulance was called in and we were gone to the hospital. (Fortunately, paramedics let me come with her in the ambulance.) This was a first for me – I was never in the ambulance before.
Of course, once we got to the hospital, from the movement we came to sudden stop. We had to wait. And so we waited. Bastet wasn’t feeling so good, but at last she was examined by the specialist. The laryngologist said it wasn’t as bad as the first contact doctor said. Bastet didn’t need to stay in the hospital, but the doctor prescribed her some really strong medicines. We got back home by taxi, I made her some tea – since she was dehydrated – she took the meds and went to bed. Next day she was a little bit better and today, she speaks normally at last and can swallow everything without pain. Thursday, she was in such pain when she was speaking that she couldn’t even call her mom to tell her what was going on; I did all the phone calls for her. T’was a crazy day, let me tell you.
And of course, we got back at 9 p.m., so there went my all-day learning. I stayed up all night, though, studying. I chose to at least try to pass it, and I made the right choice, because the professor said he wouldn’t put the bad grade to my index (since, of course, I screwed up the exam) and let me retake it with still a chance of a good grade. (Because normally if you fail and retake an exam, the grade you get is an average of the two, so you can’t really get anything better than 3+, which is C+ in America, I guess.) Let me tell you, it was a tough night. I studied History of Islam (that was the subject, “Introduction to Islam”, meaning its history and most important rules) while drinking South American beverage called Yerba Mate (it’s the only thing beside Energy Drinks that wakes me up; coffee doesn’t work on me. And Energy Drinks are not healthy, while Yerba is!) and listening to Maccabeats and Loreena McKennitt and other Celtic music. That was a real culture mixture!
But I’ve blown the exam anyway. I went back home and went straight to bed. And ever since, I haven’t done a single constructive thing. Right, I’ve been with my friend to the lecture about Chinese superstitions connected to their calendar (I know now why I wan born on 23rd; the world’s supposed to have a very bad luck this day, so that explains it). And we went to the shop with soap bubbles. And the to the best cafe I’ve ever seen (they have a round table. And the throne it men’s restroom. And waiters and waitresses wear medieval clothes. It’s absolutely fantastic!). But still, it wasn’t anything really constructive. And today? Today I’ve done a big, round ZIP. Nothing. Null. Zilch. Ech.
How lame.
