The unkempt riverside might remind You of Warsaw but You can tell it isn't because Jonathan is here.

Budapest reminds me a lot of Warsaw, in fact. About the same size. There are signs of the Western world alongside visible remnants of the economic devastation of communism. The same hustle-bustle of people getting on with their lives, not giving a shit about tourists*. Everyone's white. A river runs through it, one bank of which is clearly the more relevant. The "old town" is sort of relegated to a distant location no natives ever go. The air pollution is as bad if not worse (horrible, horrible, horrible; I can barely bring myself to breathe). There are pockets of awesome amidst bogs of filth and squalor. So, yeah. We're a lot alike.

Here are a few things I found different:

1. Warsaw has more green. Man. Where is the GRASS in this city!? It must all be on that Margaret Island they all rave about. Boy do I ever feel the lack of just GRASS.

2. The (solitary) vegan restaurant is not run by a religious sect (AFAI could tell).

3. The men make more eye contact. Also, the men are attractive. Hungarians are my second favourite nationals to look at (after Norwegians, selvfølgelig!).

4. Unexpected paprika!

5. The riverside is much more central to the life of the city.

6. The Parliament building is like infinity nicer.

7. Their words are all scrambled!

8. It is evident from the layout of streets how little Budapest was destroyed in the war, compared to Warsaw. Warsaw has these massive avenues that appeared in the 20th century because all the buildings that used to be standing there were rubble. Budapest doesn't have these wide open driving spaces. Funny.

9. I think they must pee a lot of the streets, because the stench is not fleeting.

10. Maybe more tomorrow!

* this might be a critical mass issue. New Yorkers, e.g., have to care about tourists. 

Today when I was biking to work I discovered that the bike path has been co-opted for car travel due to construction disaster from the hole in the tunnel where they were building the second metro line. It's not impossible to bike to work, but it requires carrying the bike up/down stairs, biking directly next to traffic, along an uneven sidewalk. Because I have spent the last few weeks thinking about whether to move permanently away from Warsaw, this struck me as yet another signal that my needs and preferences are a really low priority for this city. I mean, come on, Warsaw, it's like You're not even trying.

Some people have relationships with other humans. I have relationships with cities.

Ottawa, my first, innocent love. Really sweet while it was happening. He took me from immaturity to maturity, shaped my values and my lifestyle. Many aspects of my identity can be traced back to our experiences together. But I sort of outgrew him. I like to visit every once in a while, catch up, learn what's new, but really we don't have that much in common anymore. I will always like his family, and he will always send me a Christmas card.

Berlin and I have something of a flirtation going. We make a lot of eye contact. We've had a few intense conversations. Berlin brings out aspects of me that I very much like, but rarely expose. We've never more than inadvertently touched, and we're never in the same place at the same time long enough to think seriously about dating. Who knows if it would work. But the spark is there.

New York is the guy who was really into me, and at the time I needed that. Every so often it is really, super *pleasant* to be around someone who just appreciates and validates You. New York, one of the few relationships in my life where I didn't feel like I was doing most of the maintenance. New York wanted me to be in touch. Sought out my company. I thought for a while that we could last. I thought it might be enough that New York loved me, and wanted me around, and was generous in compliments and benefactions. I thought that I could grow to love him back, just as much, with time. And I really did enjoy being around him. New York was surprising, smiled every time he saw me, supported me in all my chosen endeavours. That city motivated me to become better. Introduced me to so much. Taught me about my limitations and my potential, but more importantly about compromises. Helped me develop and grow. All these things that research says creates strong and lasting and committed bonds. But my heart belonged to another.

Warsaw, my aching, noxious, unrequited love. I love You so goddamn much, Warsaw! I want to write Your name on my jeans and draw flowers and hearts all around it! I want to stay up all night and make out with You under a bridge! Why is it that most of what You do indicates that You don't care about me at all? All my life I have loved You. You let me. You *encouraged* me. With Your dynamism, Your romantic impracticality, Your helter-skelter. Your unshaken confidence, despite all objective criteria, that You deserve my admiration. Your fascinating psychoticism, which can only be understood by natives. *I* am a native, Warsaw. *I* get You. Why isn't that enough? Your seductive little droplets of acknowledgement. Yes, You appreciate me, when You remember I exist. My being at Your side adds a shimmer of prestige, of cosmopolitanism, to Your defiant barbarism. Isn't that what You want? Why are these licks of acceptance followed so steadily by heavy blows of rejection? Why do You show me Your beauties and wonders, only to cut off my advances, like I'm standing at a glass door whose lock mechanism requires a secret knock created by someone with no sense of rhythm? You goddamn tease. Why do I keep trying? Why? When the only thing You've ever shown me is that You'd like me to be exactly different than how I am? Why can't You love me back? Why did You let me love You for so long, give me hope? Hope that we could eventually be happy together? That You were changing? I can see that You're changing, Warsaw. You are. You're even changing in my direction. I've heard rumours that You're recently infatuated with someone actually JUST LIKE ME BUT 20 YEARS YOUNGER. What the FUCK, Warsaw! What. a. fucking. CLICHE! You are so bad for me! I will never be able to forgive You for breaking my heart!

And now, Tromsø. Thank the stars for Tromsø. Tromsø is reliably good to me. He is the guy who has been around a while, and suddenly out of nowhere I realize that there's this guy, right here, in front of me, who is marriage material. It's not like he's especially magnetic, or universally appealing, or aggressively present. But being with him invariably, INVARIABLY, makes me happy. He doesn't have everything, but he has the things that I want. He is effortless. He is supportive but not overbearing. He laughs at my jokes, with the pure joy of a miraculously shared vision of reality. I might, sometimes, briefly, consider his faults. Everyone has them. Then I will consider how easy they are for me to abide. Tromsø, I think I love You. And I think You love me back. And I'm going to fight for our future together.

Today I was startled to find that, when responding to S's email about not having time to miss home, I had written the sentence, "kiedy jeszcze raz wyjadę to nie będę tęskniła." I think Warsaw really must have broken my heart this summer. And the past several summers. And years. I guess.

Strasznie bawi mnie to, że jeden z itemów na skali potrzeby poznania to "Mógłbym opisać siebie jako osobę niezdecydowaną". Ciekawe jak rozkład odpowiedzi by się różnił gdyby było "Jestem osobą niezdecydowaną." 

Here's one thing I am worried about with regard to moving to a small(er) town: I have a really bad memory for faces. In Warsaw, that doesn't matter, because I seldom accidentally run into people I know, because I know so few of the people who live there (relatively). But here, it's like I probably _ought_ to recognize a few more* than the very, very few I do recognize, and it makes me feel out of control.

* like for example the 100 students I see every other day

From the ol' students-be-trippin' inbox:

"I know I've had 11 months to work on this, and I've done nothing, but I guess I'm not really a researcher at heart. I have to finish this empirical independent study paper in 10 days (and get a passing grade!) so I'm really motivated. Can You give me a design and materials and I'll do the rest?"

On Sunday I had intended to spend the entire day lying on my couch, but the weather got nice so I was compelled to go over the hill to the other side of the island to watch the sunset.

What felt odd to me about this development is that in years past I have come here with such a dire need for decompression that I would spend, basically, the first 2 weeks of my stay here getting out of bed only for lectures. I would literally stay in bed for days, except for lectures. It is sickening to think how horribly fucking burnt out I was. So I had anticipated, based on previous experience, enjoying staying in all day. But I didn't.

Of course, the corollary to this experience is this: I can't even follow the simplest laid plans. Distracted from a careful, honest, legitimate agenda by the SUN?! It's not like that phenomenon can be observed every day or anything. Sheesh. It'll be no wonder if I don't get tenure.

why I should always listen to my brothers

Me: A, want to come over for dinner? I'll make lentil soup!
A: I'll have to see how the work goes....

** scene **

Me: I invited A over for dinner today. I made lentil soup.
J: Lentil soup? Who'd want to come over for lentil soup! You should have invited him over for pizza.

** scene **

A: Turns out, I can't come over for dinner. Too much work. Plus I just had pizza. Yum!

It seems that the only way I can really analyze myself is by noticing something I do physically and considering how that relates to what is going on in my head. Like diagnosing myself as anxious about Ł because I was sleeping poorly. Anyway.

One of the things I'm training myself to do, while I'm here in hill country, is to let myself go when running downhill. I love running hills, *love love love it*, and I really fucking miss hills when I leave here and return to Warsaw. But I mainly love the uphill. I have a real problem with lengthening my stride and taking advantage of gravitational pull on the way down. The moment that should be easiest turns into a fight against gravity to slow myself down, reduce acceleration, stem the flow.

So of course I wonder what this means, symbolically. Maybe: I am not afraid of doing the hard work to achieve something, that is certain. I'm not. But I am afraid of fulling reaping the benefits once I'm there. Or the letting go requires a faith that I don't have, that my legs will carry me, that I won't get overwhelmed by the downward pull and capsize. That uninhibited glee won't hurt me.

Alternatively, this is really just about me having weak hip flexors.

Anyway I'm working on it.