I was reading the minutes from the UW Senate meeting that took place in mid-October (my first ever; we were praised for our quick comprehension of the remote voting buttons; bravo, over-educated us) and I recalled that during the "wolne wnioski" part of the meeting (the last part, when the floor is open for any new business) one senator asked the Rector if there were changes foreseen to improve the technological infrastructure of the Senate meeting room. The Rector then began explaining that laptops were welcome, and as long as Senators vote and do not appear to be browsing facebook during meetings, he has no problem with us bringing our equipment into the meeting. Eyes turned toward those few in the room who were typing away (presumably recording the discussion for the benefit of their constituents). Then the senator said, "Well, specifically, I was asking about power outlets." The Senate meeting room has no available power outlets. So the Rector replied, "Hhmmmm."

This exchange was not recorded in the minutes.

One difference between 28- and 26-inch wheels is that I can't lean into my turns as much now. I used to be a giant slalom kind of biker, now I'm a simple slalom kind of biker. Other changes include having to pitch my torso forward (because the handlebars are low and cannot be raised) enough that checking what is going on behind me is a little precarious. But don't worry, I'm getting used to it. Also to the male frame, which requires adapting to a different embarkation/debarkation technique.

The crucial issue is how light it is, and how the smaller wheels make it easier to pedal. I had no idea the difference would be so detectable.

In case You need a specific instantiation of the source of my scorned-lover feelings toward Warsaw.

Today I ran in the annual Nike Run Warsaw 10K. I've been running in this race for the past 7 years or however long it has been going on. Every year, as I run by people standing on the sidewalk and gaping at the thousands of passing runners, I cheer for us. I clap and yell, I hoot. I shout thanks those who respond in some way -- by clapping or cheering. I am pleased when this happens. Most of the time they just sort of stare at me blankly. Even those spectators who are not there by accident (i.e., they have a sign that says "GO MAMA!!", and aren't standing at a bus stop wondering when this goddamn river of runners will dry up and the bus will finally come) do not seem to consider that they *could* cheer on more than just their single runner out of 10,000. I mean, geez. Are the rest of us invisible? Would we not appreciate Your love? Would it not give us strength? Would it cost You too much to give?

So I'm running along, at my near-snail's pace, cheering for myself and others, and I wonder how fast I would be running if I weren't expending energy on cheering. Energy it would be nice to be ABSORBING from the crowd, rather than EMITTING it towards them.

At kilometer 3 my yells are met with a response from another runner. "JASIA?! I *knew* I would be able to identify You! There might be 10,000 people here but I *knew* that only You would be thanking the spectators for being here!" Yes, I'm that predictable. And, sadly, so are the people surrounding me.

Eight years I've been doing this, as a runner and as a spectator, at various races in Warsaw. Agitating the crowd. Trying to model supportive behavior. Expressing that I'm *enjoying* myself, which no one else appears to be.

Has my effort made any kind of impact? No.

I think, during these races, surrounded by thousands of my cityfolk, "am I really the only one who WANTS to be here with the rest of You? The only one glad to be sharing these moments? With You, fellow Varsovians? With Warsaw itself?" What are they all doing here, in that case? Is each of these people here for themselves alone? Not even a little for the rest of us?

Fine. Well. Maybe I don't want to be here either, in that case.

The kicker: as I walk home, still in my running gear, with my medal dangling from my neck, an old man passes me and says, "Pedały biegają i nie ma jak dojechać!"

The short-cropped, minimally made-up woman sitting next to me on the bus today turned out to be a short-cropped, not at all made-up boy when he answered his phone. I guess puberty hit his larynx before it got to his facial hair follicles.

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.