Man, I feel icky. I was going to
say “like a flaming ball of poop” but “flaming” implies there’s violence or a
burning sensation to how I feel, which isn’t the case. And “ball” implies
shape, which also is not true. So I feel like regular, run of the mill shit.
And no, I’m not hung over. I figure
I’ve got about a month before the “coming from 6,000 feet above sea level”
bonus to my drinking wears off. There’s a video game reference in there I could
make pretty easily. So as long as I don’t drink the cheap shit, I’m good. It’s
a fun – if expensive – party trick. Nope, I feel like crap because I either
have a really intense cold, a cold that is turning into a sinus infection, or
some previously unknown nose AIDS. I can’t get my nose to stop running, I’m tired, sore, and I just generally feel icky. At home I’d curl up in my large and comfy bed,
get dinner from Noodles, steal a dog to cuddle, and pop in a movie. Here, the
bed I have would really only sleep the Slender Man comfortably, and only if he
didn’t move too much. Not to mention I think it’s just a slab of concrete with
a mattress topper. There’s obviously no Noodles and Co here, and while I could
make my own, I don’t wanna. And my dogs are in the states. I think I miss my
puppies the most, especially Gus. I can pop in a movie, I guess, but it’s not
the same without the other factors in my magical “get better by tomorrow”
equation. And I can’t take a hot shower to clear out my nose because the water
doesn’t get hot and the shower faucet is not attached to our wall. Someone
explain that one to me.
But I had a pretty cool night last
night, and I ought to put it down on paper (or virtual paper) in spite of my
headache and stuffy nose and general disdain for everything right now that
isn’t cuddles and soup.
So a girl in the program, Heather,
told me about a concert she was thinking about going to, and I looked up the
band. I liked their sound, and I’d been in the city about ten days and still
hadn’t tasted the local night life. There are only so many nights I can be a
fuddy duddy before I need to go act my age. I invited a kid from the program,
Anthony, and a certain local who isn’t really supposed to be hanging out with
the students. We spent maybe an hour before the show, which wasn’t very full,
talking about various stuff, including beard growth, which I couldn’t really
weigh in on. I don’t understand the male fascination with beards, but oh well.
The show started, and while the openers took a while for their set to get good,
I was digging it. The boys wanted to leave after the first set, though, and we
dipped out and headed for a bar that some other kids from the program were
hanging out at. This bar, and I don’t remember the name and don’t care to look
it up, is a wine bar underground. The whole thing is a couple levels under the
street and the walls are stone, like you’re in a cave. Don’t know if it’s
literally carved out of the bedrock or if they brought the stone in for
decoration, and again don’t care enough to look it up. We found the students,
hung out for a couple hours for more nerdy discussions, and consumed a very
tasty though very potent wine. There’s a Czech word for it that I think I can
pronounce but no way can I spell for this stuff. It’s a still-fermenting apple
wine, I guess they only have it about a month out of the year, and it’s
deceptively delicious which proved unfortunate for at least one in our party.
There’s a reason I drink straight whiskey – you know exactly what you’re
getting yourself into. It’s hard to get accidentally plastered with straight
whiskey. Though I will admit to having a large glass of the stuff. I also have
to admit to monopolizing the local's attention because let’s be honest here.
Anyway, left the bar because it was
getting too loud to talk a little before midnight. Our options were catch the
last metro home, or just steer into the skid and keep on going. We were going
to some bar in a gated park, but I guess they started closing it at midnight in
April, so we couldn’t get there. This is the same bar, apparently, where the local has “celebrated” all his break ups, which lead to a discussion about whether
we’d rather be broken up with or do the breaking up. Given the events of this
summer, I’m going with option B for the rest of forever, but that’s kind of a
depressing story – actually it’s an awful story. Side bar, for a moment,
though. I found when we were touring Prague Castle and my inner mantra turned
into “Lord Doucheface would love this place” that the overwhelming and toxic
rage has mostly just turned into passive sadness. Not a super fun development,
but probably a more healthy one. Anyway, since we couldn’t hit the break up
bar, we went to a park that apparently translates to Lover’s Hill. The view was
stunning, and though there was some cloud cover and a lot of light pollution, I
was still able to make out two constellations. Virgo and the swan (nope, still
don’t care enough to look it up), if I’m not mistaken. We stayed for about two
hours, during which my physical state basically degraded into “shivering,
sniffling mess” which I clearly haven’t kicked yet. The tea is helping, though
I still want a backrub and some cuddles. But I was having such a fun time
talking with the present company that I would have happily stayed on that hill
all night. And those of you who know I’m anal about how much sleep I get and am
generally a wuss about being cold will get what a big deal that was.
It was almost two by the time
Anthony decided he ought to head back, so we left the park and jumped our
respective trams. Anthony was headed the opposite direction, so he got on a
different tram than me and the local, where we had one last opportunity to talk. I
had to catch a different tram, though, and I took the wrong tram in the wrong direction.
I’d looked up earlier that evening
which trams would take me home (the underground stops running about midnight,
which bugs the ever living shit out of me), and I thought I knew where I was
going. I did not. So I got on the tram, and spent maybe fifteen minutes trying
to figure out if it was the right tram, or even going in the right direction,
which led to a lot of pacing trying to stare at the maps on the walls. After a
handful of stops, I finally just asked two Czech girls who looked my age and
had been watching my march up and down the tram with increasing curiosity if
they spoke English. They spoke enough to communicate that I was headed the
opposite direction of where I needed to go, and gave me the number of a taxi
company that spoke English. I jumped off at the next stop, after hurriedly
thanking them for their help in what I think was the most sincere manner I’ve
mustered EVER, and called myself a cab. As luck would have it, sitting at the
tram stop was a very nice little old lady who spoke enough English and Russian,
that combined with my extremely rudimentary Czech, we were able to have a
conversation. Which I’m going to put in the hotly contested “No. 2” spot on my
list of favorite things to happen that night. Not telling you “No. 1” because
I’m a jerk. Bwahaha. Anyway, this little lady was from a town in the Czech
Republic I didn’t recognize, she’d traveled to Moscow while the USSR was still
in place, she studied Economics, and she loved classical music. The taxi
company sent me a text in Czech telling me they were there while a black cab
pulled to the end of the block we were at, and the very nice Czech lady
informed me that was my cab. I got home without any more excitement, and though
I was in bed by 2:30, I don’t think I fell asleep until maybe 6 AM just because
my brain wouldn’t turn off digesting everything that had happened. So I got
maybe two hours of sleep, which I’m sure contributed to how I feel right now.
Namely like I need to curl up somewhere dark and warm and wait for the end of
the world. I’m being dramatic, but dang it I feel icky.
So time to get real. Who knows if
this’ll go on the blog. But I joke a lot that my two biggest fears are “Failure
and Snakes.” There’s stories behind both of those. But I think that after those
two, “Not Being in Control” and “Being Vulnerable” are sharing the bronze medal
in my psychosis Olympics. Yes, I hate snakes that much. But last night I was
most certainly not in control, and pretty vulnerable. And it all turned out
fine. Better than fine, actually. I don’t know if it’s something in the water,
or if for the first time I can remember, I’m starting to make some personal
growth in a very positive direction. I didn’t even realize it until about 5 in
the morning today, but by relinquishing control and putting myself in a
vulnerable spot (not just talking the tram escapade here) I think I tripped and
stumbled, completely devoid of grace or poise, into having the most fun I have
had in a long time, making a connection with another human being unlike any
I’ve made in the last five years, had an interesting conversation on a bench
with a stranger, and realizing that I am not as set in my ways as I previously
thought.
Overall, the night gets an A+,
though apparently the price is feeling like lukewarm death. Still worth it.
Bonus observations:
·
The cops here wear combat boots and it makes
them look way more intimidating than American cops.
·
I think I might look more Czech than I’m giving
myself credit for.
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