BUT.
this is me.
totally not knowing what to do with my life.
Out of inspiration, lacking confidence, a will to go on and running low on that really nice heroic stuff called, hhmm what was it? Oh yes. Talent.
And what do most failed writers do on such an occasions? Why they blog about it. They probe people-mostly sympathetic friends- into reading their mindless ramblings they call "blog posts".
99.9 % of their posts have no reason and no purpose other than making the writer feel like he/she is still doing their job.
I'm only writing this because I haven't written anything in a month.
I have the usual excuse of being busy.
But in these past three weeks I also lost any ounce of talent I have ever possessed. Oh you hadn't noticed? How kind.
Like the countless blisters on my feet right now, I've been pumped up and drained dozens of times since we last talked. Every ounce of energy I could have put into writing was thrown into 5:30 (sometimes 4:30) mornings and a 2:30 curfew. Between those hours there was a blur of rock climbing, flash mobbing, running around asking random strangers for money - all the cool students do it- while singing somebody that I used to know (gets you about 100 rubles, jingle bells just pulls up a measly 30 and a few weird stares). And the whole time trying to speak Russian on a 4 hour sleeping schedule, its pretty hard to buy train tickets at 7 in the morning when the ticket lady looks like she has been stuck behind the glass since last week and would rather chug vinegar than listen to you explain your round trip tickets to Novorossiysk. Lets just say June sucked in as many ways as it was spectacular.
I have more to say.
But its late now. So I am going to bed.
More tomorrow.
I'll just......
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