A Day in the Life

Whenever I blog, it seems to be about events that occur outside of days spent in relative mundanity, so now, since I'm at a point in the blog's timeline where there's a week of nothing before my trip to Helsinki, I figured I would regale you with some everyday life stories.

My week begins with two lessons, as every week begins, in Russian and Estonian. At the outset I have to say that Russian and I are not friends, have not ever been friends, and will likely never be friends in the near or distant future. It conspires to kill me from either embarrassment or raised blood pressure, either of which would be a welcome excuse for not going to Russian. I'm normally a fairly intelligent person but for whatever reason, it consistently fails to sink into my thick skull. The reason I'm blowing this out of proportion is because the teacher asks oral questions and I never fail to embarrass myself, every, single time. Cheeks turn red, somebody takes pity on me and corrects my mistake, sweat glands expand, but the floor never opens to swallow me up. It's like eternal disappointment.

So, after I finish wishing I'd never woken up that morning, it's time for lunch. This part isn't interesting except to mention the extraordinary amount of pickled items that come with sour cream that are available for my consumption. I eat rice.

Now, we're sitting in Estonian. Same teacher as in Russian, but I'm way better in Estonian class so she usually leaves me alone. We learn a little (why do I keep hearing "cocks" and "sex" so much?), and then I let my mind slowly drift over what the rest of the day may hold. As I'm drifting, I realize I'm supposed to be saying something useful. I snap back attention, say the answer, and then drift away again. This happens five or six times before I'm allowed to leave. Having gone through the motions of the class, I wander down towards the exit. I deliberately take longer than usual as the thought of spending the rest of the day alone while everyone else is in class doesn't really appeal to me. I go to the washroom, linger awkwardly downstairs attempting to make the small talk I'm so poor at, and then I finally go to my trolley, back to the city.

The trolleys are like giant caterpillars whose antennae are attached to a string and who make an annoying whining sort of sound. The iPod goes in almost immediately, which serves a dual purpose; a) to ward off irritating strangers and b) to prevent me from puking all over the trolley. I get really motion sick, really easily. While I'm listening to what could most accurately be described as death metal, I run through the same quandary in my head as I do every time I get on the trolley: get off and get the four? Or, get off at the end and get the one? The latter takes less time, the former is lazier. I always pick the former. These thoughts entertain me for another twenty-five minutes or thereabouts. I always do my best thinking on the trolley, but I never remember what exactly it is I was thinking about by the time I'm in a position to write it down.

So, this is where it finally brightens up. I'm alone, for the rest of the afternoon and evening. At home, this would be a rare luxury. I therefore, take quick advantage of the opportunity. Sometimes I stop for ice cream, sometimes I take my camera and explore secret places, sometimes I lay on park benches and read or people watch, and sometimes on rare occasions, I'll have remembered my sketch pencils and I try to capture what's in front of me. In these moments, I'm filled with the rush of the possible. I am an artist, a dreamer, a ghost or a wonder. If I could capture such romantic notions and save them for later I would, but such frivolous thinking is fleeting.

On my walk home, I remark at the abandoned buildings at the top of my street, the beautiful park I walk through which rain or shine always has an old lady feeding the ducks, on the castle I have the privilege of looking at every day, and at the fragility of freedom. Because, if there's anything that living here has taught me, it's certainly that.

The sun is usually starting its journey toward the earth at this point, and the sky has that certain light that either inspires a song, or inspires your body to remember its dinner time. I don't sing, so to me it means dinner. Curry anyone? And maybe a little wine….