The Old Buff is Back (I Hope)

It seems I've made a dramatic recovery -- a complete 180, one might say -- from yesterday's throes of despair (knock on wood). I am quite amazed at the spectrum of emotions I have experienced over the past 24 hours. I am going to savor this high point for as long as I possibly can. The reason behind it is my Russian friend Nastya, who lives in Moscow and who I met during my quarter abroad through Stanford. She invited me over today (well, technically yesterday, since she allegedly had a dinner and party planned for me, to which I did not show up because I was traumatized and knocked out on sleeping pills), and we spent the entire day talking and drinking coffee at her kitchen table. Lesson learned: never underestimate the healing power of friendship.

When I saw Nastya for the first time today, a wave of relief swept over me and I hugged her like she was my own sister. I know that's hella lame, but I was so incredibly happy to see a familiar face. She took me to the grocery store to buy jelly, bread, and grapefruit juice, then we came back to her apartment and spent the day catching up, talking mostly (of course) about boys and relationships. At the moment I am in her apartment staying the night, while she is spending the night at her boyfriend's flat. It's nice having a little place to myself for the night, and it's even nicer having a little place with Internet. One thing about Russia: it's so damn hard to find Internet around here. It's not all that common to have your own personal WiFi connection, and you often have to go searching around for Internet cafes and the like (which I did this morning, to no avail. And let me tell you, I walked several miles looking for that shit. I even listened to a Russian security guard give me a long, drawn-out explanation as to where I could find Internet, and I swear I didn't understand a single word of it). Good thing I wore my chucks and not high heels, which every female in Russia seems to be able to do without a second thought.

Nastya fed me a great bounty today, so I "breakfasted" after approximately 40 hours of self-imposed fasting. Don't blame me; I had no appetite or desire to trouble myself with such petty matters as food. When you're emotional nothing else matters but your tears. Wow, those could be lyrics to an emo song. I know how to overcome emo writer's block: just send the emo songwriter to Russia.

I am very, very tired right now, even though I slept 20 hours last night (with the help of Ambien so as to avoid waking reality as long as possible). Living in another culture is exhausting. I am definitely not jet lagged, though, as Moscow is a perfect nine hours ahead of Kansas so that the nights I spent awake over the summer at home seamlessly transitioned into the days I spend awake here. Thank God for the small things. (Isn't it funny how in times of trouble I pretend to have religion?)

More to come later. So much to tell, yet so few people interested in hearing my bullshit, and so little energy to produce grade-A literature.