Did you miss me?
I know that I haven't been checking in, and I have a really bad excuse. I didn't want to talk about this, but, hey, if you can't tell your own blog (and the multitudes of faithful readers and random strangers that might stumble across it) your deepest darkest secrets, who can you tell? Here goes: I'm really miserable here. I want to go home so badly, I can feel it with every fiber of my being.
I've spoken to people who have seen the world, and they always talk with such wonder about the places they have been and the people they have met. I've always admired and envied those people, but now I'm beginning to think that you just have to be a certain kind of person to do well living that life. I like routine and comforts (such as a big soft mattress in a heated room). I like being able to talk to people and ask for things that I need (like directions, how to mail a letter, how much a certain item is when shopping), and I can't have or do any of those things here.
We've been sleeping on a fold out couch for the last month and every night I wake up at least 10 times trying to get comfortable without pushing poor Adam off the bed. My back hurts all the time. After last nights winter storm, I'm beginning to think that the weather is never going to warm up. What I really miss, though, is being able to do things for myself. I can't order food, read a map, read anything without someone helping me. I feel like a bad mom because there is nothing free that I can take Ilya to do other than explore a frozen city (which we've done...lots...despite the snow and ice). The language isn't so much a barrier as it is a enormous, solid, impenetrable, concrete wall. Never again will I take for granted all those little conversations I have in a day. A man walking past me bumps my shoulder and says something (probably an apology, but he could have just challenged me to a death match for all I know). Once I finish buying food, the cashier says something ("have a nice day" or "wait, you forgot to pay for that"). I startle an old woman while calling after Ilya who says something - a man sits across from us on the tram and tries the entire trip to get me to understand what he is saying by repeatedly pointing at his mouth - If I don't understand it the first hundred times you say it, I'm not going to understand it now!
I feel stupid all the time.
I feel isolated.
I feel helpless.
I really don't want pity or tearful pleas begging me to come home (thanks mom). I just want you to know. And maybe a queen sized mattress.