TRAVEL DIARY

A weblog regularly updated by Jodi Rose.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

7:55 PM
Posted by jodi rose

I'm tired. physically, emotionally, existentially. gathering strength for one last burst of energy and activity before taking flight.
trying to do things here is - let's just say particularly frustrating.
seem to expend a lot of energy, for not much return.
tried again to make the sonic intervention on the streets but with added support finally managed to work out that the speakers in the centre of town don't work since they were updated, and the replacement cable for some reason doesn't fit. Ah the joy. I've canned it, too frustrating and besides only 3 of the thirty or so people I asked for music have given me any, so guess it's best left to the imagination.

Strange, how even creative friends sometimes make comments that imply they think I don't really ever work - which irks me a little, but guess I bring it on by feeding this myth of constant ambient decadence. When I do work, sometimes. The productivity outcomes of the last two years testify to that - but think it's an issue of perception, that if you're in an office doing things you don't really want to, then you're really working. Whereas if you're out in the world doing things that challenge and engage you, then it's not work. And true, it often doesn't feel like 'work' - but the energy and intention required to stay alert and engaged (but not alarmed!) to keep filtering and processing experiences, and be always 'ON' is quite extreme. I work like a duck.

Walking along the river today I realised the ducks have gone. I love watching them, floating serenely on the surface, nibbling on a weed here and a blue-green algae cocktail there - but under the water, paddling furiously. And furious is the term this week - another attack of non-specific crankiness. No, it's not hormonal, thought it was getting sick that did it last week, but maybe now is displaced anxiety about leaving and packing. It gets harder every time, leaving people behind. Although I'm not feeling so glossy towards this place right now, and can't wait to shake the dust from my feet. Valley of Tears, (or mourning) they called it after some 1685 Turkish battle.

Indeed today is tinged with mourning, after a 17 year old girl died in a car crash last week. In the taxi company I use, with one of the drivers who is an ex-cop, and drives like a maniac - I had to keep telling him to slow down when he took me to esztergom station to pick up sophea. Going 100km in the centre of town, he drove into a lorry - survived and is in hospital, but the passenger died. Her name was Yvette, she studied accordion with Andrea until last year, turned up at the Argos pub sometimes, used to go out with danny (the younger taxi driver), and was by all accounts very sweet. The funeral is on Thursday.
Sudden death usually helps put things in perspective, but in this case the kaleidoscope remains skewed into weird patterns.

Oh well, time for a last bonding session with the people of Sturovo, watching the ice hockey match against Sweden (I think) after Slovakia beat the US and trounced khazahkstan. Need some mindless thrills.