Back to Dresden!

Since I will leave for Dresden tomorrow, I thought it'd be a good idea to give a short update today.

I've finally finished Rushdie's Midnight's Children, and was thoroughly impressed with its narrative structure. I found it hard to follow at times, due to my lack of knowledge of Indian history, so I guess I will brush up on that and then read it again in a year's time. Saleem, the narrator, also inspired to the title of this post. I just loved his cry "Back to Bom!", although Dresden doesn't sound half as good in this context.
Read the book if you haven't already. Now! You go to Amazon.co.uk and order. Go!

I've also run out of Murakamis. Sad but true. The only one that is still missing is Underground. I think one day I'll see whether I find some of his earlier stuff and read it all in chronological order. It seems worth it - although I will never be able to use it for my studies, much in contrast to Rushdie.

In fact, I've been questioning my studies, lately. Not that this was a new phenomenon, but before I've always tried to circumvent the hindrances that are inherent in our syllabus to do something that seems worthwhile. Somehow, I feel I'm running out of energy, and I cannot even bring myself to write an essay on a topic I used to be interested in. Right now, I hear from a friend in Dresden that they intend to cancel the focus 'Learning processes and teaching in languages for special purposes', and I'm starting to get really fed up with my university. These were not the conditions under which I began my studies, for feck's sake!

Tomorrow, as I already said, I will head off to Dresden for a few days. I have to sort things out in my life. I'm not sure that this is the life I want to lead, and whereas I will definitely finish my degree, I still have to keep my eyes and ears open, just in case an opportunity to get involved in a professional theatre should arise. While teaching at university is tempting, I have to consider that chances are low to ever get a job at a German university. Admittedly, chances are even lower to find a job in dramaturgy, but then again: Who knows? So far, there's always been a way to end up where I wanted to go, and I guess if I somehow get back my motivation, chances are that I actually might find myself in a job that doesn't bore the living shit out of me. If not, I can still work at KFC's. I wonder what a name-tag with Dr. Hannah would look like. Scary, pretty scary.

So, the plan for tomorrow is: bus, coach, plane, train, tram. Sounds good, eh? I love journeys. Not so much the arriving bit, but leaving and being on the road always feel good. I'm still a bit scared of flying, but it's going to be the sixth time since September now, so I guess I'll be alright. Anyway, coffee is the perfect cure: I've made it a rule to arrive early at the airport and drink vast amounts of the black stuff. Apart from the fact that I always used to be a coffee junkie, it has two side-effects: first, I can blame the nervousness on the intake of caffeine, and second the urge to run to the nearest toilet distracts me from the funny feeling in my belly. I've also made it a rule not to visit the porcelain god until having solid ground under my feet; it is easier to survive the landing and to have the motivation to get to the check-out before everyone else does when you really need a toilet. I am lucky; since I always travel with a large rucksack, it usually arrives before all the suitcases do. The bulky stuff always goes on last and is handed out first with easyjet.

Oh, how I look forward to seeing the station in Dresden again. How I long for the smell of the river Elbe. How I wish to see the weird skyline of baroque palaces and GDR-architecture. How excited I am to walk the streets of the Neustadt again. And how I anticipate the moment of seeing Jan at the station. True, he is only my ex-boyfriend (What a stupid twat I am!), but just talking to him in my mother tongue will take stones (or kilograms, just as you please) off my shoulders.

The plan for tomorrow is the following.
I'll get up around six, shower and brush my teeth (this time I won't forget that), dress and have a coffee. Then I'll pack the rest of the stuff which I still need tonight - the computer, for instance. Before I do that, I will shortly stick on Classical Gaz by William Mason, just to get me in the mood. Maybe I predict a riot by the Kaiser Chiefs, too. Then... hm. Then I'll check all the windows and doors, bring out the litter, and leave the house. Yep! Best part of a journey, always.
Take the bus to Poolmeadow Bus Station, get the National Express to Luton Airport, check in. Have loads of coffee and thrice as many cigarettes. Go for the ladies at least three times. Board. Wait. Wait more. Listen to the safety instructions for the n-th time. Wait more. Listen to the reason for the delay and then concentrate on not concentrating on the child behind me that keeps kicking me in the back. Get sick, blame it on the coffee. Hear the turbines start. Feel a rush of glee pulse through my body, feel the spirits heighten as we gain speed, wait impatiently for the take-off. Get sick again, ignore the pressure on my ears. Concentrate on not throwing up instead. Then wait for the moment to be trapped in the grey cotton wool, just to look forward to see the crystal clear, deep stainless blue sky again. The happiest sight I've ever seen, I just can't be sad when this blue surrounds me whole. Stare to the ground to try and figure out where we are. Enjoy the landing tremendously. Get sick all the same. Curse my body. Get off the plane, check out, show my passport thrice and argue that this is really me. Try to find the station, succeed in doing so after fifteen minutes. Try to purchase a ticket. Succeed in doing so after thirty minutes. Get myself a coffee and pass the rest of the forty-five minutes wait. Get on the train. Feel the paranoia welling up, check thrice whether a) no one looks at you, and b) whether this is really the right train. Ignore the fact it is the only train that stops there anyways. Enjoy the train journey. Get paranoid after half an hour I might have missed the stop, although the train will not arrive in another forty-five minutes. Listen to what is announced via the loudspeakers - decide that if it cannot be understood, it wasn't worth understanding. Then figure out that it was the announcement of Dresden Hauptbahnhof. Hastily grab my rucksack only to find myself standing on the aisle for another ten minutes. Get off the train. See Jan?

I bid thee farewell, dearest reader. If it was meant to be, we shall meet another time. I'll be gone.
Yes, I'll be gone. I'll be going home. Home is where the heart is, they say. I've lost mine to Dresden when I was thirteen. I shall never claim it back. The thought of this city puts me in high spirits for the first time in months. I am embarrassed to admit it, the thought of a good Saxonian pils brings tears to my eyes. There's the alcoholics for you.
So, good-bye for now. I'll get in touch as soon as I'm back.