It's 3am and I can't sleep. Faced with the option of watching a dvd or writing a blog post, the dvd seemed the more appealing of the two, however it then occurred to me that each of the almost daily migraines I've had in the last week have started during badly dubbed Russian films, so here I am being minutely more productive.
Clearly, I beat the odds and did not pop my clogs after swallowing my suspicious looking Russian chewing gum, so I suppose I am doing quite well, all things considered. Still getting bizarre visual migraines every time I lie on my front, giving me a 20 minute kaleidoscopic beauty of a show in my left eye before many hours of excruciating pain on the opposite side of my head. My neurologist at home, when first questioned about this, responded with the sage advice of 'well don't do it then' but I feel it's probably time to hassle him about it. Is my brain supposed to throw a tantrum every time I lie down and put my head up? Am I meant to almost black out when I get up from lying down? I'm going take a stab in the dark and say no. So it's just as well that my flight is now changed for me to leave early and get it looked at.
After the desperate hiding behind an escalator by the BMI office and the frantic attempts to figure out what we needed to say in Russian to get our flights changed in Moscow last year, I was a little more prepared this time round. I had a pre-prepared script to get me a pass for the security turnstiles and find the BA office, because my brain has a tendency to enter a rapid onset coma when it comes to recalling anything useful at the appropriate time. It being British Airways I wasn't overly worried about a language barrier but would have been able to cope, just about if there was. What I hadn't really anticipated was the 3 hour trek to find the place. Especially when the office was, in fact, only 20minutes walk away from my flat. I had looked it up on google maps and I'd written down detailed directions, but I clearly lack an internal compass, and got hopelessly lost. Story of my life. Someone needs to invent some kind of human gps gadget.
Fortunately for me, I did eventually find the BA office and in the space of 15 minutes I was on the flight leaving St Petersburg LED (the airport is still called Leningrad, strangely) on the 16th May. It's still a shame to leave early, but I am pretty eager to get back to somewhere I can communicate easily. I'm back to the stage where I'm seriously looking forward to wandering around decent sized supermarkets, picking up anything I want and knowing I'm not in for any nasty surprises. Cashiers won't bitch at me for not handing over the correct change, although I am infinitely better with numbers now (surprising difficult in Russian) and there are far fewer awkward silences at the tills these days.
It will also be quite nice to know that I won't be wandering down the hallway in the middle of the night for water to be greeted by the sight of a very drunk and very naked Aleksey, Viktor's youngest son who, on occasion, comes in a little the worse for wear after an evening of drinking and seems to lose his clothes and direction on the way to sitting in the bath under a cold shower for several hours to recover. There is always an awkward few seconds of averting eyes as we attempt to get past eachother but he doesn't seem to remember by the next day, which is just as well. It's funny but I've kind of had enough of living in someone else's flat now. Just what happens in homestays.
Lastly it will be great not to come or go from where I live in fear of what the cats are plotting. They silently sneak out on you from across the courtyard and jump down from windows into your path and just stare at you. There has to be at least 50 of them. It's creepy.
Clearly, I beat the odds and did not pop my clogs after swallowing my suspicious looking Russian chewing gum, so I suppose I am doing quite well, all things considered. Still getting bizarre visual migraines every time I lie on my front, giving me a 20 minute kaleidoscopic beauty of a show in my left eye before many hours of excruciating pain on the opposite side of my head. My neurologist at home, when first questioned about this, responded with the sage advice of 'well don't do it then' but I feel it's probably time to hassle him about it. Is my brain supposed to throw a tantrum every time I lie down and put my head up? Am I meant to almost black out when I get up from lying down? I'm going take a stab in the dark and say no. So it's just as well that my flight is now changed for me to leave early and get it looked at.
After the desperate hiding behind an escalator by the BMI office and the frantic attempts to figure out what we needed to say in Russian to get our flights changed in Moscow last year, I was a little more prepared this time round. I had a pre-prepared script to get me a pass for the security turnstiles and find the BA office, because my brain has a tendency to enter a rapid onset coma when it comes to recalling anything useful at the appropriate time. It being British Airways I wasn't overly worried about a language barrier but would have been able to cope, just about if there was. What I hadn't really anticipated was the 3 hour trek to find the place. Especially when the office was, in fact, only 20minutes walk away from my flat. I had looked it up on google maps and I'd written down detailed directions, but I clearly lack an internal compass, and got hopelessly lost. Story of my life. Someone needs to invent some kind of human gps gadget.
Fortunately for me, I did eventually find the BA office and in the space of 15 minutes I was on the flight leaving St Petersburg LED (the airport is still called Leningrad, strangely) on the 16th May. It's still a shame to leave early, but I am pretty eager to get back to somewhere I can communicate easily. I'm back to the stage where I'm seriously looking forward to wandering around decent sized supermarkets, picking up anything I want and knowing I'm not in for any nasty surprises. Cashiers won't bitch at me for not handing over the correct change, although I am infinitely better with numbers now (surprising difficult in Russian) and there are far fewer awkward silences at the tills these days.
It will also be quite nice to know that I won't be wandering down the hallway in the middle of the night for water to be greeted by the sight of a very drunk and very naked Aleksey, Viktor's youngest son who, on occasion, comes in a little the worse for wear after an evening of drinking and seems to lose his clothes and direction on the way to sitting in the bath under a cold shower for several hours to recover. There is always an awkward few seconds of averting eyes as we attempt to get past eachother but he doesn't seem to remember by the next day, which is just as well. It's funny but I've kind of had enough of living in someone else's flat now. Just what happens in homestays.
Lastly it will be great not to come or go from where I live in fear of what the cats are plotting. They silently sneak out on you from across the courtyard and jump down from windows into your path and just stare at you. There has to be at least 50 of them. It's creepy.
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| They dart out of holes in the wall and just hang around staring at you. It's unnatural. |
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