back home

after another night on that coach, this time with a class of dilly-dally teenagers (whose benevolent, yet blissfully ignorant teacher asked them by the minute if they needed to pee), I am back home. back to small streets and coffee I can spell, back to business and day to day routine, but with all new ambition and élan. still tired, I went to the gym and fought the innumerable tartes and quiches. I know I keep raving about the food, but it was just so good.

and at tonight's show, much to my discontent, I screwed up the intro to my last number. and then I couldn't stop thinking how stupid it is to still worry about that during the number, as that tends to draw your attention off the attempt to get at least the rest of the number right. and then I started worrying about that. during the number. and then- you get the picture. but what the hell, it's live theatre, and most of the audience didn't even notice. I just wish I could some day learn to let it go. see, I am really back home.

but with my belly full of new impressions, and my really cool paris jumper, and the realization that you can never tell how happy even a very broke ride on a polish coach can actually make you.