danke für den schönen Schal. Ich habe ihn stolz durch ganz New York getragen. Leider hat er meiner Freundin Rochelle so gut gefallen, dass sie furchtbar neidisch auf mich war (wie alle), und wir haben die ganze Woche nur über den Schal gestritten. Diesen Streit habe ich zwar gewonnen, aber wie du siehst hat es mir unsere Freundschaft gekostet. Also danke nochmal. Wirklich.
Saw some friends for the last time yesterday and today.
My heart is double-broken now and Sunday isn't even here yet.
Bought some new books to fill the ever-widening void in my (espresso-black) soul.
I know I wasn't s'posed to do that but they are really mini, and I think I might take Coopak Shakur's advice (see comments) and send them by boat.
I bought the pocket-sized Alles ist erleuchtet and Der Junge in gestrieften Pajama. True, I could read these books at home in my native tongue, but I would rather read them in German. I could stuff them in my pockets and they won't make my suitcase any heavier. Yeah.
(Built-in bonus: if someone spanks me I won't feel it!)
Said goodbye to Martin today and he gave me a cute scarf with the colors of the German flag. He is such a model person. I like him.
It gave me a sick feeling to see him go.
Will be gone from Erfurt indefinitely in 24 hours. I still haven't realized it.
Not close to done packing, oops.
The weather couldn't be any geiler, but my head is a gathering stormcloud and I am raining on the inside.
The Erfurter Sprachschule owes me 710 Euro. Should I be worried? Maybe I will call and nerve them.
Last night Germany got creamed by the Spanish. Erfurt took it personally. Tears were shed. Looks like they won't be Weltmeister this year.
I am spending my evening in Erfurt with Mirjam and friends in the Dubliner, the same little pub where I spent my first evening in Erfurt. I will be an emotional wreck and I really hope Micha still likes me after witnessing my emotional wreckage.
I am seriously a little worried about that. Okay, more like a lottle.
On Saturday evening, I went with Martin to a festival at Domplatz where there was, aside from music and beer, bungee jumping. I watched the people springing from sixty meters, my emotions running a weird loop between envy and cowardice. (The envy of that experience led to a desire to do it myself. Then upon noticing that I sort of wanted to do that too, the cowardly side drowned out all desire to do it, leaving me in envious awe of the people who were brave enough to jump. The envy made me want to do it myself.)
I watched the people getting sort of saddled in, climbing into a metal box, waving to their friends on the ground, and then being hoisted up into the sky with a crane. There were different jumping styles. Some of them stood in the box for several minutes before they sprung. Some of them took off right away. Some of them stretched out their arms and lifted their heels off the ground several times before the actual spring.
One of them stood in the box a particularly long time. He prepared to spring several times, but his feet never left the platform. I craned my neck to see. Five minutes passed. People began to gather below and murmur to each other. Five more minutes passed. My neck hurt from craning. People began to chant, "Springe, springe, springe!" The crowd wasn't going to let him back down easily. But he didn't spring.
I tried to remember the German expression for "between a rock and a hard place" so that I could describe the situation so to Martin, but I seemed to have forgotten it.
Martin said, "Spanne uns nicht auf die Folter! (By the way Anna, do you know this expression?)"
And I said, "My neck is getting a cramp (yes, I do know that one, thanks)."
The guy kept standing there, while the crowd below got more and more impatient with him. He had several false starts. Every time he got close to the edge and stretched his arms out, the crowd began to cheer. I still couldn't remember how to say "between a rock and a hard place," even though it had been in my online German flashcards loop that afternoon.
Sixty meters above, the man raised his arms like a bird, unsure before a first flight. I wondered why the attendant didn't just push him out of the nest. But if he jumped, my chance would be gone. It would be all over between me and this expression. I needed to know what it was.
His arms went back down. By now the crowd had doubled in size. "He must have terrible Höhenangst," I commented. Höhenangst is the same as acrophobia but sounds far more intense. But if he was so afraid, why did he pay 50 euros for the torture? The crowd began to chant again. Jump, jump, jump. 15 minutes had passed.What pressure. What beads of sweat must be forming on his brow. What was that freaking expression already?
Suddenly the big metal box began its descent back to Earth. A general boo of disappointment emanated from the groundlings. He returned to Earth as He Who Didn't Jump.
"He must feel pretty dumb," said Martin. He Who Didn't Jump set his feet on solid ground once again. Some people clapped. "However," conceded Martin, "you have to agree, not jumping is also brave in a way. He had the courage to say, 'hey, I'm not going to jump,' in front of that huge crowd."
I guess.
The jump went unjumped. The expression I'd been seeking after (zwischen Baum und Borke stecken) surfaced superfluously two days later. Some things can't be forced.
A writer living in San Luis Obispo, Calif., Anna likes cuddly animals, electronica, human absurdity, espresso, infobabble, sweet dreams, bicycles, German, good stories and traveling around.
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