Monday, August 01, 2016

The dog days in Moscow

Russians don’t have the expression, but here they are in Moscow, most definitely. It is not just heat, which could be fought off with air conditioning, but also a particular slow species of summer light, the liquid quality of air that your lungs drink more than breath. I sense the unmistakable slow churn of little wheels in the brain, failing to get traction over the simplest of thoughts. My aspirations shrink to cold beer, or ice cream, or a lake somewhere nonexistent but still very far.

In the dog days, Wikipedia is the best read, just random articles about Jesuits, Finnish languages, microeconomics, Adderall, and the Hawthorne effect. Yes, where were we? - Aha, the dog days is apparently an astronomical expression, when the Big Dog constellation comes up. And yet I see a big dog panting, its tongue is the only cooling device. I can smell its wet fur. These are the dog days of summer.

The office folk are trying to work as honestly as they can. As so am I, so am I. The chapter for the book has increased 900 words today. How many of them will stay? – hard to tell. Maybe all of them will, maybe none. One thing is certain – there is no way to write all of those things planned for this summers. No, not a chance; mathematically impossible it is. Damned Russian government – why do you ban Adderall? That’s is the worst of your faults. I ain’t gonna vote for Vlad no more.

No comments:

Post a Comment