BobeBlog

I think I've been around the block way too many times. I should be safely locked away from this city surrounded by cutiepie kids and stellar husband. (ok, I am just saying this because it is one good extreme. You can also lock me away into a nunnery.) Budapest is so small that I keep running into men of my past, at a bar, on the subway, at the pharmacist, on the street, and so on. Now you think I've been really around the block, but I am just joking. All I mean is that this city is small and livable and human. But not always in the best way. Maybe all I am saying is that I am not 18 anymore and feel envious of girls in skirts as tiny as my palm. Or maybe all I mean is that I miss those times. This week I am filled with ambivalence and doubt. I suspect the reason. I've been reading Henry & June by Anaïs Nin. I am mesmerized and moved from toe to head, and my heart is turned upside down, inside out, duelling with my brain. I question every move I made in my emotional life. I discover bits of my self in the weirdest half sentences of Anaïs Nin. This is no media to explain it. But I never before felt like this while reading a book. Henry is hot.