Writing the scales... because I don't feel particularly drawn to writing, but I should make this a daily discipline. I guess the same goes for running, but this is the second day my morning run window of time is closing because I either wake up too late (6:20am instead of 6am or 5:30am as planned) or squander the first 20 minutes or so cruising FB. Priorities, priorities.
Yesterday was rather un-momentous. I seemed to have caught a stomach bug of some sort and had, shall we say, extreme gastric distress the whole day. Missed a going-away party in Isifiya and spent most of the day lying in bed, alternating between curled up in pain at the twisting of my stomach and reading Candace Bushnell novels on digital loan from the Vancouver Public Library. This little fact is about as embarrassing/odd as my fascination with Britney Spears music videos: I find Bushnell to be a really enthralling writer. Sure, her characters tend to be on the side of insipid, but their relationship dynamics is so cuttingly realistic. I've read comparisons between Bushnell's writings and that of Jane Austen. In terms of social satire, I can see the parallel. Now anybody with a sharp or literary mind reading this have just lost all respect for me, I presume.
Because one of the mothers I hang out with in Haifa is heading to Germany on Tuesday for a vacation (and I'll be gone by the time she returns), I chose not to beg off a dinner gathering at a local Asian fusion restaurant. Four of us showed up: Two Germans, one Israeli, and one Taiwanese/American (moi). We chatted over our food for about two and half hours. I'm really going to miss this small mothering community that I finally have and which I will be leaving behind in three weeks. I really have no idea or expectation on the people I might befriend back "home".
Taiwan no longer feels like home. Israel does. Oh well. Such is life that whenever I start to feel remotely comfortable, then it's time to move on. Again.
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