On this nondescript & bitterly cold night I put pen to paper (aah, does anyone do that anymore?) to tell of my daily survival here in Eastern Europe. My empty days and endless nights. I'll put it all into my diary. Another one. But oh how different. My constant companion, my trusted tome of 2007 now sits on my top shelf gathering dust, a small biblical looking volume already forgotten and waiting to be discovered in 10 years and marvelled at. How my life was then! How amusing! How depressing! How dull! No comparison to the halcyon days of today.
Now I embark on a new venture. Not an illicit black book, secret, something that provoked curiosity and suspicion ("are you writing about me?"), but an altogether different proposition. A journal that could be read by thousands of people (I should be so lucky). My hopes, troubles and fears shared with countless strangers instantly. A daily account open to criticism. And to what end? A form of expression, a release, a therapeutic exercise to help keep me sane in this harsh environment. To assess my lot, to clarify what I have that is positive and worth something. To make contact with the world. Unlike my last year-long chronicle which was a lonely and solitary affair, my internet diary, my weblog, my blog, will be an outstretched hand. A blog that will recount my demented and often surreal life in this most peculiar of places. Why peculiar? Read on...
