A Bad Day Gets Better

I know my last post was less than cheerful, but Kiev fully redeemed itself by the time I crawled into bed.  I decided that the only thing that would improve my mood, and justify a second shower, was to say nuts to my fear and go for a run.  Still, I was cautious.  I went without my iPod and simply did a couple laps around the block of our hotel.  I got some puzzled looks, some dirty looks, and a bunch of laughs.  Worse, people, both in cars and on foot, not only don’t get out of your way, some actually move to get in your way.  I took a surprisingly good attitude and let these moving obstacles add to my workout, for example by speeding up to pass and running in place when I was blocked.  There was one doorman outside a hotel who smiled and waved to me on my first lap, and cracked up when I saluted him on my second.  As for not having my iPod, I endeavored to play the Clash’s entire “London Calling” album in my head.  That was a whole other kind of exercise.  Maybe next time I’ll try “Thriller.”  When I got back, I took that second shower, this time to wash off real sweat, not imaginary bugs.

Fresh and clean-clean, I joined some girls for a screening of an shockingly engrossing educational series called “Connect with English.”  It’s like “Live from Moscow,” only with an enormous cast.  Somewhere between my sarcastic Mystery Science Theater comments, I actually got really into it.  And I came in in the middle; the other girls have already watched dozens of these 15-minute episodes.

I was pretty much ready to call it a night, but I got intercepted on my way to bed.  I was already in my pajamas when I was invited to go to the park and listen to Oklahoma Matt play his banjo.  Not being the type to turn down a free banjo recital, I changed back into my clothes and headed out.  To make a long story short, we all got waste-faced in the park until...what time?  I don’t know, I was too blind to read my watch.  I do remember talking to some security guards at the end of our adventure, one of whom I tried to tackle when he called my mom a prostitutka.  Of course I couldn’t have hurt him, but my friends, though in hysterics, were lucid enough to pull me away from that situation and back to the hotel.  So this morning I feel a little wobbly from all that woobly juice, but it’s better than being resenting Kiev.  Today, the only thing I’ll drink is delicious European orange Fanta.