Friday, September 14.

It’s cold. The sun lowers behind the trees right after I have brought a plate of appetizers and a glass of wine to my glass-protected balcony - and it’s too cold to sit there. I return to the kitchen, light a candle, and turn the radio on. With no digi-box in sight and the broadband refusing to work, radio has become my entertainment. There are interesting programs. I have learned about the budget negotiations in the cabinet, about green chemistry, famous Finnish athlete and musician, both recovering alcoholics turning into caretakers of the elderly, and even tried to figure out the daily news in Latin. I did take three years of Latin in high school. Around 10 PM I feel exhausted and go to bed – and start crying. What’s wrong with me - I can’t possibly survive alone. I have never lived alone for more than three weeks in a community language teaching setting. Why did I think I could really do it? I miss my family desperately. My big, messy family and my old, messy, run-down house - so opposite of the immaculate apartment I now reside in. As an intercultural expert, I know the stages of culture shock and realize that I have typically to me dived into the second stage when everything seems just very bleak. The honeymoon stage lasted exactly three days. I start counting days until I go home to visit, 49 exactly. Mercifully, an interesting radio interview perks me up until it’s a respectful time to go sleep. I sleep without nightmares until 7:30 – without melatonin, and wake up into a rainy, gray Saturday morning.