Went out last night to meet with Natalia. I was really looking forward to it, but there was some outside turbulence which tinted the overall feel a different shade. Natalia texted me that she was going to be quite a bit late, and I was already on my way, so I decided to make a pit stop at Filip's. I was clear from the start that I was only popping in for half an hour or so, and tried to be vague about my plans for the evening, but when asked point-blank, I told him who I was meeting. As soon as I did, I knew it wasn't a good idea. The room soured, though Szymon did his best to diffuse the situation. Either way, I bolted.
And then once I got to the club, I bumped into a guy who had been hitting on her and whom I thought she was avoiding. I decided I should probably let her know before ordering any drinks, in case we needed to relocate, but she said it wasn't an issue anymore. And after I got back to the bar, I found out that my reflexes were as sharp as ever in that I had actually already ordered a drink, and then promptly skipped out on the bewildered bartender to make clandestine phone calls, because I am smoothness incarnate.
The guy was amusing, but completely hammered, and kept popping by to share stories about his CRAFT (he's an actor), And then about an hour into our meeting, Filip called Natalia asking if they could come by. She replied in the diplomatic (and stilted) negative, and thus the whole thing became "an issue". All in all, too much drama for a late night catching up. And none of it mine.
And today - an hour-long breakfast at my local cafe, with Harold Nicolson's diaries.
August 13, 1941
[Dorothy Thompson, the American journalist] says that we must always remember that America is composed of many millions of people who left Europe because they hated it, and that there are many millions of Italians and Germans whose hearts go out to their mother countries. Although these emotions pull America apart, they feel at the same time a strong longing to remain together. What we don't filly understand in this country is the actual dread of the American soul at being split. There is always the fear that they will cease to be a nation.
I teared up a bunch of times. I still find it hilarious that nothing makes me bawl harder than grand geopolitical narratives.
And once again, I regret I've stopped writing things down. Maybe the solution is a private diary?
