It's not that I don't think this is right. I still think it will be a marvelous experience (or marvellous, if I'm writing in my British alter ego voice). I am thrilled that for two years, my job will just be to make things up and write them down, fun things, creative things, non-dishwasher-tablet-related things, with occasional teaching and madcap adventures in summer waitressing thrown in.
But jesus, it is hard to leave Munich. I timed this badly. Graduate school should not start in the summer. It should start in January, when the outdoors is cold and hopeless and you have no choice but to crowd into a coffee shop and write; not right now, when the English gardens is fecund and moist right outside my back door. It's 11:40 on a Thursday and the courtyard of our building is still buzzing, awash in excited football fans. It is a delicious city in which to be young, and a city which it's hard to leave, especially in summer.
My parents, aunt and uncle visited two weeks ago and it was a thrilling whirlwind of tourism and restaurant activities. They buzzed around Germany and Austria (Vienna, Lackendorf, Melk, Salzburg), but they seemed to like Munich the best. Sitting at my favorite coffee shop, my parents stared out at the cobblestoned streets and murmured, "I can see why you like this place." Of course, they then added, "Iowa's going to be great too!" but you could sort of see it in their eyes - the realization that Munich really is a nearly-perfect city. You can swim in its rivers and drink in its parks; there is no crime, and everything is delicious pastel colors. What more could you want?
And of course: when I talk about Munich I am not just talking about Munich. There is something else that is perfect here too, something beautiful and irreplaceable, and although he has promised to come with me to that unknown commodity that is America, we have no idea how long it will take. Last time I left him I knew I would be coming back, that we'd be together in five months, and it was still nearly impossible to walk through those security gates and see him standing there behind me, stuck in Europe and terribly sad. I know I will do it again this time, but I'm not sure how.
It's raining now, and the football fans have screamed and run indoors. Everything changes. The rain sounds violent, the way it comes in Munich, smacking itself against the concrete and being all Sturm und Drang about itself - but from indoors, typing on my laptop, it is quite pleasant. I think I have to take solace in that, because there is a lot more of this being indoors and listening to rain business to come. It's just going to be different, and that's all there is to it.
My parents, aunt and uncle visited two weeks ago and it was a thrilling whirlwind of tourism and restaurant activities. They buzzed around Germany and Austria (Vienna, Lackendorf, Melk, Salzburg), but they seemed to like Munich the best. Sitting at my favorite coffee shop, my parents stared out at the cobblestoned streets and murmured, "I can see why you like this place." Of course, they then added, "Iowa's going to be great too!" but you could sort of see it in their eyes - the realization that Munich really is a nearly-perfect city. You can swim in its rivers and drink in its parks; there is no crime, and everything is delicious pastel colors. What more could you want?
And of course: when I talk about Munich I am not just talking about Munich. There is something else that is perfect here too, something beautiful and irreplaceable, and although he has promised to come with me to that unknown commodity that is America, we have no idea how long it will take. Last time I left him I knew I would be coming back, that we'd be together in five months, and it was still nearly impossible to walk through those security gates and see him standing there behind me, stuck in Europe and terribly sad. I know I will do it again this time, but I'm not sure how.
It's raining now, and the football fans have screamed and run indoors. Everything changes. The rain sounds violent, the way it comes in Munich, smacking itself against the concrete and being all Sturm und Drang about itself - but from indoors, typing on my laptop, it is quite pleasant. I think I have to take solace in that, because there is a lot more of this being indoors and listening to rain business to come. It's just going to be different, and that's all there is to it.
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