All in all I am relatively placid living here, I am in love with all things and all people, even though the darkness, rain and amount of schoolwork makes me wish for those unbearably comforting holes to open up beneath my feet; I want to sleep like a Tchaikovskian sleeping beauty, from one afternoon to the next morning, but this is the run of the mill, etc. I dutifully swallow mineral tablets and try to eat a lot of broccoli, string beans and soy products.
Having lived on my own/with friends for more than a year, my current living with strangers reverberates oddly discordant in my chest. I am not so good at this people-thing, and constantly having to relate to others makes me shy and awkward like a hare. Oh I've learnt my lesson in not discussing
a) other people
b) personal problems
in public blogs, and with that said, the family I live with are lovely people (the gratitude I feel for these utter strangers having opened their house, disposing on my behalf their personal space and belongings, and their everlasting patience for my broken Russian, is immense), but it makes me sad to not be my own person to such an extent anymore. And summa summarum I don't eat or drink enough and I get told off for not coming home early enough, I'm stuck with explaining the inexplicable, and moreover I have a terrible habit of breaking other people's things. It would afterall be better if I could just sit at home, chipping my own teacups.
Last night I changed my bedding and took a long shower, I have soap that smells like almonds and cherry flowers and rub honey in my hair, and I've grown accustomed to the slightly fungal smell of Petersburg waters; I love cleanliness, it's a pure and good kind of love.