Carpe Diem: Seize the Carp

January 17, 2010: I am writing this from self-imposed quarantine. Three of the people in our group have contracted some sort of illness, leaving me to lock myself in the window box area with the curtains drawn. I only venture out to eat and do laundry.  Outside, one of the skyscrapers is currently having a seizure. Its lights are fading off and on in an unpredictable pattern, similar to an octopus’s camouflage. The blinking reminds me of the futility of survival. The infected sit just beyond my curtain, watching Dexter on my bed. I plan to sterilize it later. I’m terrified and I think they can smell fear. My only chance at dodging this illness is to pickle the virus before it takes hold in my body.

            **We now have a confirmed case of strep throat in the apartment, and two more cold-like illnesses with people downstairs. My goal of staying healthy is being severely threatened. **

            Anyway, in attempt to get really in touch with my domestic side, I have branched from cooking into laundry. Worrisome, I know, but it’s ok, I had a genius solution. Instead of dropping 4 Euros on the laundromat, I decided to tub wash my clothes myself. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “But Tyler, won’t clothes take forever to dry, even indoors, in that damp climate?” And that’s why you’re all smarter than me and should warn me before I do anything more difficult than use an ATM (it’s OK to leave my card in the machine for next time, right?). Most of the stuff dried within 5 hours. And by “most” I of course mean “none.” I finally resorted to blow-drying some of it, and fortunately, the rest was dry by morning. Except for my jacket. I swear that thing absorbed about 10 pounds of water, expelling about 8 pounds of what appeared to be raw sewage when I squeezed the water out. It’s still damp right now, and I fully expect it to grow an hyper-resistant mold colony that feeds on cigarette smoke and American stupidity, both of which are abundant in and around our hotel.

            In other exciting news, I had my first Post Office experience here. Apparently customs decided the package containing one of my textbooks looked enough like a bomb to warrant searching and a 10 Euro fee. But I dutifully paid the dues, doing so during a damp downpour I give up on this alliteration. Basically, I got the one lady who didn’t speak much English, but at least she was friendly. I need to know more French. Like “I’m retarded” or “I’m so sorry for myself and my friends for stepping on your dog, no one taught us how to open the doors on your public transportation.” You know, the useful phrases.

            Anyway, it’s Paris this weekend, which should be exciting, then Rome after that. We may die in Rome. I say that so you have advance warning to get your “goodbyes” out.

Notes:

1.     I don’t think I’ve ever tried so hard not to get sick. Which means I’ll get sick.

2.     Does anyone else think that the day after the Super Bowl should be an international holiday?

3.     I’ve decided I’m collecting flags from every country I’ve been to. I’ll decide where to hang them later.

4.     New linens are the best things ever behind a fresh waffle.

5.     Seriously though, cigarette smoke is nasty and gets in everything.