3 a.m. (like the matchbox 20 song)

As a consequence of sleeping pretty much all day to get my fever down and keep my head from exploding, I am wide awake now. I am headacheless through seventeen-hour-sleepy-spontaneous-remission-therapy. Monica and me spent time drinking tea and nibbling biscuits until well after midnight. We talked research, writing, people. I am actually so highly awake that my thoughts are racing. Everything is potentiality. I think in the dark and I imagine the entire neighbourhood population of socialist blocks around me fast asleep. I like the calm of the dead of the night. It is the time for second chances, a time with so much space it makes you feel little. I feel my stomach tingling. I turn on the light. I write, again.
I really feel fieldwork ending. Lots to do before the end of the year. I will cross the gates to the Orient, as they say here, then return home. Life takes me back to Scotland, and I will start writing the actual thesis. I may have reconciled myself with that thought. I have lots of material, I have lots of ideas, it is ‘merely’ a matter of putting them into a coherent, rigorous, beautiful fashion. Sayeth she, but little did she know.
And then, maybe, hopefully, slowly, I will get, like Aino said, to the more important things in life. I am not sure how it will work out, leaving here is the first step. I will get there in the end. Sayeth she, and tried to look at the stars, failing, for being in the city, in a flat, surrounded by concrete. Can we wish upon the stars if we do not see them? Course we can. Sayeth Paul Eluard:

‘La nuit n’est jamais complète.
Il y a toujours, puisque je le dis,
Puisque je l’affirme,
Au bout du chagrin
Une fenêtre ouverte,
Une fenêtre éclairée,
Il y a toujours un rêve qui veille,
Désir à combler, faim à satisfaire,
Un coeur généreux,
Une main tendue, une main ouverte,
Des yeux attentifs,
Une vie, la vie à se partager.’

Sayeth she: here’s another reason to start a new day in a few hours. Bonsoir. Bonne nuit.