Bellybutton Gazing

Here's the part where I am supposed to apologize for not blogging for a few days. But, as noone reads my blog, I can write whenever the hell I feel like it. Having no obligations is really great for creativity.

This week has been successful - I finally finished my excruciating business plan. For me, writing in German is equally as painful as having teeth pulled. It reminds me that although I muddle through, I am certainly no linguistics scholar. Most of my German I learned from Pawel, my flaming queen roommate back in the 90s. He is Polish, so our only common language was German. He taught me a lot, not just how to be dramatic auf Deutsch. We shared a 2-room flat in Prenzlauer Berg. It was "old style" - that is, heated by a coal oven in each room and no bathroom. We showered in the kitchen. He had rigged up a shower stall there. The other bathroom business was conducted in a tiny WC half a floor down. We shared it with the neighbor across the hall, a woman addicted to plush. It seemed a bit odd that the grotty old East German shared bathroom was fitted up in furry glory - a pink fuzzy toilet cover, knee-deep shag carpet, and fluffy flowers attached to the walls.

I never did meet that woman - we parked our butts on the same toilet for over a year, but never met face to face.