Cooking zurek and listening to drunken abuse in the carpark out the back. It's something special. I can understand, fragments. Drunkeness renders everything simple. And kind of primative. I turned the light off, just in case "czy rozumiesz? kurwa" (do you understand? fuck!) was directed at me. We're on the second floor, and the kitchen must be lit up like day.
Life here is pottering along. It's going on 6 months now. Both of us are busy. Ewa gets up early every morning, and disappears someplace till 6 or 7 in the evening. In the last few weeks I've been busing around Wroclaw, between meticulously appointed Korean homes, tutoring Korean kids aged about 6 to 12. Plus my regular job at the school. Lessons there are dwindling. It's the middle of summer, and this is the time for holidays and for lots of languid idling, and not necessarily for learning English.
That zurek was amazing. I'm a huge fan of zurek. I don't eat it enough. It's basically aged rye flour, that's soured, and that thickens with water and heat. You add some ham to it, and it's very good. White sausage or egg is the traditional way. Tylko fantastycne.
No classes tomorrow. My sole student cancelled. So I have a free day. Probably just learning German, and rehearsing the upcoming encounter with the coinhabitors of our abode, concerning their impending departure. I once showed this blog to them.
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