Stick your head in the sand

I started to write last week that I wasn't planning on visiting Petr but that I did anyway. I never had the time during the week to finish that post and so it became forgotton. I intended to get on this week to write and found that what I wanted to write had already been written.

I wasn't planning on visiting Petr last weekend but I found that I did anyway, again. There is really no reason not to go. I have fun when I am there, it feels homey, and I can speak Czech all weekend. I was reading Paul Theroux's story about how when he was traveling at twenty-two he new that all of the foreign girls that he found himself entangled with would do anything to hear those words. The words that mothers tell their children and lovers whisper to each other. Theroux, knowing the sacrifice, refused to say it and worked his ass off to get where he could with the next fresh thing on the market. He knew that it was a painless three words to erase the unease of a heated conversation. He knew that his pride would be carved away when he released his firm hold on what he loved and what he didn't. I just lie. I, like Thoroux, know the damage those simple words can do. We both knowingly and willingly admit to loving everything and everyone but some, especially those who want to feel different from the croud don't understand how one can love everyone and everything. They puddle over the idea and that is why Theroux chooses not to say it. I on the other hand have no fear in saying it because at any moment I can jump ship. When he finally does say it, to get somewhere that is and not truly, it is a scandal. We are both scandaless I guess. All paths lead home and we each choose our own to get there.

The point is. One day my dear Petr will learn English, explore into my writings, and all will be revealed to him at a time that is appropriate.

On another note. For the past six months I have kept myself from home and kept home from me. It has been my only way to protect myself from the cruelties of truth etc. Well, home has begun to hunt me down. I picked up Patrick on a whim at the train station in Brno and I was truly excited. Thrilled to see his little face, pronounced nose, sharp but child like sparkle in his eyes, peeking out the window of the cabin as it raced to a halt in front of me. A leap and a bound later with a few shreaks and school girl noises into our greating it was not as painful as I suspected it could be. Familiar faces really can ease out wrinkles and callouses. It was nice to have time with a friend. Someone that knows me and forces me to acknowledge that I have a past.