My ceiling is still leaking. For a while the watering was spread over five pots and a skillet, but now it's concentrated over a single pot, dripping at such a rate that the pot's filled every five hours. I'm too anxious to sleep soundly because I keep imagining it soaking through the wooden floor and crashing onto the little Russian family below me - have you ever had the nightmare where you fall backwards off a ladder? I thought for a while about bundling up all of those emotions into a little rain-themed poem, but then I realized how tarded that was. Close call. For now we'll just stay with general concentrated-but-afraid-to-be-disintereted angst.
On the plus side, my articles with moscow's english-language magazine, element, are coming along nicely. They've even given me my own photo in the spread so what it lacks in monetary gains it makes up for in vanity.
Above are three identical pictures of my ceiling, which seemed more artistic than just one.
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