leyendo en el hospital

I am hoping that this time tomorrow I will be feeling a lot better about the world. From now on (or maybe after my nap, if I can convince myself that its necessary to take one right now before things get going) I am shackling myself to finishing my term paper/studying for my test tomorrow (the previous being far more important).

I had my last Sprechstunde with Herr Beilein today, and though like everything else it went fine, I can't escape the feelings of inadequacy. Well, that isn't completely true, for there is no other place where you can go up and down so quickly (and back again) as you can here, but I mean something more than that. I feel like I need someone following me around, tapping me on the shoulder every few minutes to remind me that I not a complete imbecile. But no one of that sort exists, especially in Germany. Normally the ill feeling can be shaken off, but there are those times when no one else's medicators, whether they be false praise, food, sleep or alcohol, do the trick. There is something fundamentally destroying about a lack of language, of not being able to communicate in the (fleissend) way to which you are accustomed. And so sometimes you walk around with your organs hanging outside of your body and your tongue sawed off, and the gray sky in Germany seems to mean more than it possibly could on the other side of the ocean.