Unwritten.

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I felt as jaded today as my diary writing must seem. It was the first day that I had set aside to start writing my essay, so I spent the afternoon sat by my kitchen table with a pad of paper, a pen and my books. Getting started is always the hardest part; I wrote a decent introduction, then re-wrote it, then changed my title slightly and made a better plan.

Although I need to finish it (2700 words left) before I go to Ukraine I still procrastinate, so every 20 words or so I would find something to eat or tidy the table. The weather was too warm to stay in all day so I went for a walk in the evening to clear my head. The sky was clear blue, and all the water has evaporated from the streets so they are now dry and dusty.

Maybe it is a good sign that the thought of leaving Russia makes me unhappy. Even though I am doing so little at the moment I will miss even the small things - grumpy staff in shops not looking at me as they take my money, the feeling just before I get on a train to go somewhere new, saying 'привет, как у тебя дела?' a dozen times a day to people in my corridor, the Uzbek gypsies on ulitsa Trekhsvyatskaya practically chasing me down the street, Russian radio, and having something on my mind from the monent I wake up until the time I go to sleep.

Later I sat on my window sill as the sun went down over the university courtyard, and read another book.

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