The Quiet American

The sky is gloomy today and I find myself without anything to say to the blogosphere (or the blogostan, if you prefer). But don't worry. I'm not worried. Something similar happened a few months into being married and it ended up fine.

One night at dinner I looked at Swiss Mr. across the table and thought, "I have nothing to say to you that I have not already said. I have nothing to tell you. We will die of boredom together." Instead of throwing ourselves out the window or committing hara-kiri together, we went on with life and tried to read the newspaper more. Indeed, this weird phase ended soon enough – a few weeks later we were chatting it up about everything and nothing, just like the good old days. And even now we stumble, once in a while, upon a story we've never told each other (or already forgotten, which is just as good). Recent such stories include a brief summary of the rise and fall of PABTOT and one about the secret mass burial of baby trees in the middle of a forest.

So again sensing the need for moderation, I encourage everyone to avoid dramatic declarations or panicked conclusions. If we will just have a bit of patience, things will work themselves out. As my high school journalism teacher pointed out in all situations of memory, idea, and inspiration loss, "if you miss the train, just stand by the tracks and it will come back." And we're in luck, my friends, because I'm in Switzerland, home to the most timely trains in the world.