Today is my birthday. I live in the beautiful city of Budapest. There is indeed much beauty here, as well as some real horrors. The kind of life that lives in Bukowski's dark American underworld. I am happy, in my life and on my birthday, for the first time ever really. I am filled with a million different kinds of warmth and love and inspiration, and my mind never lets me sleep well these days as it never properly switches off. This city suited me well though, for now, and there were gorgeous women and hobos everywhere. It was a true melange of styles, this place, really it was.
I have been long enough on this earth to be comfortable in my shell and to know which things I do well and which things are a struggle for me. I seem to be sucked into some vortex of excitement more and more regarding my life passions - which amount to being quite a substantial number of things these days, though I could reduce the key ones to being my job, my music and my writing.
Today has been a happy start to the day. My best friend is on her way to Budapest to live here too for a while. My school knows little of my celebration of getting another year older, but I didn't expect a trumpet fanfare, and later I am going to the zoo with some of the year 3 kids, which should prove to be an afternoon well spent. At every turn I seem to find magic in this land, if I truly want it. It has never been difficult to go in search of and since I left England at the end of last summer I have encountered it regularly. It helps my writing, it makes me grow and it helps my happiness balloon as never it has before.
I shall return...
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