Most of the time I’m walking around missing the way things used to feel when I was younger and everything seemed fresher and more exciting. The rest of the time I’m having bad dreams about falling off buildings and ladders and being unemployed and backed up against the wall and not knowing which way to turn and worrying myself sick. I think someone or something is trying to tell me to walk carefully, live frugally and watch my back.

I wish I could say that most of the time I’m exalting in the sublime comfort of having the greatest job I’ve ever had in my life and how nobody can ever fire me again, and how the rest of the time I’m delighting in how much more attractive and sparkling and fragrant everything seems when I walk around Prague, unmitigated as I am by alcohol consumption or cigarette coughing or anxiety or fear of any kind. But I can’t. Well, I do feel grateful at times, but the lead paragraph kinds sums up where my head has been for the last 48 hours. But it’s okay.

Incidentally: Every so often the little TV in my Prague apartment hiccups and drops the color. I can’t remember the last time I sat in a living-room chair and watched black-and-white TV, but it’s nice. I’m glad the TV is a beater.