I am no longer in Moscow. For the next few months, instead, I'm traveling around Europe, and hoping that bad things don't happen, while secretly hoping that they do. Don't expect too much from me while I'm away: in addition to the fact that I'm now reliant on internet cafes for my interaction with the wider world, I simply don't have the time to write all that much.
I have some half-finished posts to put up, including the final two installments of my trip to Murmansk, a couple about going to a town to the north-east of Moscow called Suzdal', and something about the Metro; so if you find yourself reading something about Russia, don't necessarily take that to mean that I have returned to the country.
As a parting task, I cleaned out my fridge. An almost complete list of contents included:
A half empty bag of salad greens that was leaking a balsamic vinegar-like fluid.
Another bag of vegetables, unopened, pressed up against the back of the fridge. One half of the bag was frozen, while the other half had become a homogeneous mass of organic matter.
A tub of margarine that was already there when I moved in.
A carton of milk, over which mold had begun to grow.
Mushrooms, I think. I can't recall the last time I bought mushrooms, but that's what they looked the most like.
And something else, which is as accurate as I could describe it.
I'm beginning to worry that if I write too many more posts like this, I'll have my status as a legally independent adult revoked.