I'm going to ease back into this. No 1000-word diatribes. No, more likely, I'll be doing short paragraphs, punctuated with periods of silence and remorse for my disconnected brain.
I remain impressed with Dubrovnik, though time and distance does tend to wash away all rose-tinted perceptions. Dubrovnik has its faults, just like anyplace else. Its reliance on tourism, for example, is a fault of immense proportions, yet one that is absolutely necessary to its resurgence. "You can never go home again" applies not only to people, but to places. Dubrovnik will never be the Dubrovnik of old, I suspect, but it is a shell of its former self and that shell is more attractive than the real thing in so many other places.
What is causing me the most difficulty at the moment is not my lack of memory of Dubrovnik...I remember it all...but my unwillingness to cope with this godawful congestion. I am ready to scream. I 'd like to write about all my experiences, but I am afraid they would be colored badly by my present physical sensation of breathing wax, hearing voices through concrete and syrup, and feeling the weight of ten oxen in my nose.
Enough. This won't work. I will write again when I am younger, stronger, taller, and more articulate. I will write again when my brain is unclouded with the clutter of clogged sinuses.
A valiant try...but no more for now.
No comments:
Post a Comment