Name-day. My favorite name-day was one year, seeing the Stratford Festival Lear at Lincoln Center, after reading the Mabinogion at Sbux. The city seemed made of gold in the afternoon light.
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In the year or so since I wrote this at a kitchen table in Albania, the nomadry continued until the work dropped off precipitously, and without notice. I had sufficient funds to get back to the city from the mountains of Bulgaria (having at least that much in reserve has always been a firm rule), but that was about it, so the winter has been very, very difficult.
https://defrydrychowski.wordpress.com/2025/02/15/a-discreet-word/
Perhaps I'm the only one struck by the incongruity of my degrees and experience and the way in which I seem to have been completely excluded from work (and even a basic, sufficient existence). The family has their own intrigues and derangements, most of which seem to arise from their long years of confidential government work. After several years of not being able to find work in the theatre, that social connection fell away, and as for law and the academic world, in both instances, I was met by some very corrupt folks at the door, and never really managed to get past them.
So, without being too melodramatic, after over a decade of this, I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to last. But being able to work, write and think is more important than anything else. I was able to have a basic existence in the digital nomad context -- both as to physical things and the work of writing and reading. In recent years, I've developed about as strong a competence as one can have in certain areas of philosophy without a formal degree. But the winter nights are life-threatening, and the long stretch of experience is life threatening. My only task is to preserve the life of the life being threatened, I think. Onward.