border

I had a beautiful weekend... almost all of it was shiny and warm and full of new and good people.
I watched another gorgeous sunset just now, and felt ridiculously fortunate and happy. And then I came home.
And I called Tusi nagyi, and spoke to her and granddad too for a while, and then called Mum on her mobile while she was on the bus home to Budapest.
This is what happened at the border. This hasn't happened since the late fucking 80's.
Everyone was ordered off the bus, and ordered to open their bags. The guy that was inspecting mum's back mustn't have had sex in a while or something, because he went to go in her bag quite aggressively, to which mum said please don't rummage through my stuff.
So they took her into some 'private' room (at this point i think pulse rate doubled) and made her unpack everything, piece by piece 'the book i'm reading' 'the work i'm translating' 'my dirty laundry' etc etc. And they said "so where are the cigarettes and the palinka?"
I hate them. All of them. That country will never crawl out of its own self pitying pathetic hopeless bullshit. They will never get ahead, never grow a spine, never get by without aid, and I hope they will never be prosperous. I hope they sit on their mound of rusting Nobel prizes and disappear. I hope mum comes back here as soon as possible and then we never ever have to go back there again. Of course Pista would come too.
I am so angry I actually feel like fighting. So perhaps now is not the time to write about the beautiful day. . .