September 10, 2010
This morning I woke up, and went to class.
I hadn't been feeling terribly well the day prior, so I fell asleep before finishing my homework, and oddly, this morning I struggled to get up early, as I had promised myself I would so I could finish my homework. For some reason this idea still appeals to me, even knowing how that worked out for the last four years.
Now normally I wake up at 5:00 am or 6:00 am without a problem here, but today was different.
I went to class but my mind and my body were not in it. Actually my class is very hard for me, having taken 3 or more years off from any Spanish besides the occasional heavy drinking.
For some reason I think speaking in Spanish is better when I can hardly speak English.
After this, I mean going to class, the USAC Bibao program went to the Beach.
So did I.
And for several hours I more or less stayed in constant sunlight.
When I left the Beach, my mind was clouded, and my body was being very moody.
Probably just heat exhaustion, I told my confused self, in words somewhere between two languages.
At home I found myself confused, tired, and very sick.
After a long sick passing of time in my personal bathroom here (I am so spoiled), I drank two or three glasses of water,
told Carmén I wasn't feeling too well, and went to lay down.
I was sure I'd be out like a business student on a Thursday night, but for some reason I couldn't sleep.
For three or four hours I laid down with my eyes closed.
At first my imagination ran wild, and I wrote down many notes on a nearby envelope. All of which I hope are coherent.
Then my imagination stopped making sense, and started repeating simple and rather boring things over and over.
I then decided if I couldn't sleep, and I was to be in such a strange and clouded state of mind, why not do some dream-studio work?
That was weird.
After that, staring at my ceiling, my entire childhood began to flash kinda before my mind. My eyes were strictly left out of this process.
I then thought 'Why the hell would one's life flash before one's eyes before they die? What good does it then?' I know its really more of a figure of speech any more, but what a silly concept.
A total life reflection with but milliseconds to digest?
Carmén, btw, is officially canonized into my Church of Radical Zen Buddhist's as a saint, she's up there with Kenny-Chan, Dani, and Peanut Butter. (I think when I was young I canonized the Power-Rangers, now how does one go about un-canonizing someone?)
She has made me tea, cleaned my room, made me tea again, she has reassured me several times that I will be okay, (one of my favorite things when I am sick or down is someone telling me that everything is going to be okay), made me more tea, re-organized my room, turned on the Tele, handed me the remote, did my laundry, and again reassured me, made me simple foods, and basically took very good care of me.
This woman is amazing.
The crazy thing is half of those things she does while I'm well too.
She really takes care of me, and wants to see me enjoy myself here. It's fantastic.
I was supposed to go to a football game tonight, that's soccer for you state's types. But honestly I only wanted to go to drink wine, in hopes that after I had stupified myself I would get along better with the other people in my program. It's not that I think I'm smarter than them, many of them know a great deal more than I do, it's simply the fact that what I know isn't appealing to them, not at least on a discussion level. I suppose there are a few people who, I think, use an air of unintelligence as a defense mechanism. There are also the people who cannot figure out military time (I wonder what sort of business work there is for someone who cannot subtract 12 from 13-24). Also, they seem to be enjoying their foolishness. The talk and laugh of getting plastered here, and some of their more ridiculous exploits. Sure, if houses could be made of glass I'd be living in one, considering my stateside behaviors, but here I can't imagine wanting to get so drunk you can't fully experience this change in culture. If I really wanted to party, I'd do it at $13 for 2 gallons of home-made wine (a fantastic experiment from the summer) and not at these high rates.
Maybe, just maybe I'm pompous, or maybe I'm old now, but none of this really appeals to me.
Why want to go to the game then, and drink with them?
It would be nice to have a niche in this group. My classes do not involve locals, so I don't much get to talk to or hang out with the Spaniards as much as I thought I would, and it is possible, I suppose, that I could try striking up a conversation at a bar, or cafe, but I still need to learn how to speak without allowing my fear to get in the way before that.
A younger business major named Paul actually seems to be interested in talking to me from time to time, he seems very nice, but also very closed off from his opinions and emotions. We got to talking about theatre, because he was curious about one thing, and I love the sound of my voice (and my fingers against keyboards it seems), and on a few occasions he seemed to have a contrary thought to something I had said, but would then drop it, and make an excuse. Maybe the excuses are real, and maybe I'm assuming he's cut off from himself, because he's not an artist. But it seems that way to me, that he's cut off that is.
He does want to own a hotel one day, and live in a castle though.
All in all It's a little depressing not being able to really talk about the art with someone. But next semester I should have an internship in a theatre (very exciting) after this class of Survey of Western Art in Spain (though it's mostly about painters) I should be able to speak a little bit of the lingo.
September 11th, 2010
Happy Birthday Levi and Dani.
So I am sick. With a fever.
And I feel like the Running of Bulls is going on in inside my stomach.
Carmén is still a saint, but I think I'm not gunna write much more.
I worry that my homework is suffer, and am upset that I have gotten so sick, and I've only had one glass of wine (really good wine though) since I've gotten here. I'm certain it wasn't the wine that made me sick, this was many days ago.
Septemeber 13th, 2010
1) When did that happen?
2) The notes were coherent(ish) but redundant to things I've already written, for the most part.
3) I'm better now after a lot of bed-rest, some strange medicine that tastes like salt and Tang orange drink, and a lot of help from Carmén. I am kind of screwed for homework, and kind of not.
That is all.