“This is worse than band camp!”

 

So, suddenly it got really hot here in Segovia. I’m dripping with sweat as I type this and it’s 9:53 PM. I also haven’t started reading my homework… maybs I should do that.

Although I went through a rough patch, and I mean really rough, like, ready to hop a plane back home as soon as I could get one rough, everything is starting to get better. Sunday was mundane because I spent the whole day doing homework and kind of moping. Monday was all right, but yesterday and today have helped me start appreciating my time here more.

Yesterday, we went on this pointless excursion to a garden on the outskirts of town. It was almost 100 degrees outside and my dumb ass didn’t bring any water — yuck — and it was not only a 35 minute walk to my house, but it was completely downhill on the way there, and all I could think of was how I was gonna haul my big self back up those stairs when it’s hotter than the devil’s taint on a good day. We piddled around this garden listening to the owners of it talk and did our share to the environment by dripping our sweat all over the plants. I’m gonna go ahead and call it a new, unsanitary form of irrigation.

Anyway, we then listened to the senoras talk about their pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, which was really interesting, but by the time I was cooled down, we had to get up and leave again. Most of us had the pleasure of seeing a couple get really sexual in the grass like thirty feet away from us. It was distracting.

Finally, we embarked on the trek home. Katie, Lauren, Alex, and I trooped it up the million flights of stairs, me about to tumble back down them from exhaustion (I was exhausted, in general), when finally I exclaimed “THIS IS WORSE THAN BAND CAMP!” and unified the four of us. Katie and Lauren both said “you… really said that.” Yes, I really did say that. Because believe me, clomping up those stairs, that were already on an incline, to boot, was probably worse than spending four hours on a hot July morning doing consecutive box-eights. Literally. Ow.

When I made it home, I showered and felt like a new woman. I then proceeded to entertain everyone on Twitter with my wit about the wet/dry vote. Murray is wet, by the way. I hope all the shit-talkers out there put their feet in their mouths and live with the democratic decision. What really bothered me was that people were throwing out statistics without citing information. And it was generally the people saying to vote no. Apparently, the age of logic is over.

Anyway, I didn’t get much sleep last night because I was too hype about the vote. I planned a trip to Malaga with Alex and we’re excited to go.

Today, we went to the Home Museum of Antonio Machado, one of my favorite writers. I got to see where he lived, made dinner, slept, and wrote poems. He is one of the most influential Spanish scholars and it was an honor to have entered his home. I got a little emotional, but I get that way over things like that.

Then Alex and I went to Burger King for some comfort food and came home and napped for days, but it is a freakin hotbox in this apartment and I could NOT cool down. It’s literal misery.

Although I’m a lot more tolerant of the imminent changes happening in my life, I still feel a scathing fear that the people closest to me have forgotten about me. I wonder if it’ll be like I never left? I really miss my friends a lot, and I’ve gone several days without hearing from my best friend. It’s rough, but communication is difficult when you’re in a foreign country, so there’s that.

I’m stoked to go to Malaga for the long weekend and go to the beach for the second time in my life. I have to make it through classes tomorrow, then the Madrid heat, and I’ll be on a train to my favorite region of Spain – Andalucia!

I wanted to add a photo of the Hitler shrine that was in the Machado bookstore I went to today, but I’m too lazy to upload it. My roommate keeps calling me a fascist Nazi. She’s crazy, though.

B

 

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About baileyeliz

it's all laid bare at your feet
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