thursday

I cannot honestly say why I am still awake right now. but I am, so I will recommence the digital dramatization of daily events of little note, an activity otherwise known as blogging. 

Anyhow, going sequentially I will begin with my departure from Philadelphia to Madrid. Managed to find my seat, which I swapped the night before upon the realization that I would have otherwise been planted in the middle seat of the middle section. No. I get anxiety when more than two people sit on a couch. Switched it for one by the window and was quickly content. Five minutes later, in walks this woman with hair the color of a storm cloud and flowing grey pants that resemble twisters when she walks. Sits next to me. Immediately begins bitching about the no-smoking policy (obviously Spanish), the unnecessary decadence of first class seating (obviously socialist) and the ineptitude of Mary Higgins Clark’s prose (obviously smart). At any rate, we bonded over cherry Twizzlers (she eats those if she can’t smoke) while the flight crew came up with excuse after excuse as to why we were still on the ground nearly two hours after our scheduled departure. This woman, we’ll call her Nube, suggested that it was because the first class passengers were allowed unlimited amounts of heavy bags and thus, in an act of characteristic selfishness, caused the entire craft to be rid of its sole function: to fly. Wanted to laugh but then realized she was serious. 

Soon after we were not-so graciously thrust bottled water (Nube claimed that those in first class received fine wine while us ‘stowaways’--the ones who comprise most of the craft and thus keep the airline afloat, or I guess asky--were lucky to be cast dusty bottles) we made our initial ascent. Said a few prayers for my life like the selfish cultural Christian that I am, and voila: en route to Madrid.

Took a sleeping pill post-in flight meal and apparently fell asleep face-first into the dining tray. Woke up, turned red upon discovering the lake filled with drool i had made, tossed aside a deflated banana muffin top thrown at me by an equally deflated flight attendant, and said sayonara to my sweet, socialista flight mate. 

Landed, grabbed my luggage after much fear and anticipation (though I was mainly worried about having to replace my retainers should they be lost with the rest of my checked belongings), and hailed a taxi to my new place of residence. It’s a pretty nice neighborhood; I’d liken it to Brooklyn but with a higher unemployment rate. My room is somewhat sparse right now; would imagine that it’s something that a communist regime would prefer (grey walls, single bed, sad desk). Hoping to decorate it some this weekend after a trip to El Rastro, which is essentially a Madrileño flea market. Not something that really soaks up my essence, but cheap works--so long as it doesn’t have lice. 

Made a trip to the local grocery (so local that it’s downstairs), felt foolish and then in order to make myself feel better for my lack of snack food vocabulary and WiFi I made myself a sandwich. A high speed internet connection would have tasted better.

In any case, mustered the energy to walk around Madrid some (for whatever reason I expected to already know it like the palm of my hand) and can honestly say that I have no sense of direction whatsoever. Again, I guess that’s normal however I assumed that navigating the city would come quicker. Have to remind myself that even in Granada it took me a few weeks to feel completely at ease, so I can only assume that it will take longer in Madrid. With that said, it’s truly a lovely city and I really look forward to discovering it some.    

thursday night -- or disjointed ramblings that should have triggered the mental cue of 'i should probably sleep'

Everything is pretty nebulous right now and that state of mental clarity I was hoping to have achieved has yet to find its way to my apartment. I guess it will come with time. After all, being here, right now in Madrid has literally taken a year of planning, so I suppose it seems natural that the pleasant realization that all of these plans have finally come to fruition due to my own efforts will trickle just as slowly into my consciousness (or for right now, lack thereof). 

Update, a little after 1 am -- was fine around company and ended up meeting a bunch of nice people who are in similar positions as me, or so it would seem. Which is comforting. But I guess I am, for lack of a better term, envious of how at ease they appear just knowing that it is 8:19 pm, the weather is nice and the wine is warm. It’s only now, when I’m alone, that I find myself questioning my reasoning for being here (something that a more rational person would say is the point of going away for almost a year but for now is something I just cast aside as complete swill) and my motivations for leaving. Which, I guess, is also part of the process, regardless of how unpleasant it might be to endure. My mind keeps saying “uphill, uphill, keep going,” even though I don’t know what it is I’m climbing or where it peaks, if it even does. There’s something to be appreciated in that, I know, but at the same time the degree of uncertainty that it entails can be a bit damning. 

friday: consumerism, coffee and world class crying 

rose around 9 am, found my way to the starbucks (which i will probably become addicted to not because of its overwhelming display of corporate charm but rather for its steady wifi connection -- a necessary evil for money, current profession, general state of being informed, and well, alive to my friends and family at home), nearly had my phone stolen by a pack of gypsies (someone tried to hand me a petition in order to, i’m assuming, distract me while they stole a various iGadget of mine), and navigated the madrid metro station for the first time. managed to find myself--ourselves, i should say (rachel, my roommate has been a gift, especially in comparison to siddhi, the aspiring cardiovascular surgeon without a heart)--in the rather barren suburbs of Madrid, desperately in want of an Ikea. at this point i was willing to sell my first born child for a nice duvet and sheet set.

(sleeping under a pile of clothes on a bare mattress was hardly a warm welcome, but it was my thursday night.) 

after wandering for a bit and asking directions (of course the first woman to whom i inquire tells me that there is no ikea, sorry, you just wasted 45 minutes in the bowels of madrid’s public transportation system) we finally found our mueble mecca. anyhow, ended up purchasing a few items to make my first-world “squalor” a little less marxist and a little more madrileño. chose a bedspread that complemented the colors of the matryoshka doll set that my dear and dearly missed ashlee margheim gave me for christmas a couple years ago. the tones are cheerful and airy, both of which i, the fleshy storm cell, need right now.

managed to spend around four hours total getting to and from the store, and quickly realized that i had yet to eat anything today and it was already after 5 pm. made a stop to the grocery, got some pizza and wine and undesired attention from a  security guard. the last was gratis with my patronage, apparently.

made the way back, talked with rachel some about how fucking unfair i think it is that they’re paying the same price for completely different things, cried a bit, and then went back (yes, returned) to starbucks so we could attempt to figure out the things on tomorrow’s to do list: namely gaining phone service as the $200 electronic i frantically purchased only works in italy (you read that correctly), installing internet, and potentially finding a new place to live, should her talk with siddhi go unsuccessfully. 

at any rate, i made the mistake of confronting siddhi after reading about islamic radicals torching western embassies in africa, and started tearing up almost immediately after i told her that i didn’t think that what she portrayed to us was what actually was, and that she should pay more in light of this. of course, after i say this she begins to respond and deny that--characteristically coolly, defending her “direct access to a patio” remark on the grounds that all we would have to do is break a welded rail blocking a window and buy a step stool (because, you know, madrid’s step stool stores are equivalent to walgreens in terms of their prevalence and proximity) and then we could enjoy the infinite splendors of enclosed stucco and brick. she reminded me of a gop candidate. naturally, rachel starts backtracking and i simply shake my head and remove myself from the situation. return to my room, cry a bit because that’s replaced my cardio, and imagine that i am being forgotten by the world at large, and that my current employers are going to fire me (they aren’t, by the way; i just feel guilty for not contributing to something that i’ve grown so accustomed to and that has treated me well), and that i am going to be alone and famished for 10 months.

made myself feel a bit better by stopping by a kebab shop, though the only thing on which i gorged was sleep deprivation-induced anxiety. ended up giving rachel my food in exchange for her beer. two coronas probably aren’t dr. oz approved, but they elicited the desired effect, which was, and is, feeling wonderfully detached.

saturday

began the day at starbucks (which makes me a level-eight asshole, i think) to begin crossing off items on my to-do list, an activity that leaves me higher than a kite. ended up spending the entire day wandering the streets of madrid, feeling lost and unsuccessful, blaming government inefficiency for every hiccup that i experienced along the way. interestingly, it is only when i'm feeling pretty near my absolute worst that my rigid, conservative self rears its ugly head. think there might be something to it but that's for another time.

successfully signed the lease, which i only agreed to upon confirming that the prices of individual rooms would be changed to ensure fairness. that certainly wasn't easy, especially since i was dealing with a stone-souled siddhi and a quivering rachel who probably thinks she'll combust if she dares speak her mind, but it was done. and it's a conversation i'm never having again. 

afterward, contemplated going to bed again -- i think at this point i had slept a grand total of twelve hours and hadn't been taking good care of myself -- but realized that would probably lead to more melodramatic scribbling similar to thursday, and i'd rather pass out after drinking and laughing with others than after crying and feeling sorry for myself while alone. met up with a few spanish "friends" of rachel's she met via a language exchange profile site to watch the real madrid versus seville game. managed to embarrass myself first by not being able to open a beer bottle without help, and then a mere five minutes later (fired the first impression faux pas like an AK-47) told everyone in the room that fernando torres was my favorite soccer player. which was obviously a mistake, given that he did play for barcelona for a time -- their rival. then got into an argument with one of them about spanish nationalism (he doesn't like catalonia and thinks they should go ahead and get their independence and get out -- i asked how he'd like to see their country's recession improve if its richest and arguably most international region actually decided to pack their bags and take their GDP contributions and trade connections with them -- he had no response), then around four drinks later found myself in plaza mayor, on the verge of buying hideous light up sunglasses from a moroccan street vendor. i guess that's how it goes.

ended up talking more politics with some spaniards, which was definitely a mistake, but only because at this point i had already invested a fair amount of money in feeling lively and talkative. asked what he thought of rajoy and zapatero (the former is the current conservative prime minister and the latter was the old socialist one) and he thinks they're absolutely the same. he doesn't believe that socialism exists anymore; that it's only the banks for whom the government plans. was really rueful when he told me that spain is -- not could be-- greece just with slightly better shopping. the sad thing, to me at least, was that he pointed to his shirt (a rather foul Abercrombie and Fitch graphic t-shirt in pepto bismol pink) and said "America; I want go America." Decided not to clear my throat and begin that stump speech, if not only because i didn't want to make the guy feel even more disenchanted with current affairs. and also because the lemon fanta i chugged moments prior was slowly creeping its way up my esophagus and i didn't really want a visual aid while talking about the issue of voter purging.

could write about today (sunday) but am too tired.