little sarah Big World

Month: April, 2010

Weekend in Madrid

Recently a lot of people have been advising me to get out and enjoy the Springtime while it lasts, because apparently Springtime in Madrid is super short-lived–by the time you notice the weather’s warmed up, you’ve already begun the steady descent into the hell that is Summertime Madrid.

Now, people make a lot of blanket-type statements about Madrid/Spain that later turn out to be just opinions, but this little tidbit has already proven itself to be true. This, combined with the fact that I already have JUST UNDER TWO MONTHS LEFT, has inspired me to take advantage of the fair weather and get out and about as much as possible.

Also, I realize that I post a lot about my feeeeelings here and very little about day-to-day happenings. So here’s what I did last weekend: passed the time pleasantly eating delicious things with friends.

Jane was back in town

beers @ El Pescador

Me, Jane and Sebastien

The Aftermath

Falafel burritos and fries with Laura in the park

Coffee in the Solarium with Laura and cacti


Peggy Sue's in the park with Laura

And even though I’m starting to feel anxious about returning home (ch-ch-ch-ch-changes), I can honestly say that I’m making the most of what little time I have left here.

I mean, two picnics in one weekend, c’mon.

Just so you know…

Old people crinkling wrappers loudly during public performances is universal.

No matter where you go in the world, no matter what you’re watching, some anciano is going to take, like, five whole minutes to get that hard candy out of its tricky little cellophane slip.

Ageism, I know, but maybe I just wanted to listen to a live reading by young Dominican Poets for La Noche del Libro and not be reminded of Time’s cruel effects.

Distant but Not Cold

(bus: Madrid-Illescas)

The woman sitting directly behind me on the bus has the sniffles, and I’ve more than half a mind to change seats. The sniffles are easily my least favorite sound. I don’t know why, maybe because they’re so gross and mucousy and I’m like, “Just blow your damn nose already!” Even when I, myself, have a runny nose, I take care of it. I blow my nose with a vengeance.

I guess another part of it, too, is that sniffling strikes me as childish, and I’ve never been particularly tolerant of childish behavior.

Not even in children.

*       *       *

Haven’t written much in the ol’ blog lately. Haven’t much felt like writing. I’d love to be one of those Kurt Cobain-y types (or insert any great, alcoholic American writer here) who’s somehow more creative when depressed (since I seem to spend so much time like that), but really what happens is that I just turn into a gloomy little pity party of one, and it’s not particularly artistic or productive in any sense. It’s more like a black hole of moodiness.

Not that I’m depressed. I mean, I was, definitely, and i was having revelations like, “It’s better to be truly alone than to have the illusion of not being alone,” and I guess I still feel that way, but I also feel very…calm. I feel like I’m in a hot air balloon floating high above the landscape–distant but not cold–and while this marks progress, it also worries me.

Because my new thing is that I’m having a really hard time connecting with people. I just feel so far away, even when Whitney was here, and I’m realizing that this isn’t my new thing at all, that in fact this is my thing and this is my me, my who I am or who I’m in danger of becoming if I don’t find a way out of the looking glass (don’t see that movie, PS). I think about Brett, and boy do I miss that boy, but at the time when we were roommates I was always cranky about his everything bagel crumbs on the counter, or if he used the right sponge to clean the toilet, and we very much lived isolated in our own little rooms at two ends of the same small hall, and I just couldn’t reach out to him, even though he reached out to me. He never let me sink too low. He brought me cheap Chinese food when I was sick. He ate cookies and talked boy troubles with me. And where was I? So often I was just off somewhere floating, lost even to myself.

It doesn’t have to be like this! Right? I mean, sure, I’ve said that I want my happiness to be portable, to not be dependent on other people or circumstances, but I’d like to be able to share it, too. Sin costarme tanto, you know? What good is warmth if it’s not shared? I like this floating basket I’ve woven for myself, because it’s safe, and it’s portable, but I want to be able to touch down more easily. I want to see the people, hear their voices, be held in their arms.