It's pretty much safe to say I am totally and utterly in love with Spain. And totally not in any way interested in or bothered by certain stupid boys.
Right now it's 8.45pm and there are hoards of little demons, I mean...children, running around screaming in the park nearby. It's 24 degrees. I have finished work for the evening. I'm going out soon for a tinto de verano (o cinco) because I don't have to be at work til 12 tomorrow. Most importantly, my room is looking less and less like the cutesy boudoir of a 60 year old Spanish woman.
I always feel a little uncomfortable when life is all rainbows and lollipops (despite bloody ugly curtains and chandeliers), because it means you have further to fall when the shit hits the fan..yikes, too many idioms. I'm wondering how long I can maintain the good life and when reality is going slap me on the arse and say 'yo t-dawg, what's crackin homie? Hahaha fo' shizzle? you thought you were gonna be happy for ever, bitch you trippin''. I'm not sure why reality is a douchebag gangsta', but there you go. Maybe reality is a posh English person, and it will be more like 'Hello madam, kindly leave your happiness at reception by no later than 10am, failure to do so will result in further misery at a later date. Thank you for your cooperation and have a lovely day'. Maybe reality is the nasty kids from school 'Oh look, it's the midget, frizzy-haired girl with glasses (laughter) What's up Jackson Five? (more laughter) She thinks she's going to be happy? Let's go call her fat, ay? See if she cries..I wonder if it makes her glasses steam up...'.
To wrap up: couldn't reality just be happiness for the rest of my life? Please and thank you.
I have twenty days off around Christmas and I am struggling to decide what to do. Ay ay ay.
Photo: Anna Rosa Krau