Part two

Friday, June 9, 2007
I suppose, going to be in a grumpy mood leads to angry and hate filled dreams which forces one to wake up with a general loathing of life itself. At least, this was my observation on Thursday.
I was going to go to ¨los hippies¨ or the festival of corpus cristi that morning but because of my hate, all I did was lay in bed for hours. Eventually, I forced myself to get up and get dressed. To try to cheer myself up, I attempted to wander the city however it was devoid of people. Being a festival-holy day in Spain, means absolutely all stores or places of interest are closed. I eventually found a tiny café and silently ordered churros y chocolate (which can be vaguely described as a blend of benet´s and hot chocolate). The chocolate didn´t cheer me up, but it did put me in a middle-of-the-road mood.
When I ventured outside, the sun and humidity nearly killed me. I stumbled back to my sailboat on the roof and attempted to work the air conditioner to no avail. I was really tired at this conjecture and despite (or perhaps because of) the 95 degree heat… I passed out on my bed.
When I awoke hours later it was late in the afternoon. I gathered my laptop and ventured to the clam bar… (Its actually called Republica but at night its completely white walls just look sooo pearly). In any case, I proceeded to write, write, write and read, read, read for the entire day. It helped alleviate some of my ills but later that day I was to have an almost-break down.
I went back to my place, silently ordered dinner on the way, and studied for a test the following day. Those who have lived with me (and perhaps others too) are accustomed to the fact that I talk to myself. Its strange, sometimes I worry I´m going schizophrenic because when I´m alone for too long, I literally do talk to myself and argue and laugh and have a time as if it was with another person.
The entire day talking to myself, had put me on edge. Around 11:00 Me and I started arguing and by midnight our dialogue had reached alto to crescendo at a realization. The only conversations I had had all day had been with myself. This might have not bothered me but Me and I at this point in one of the worst fights we’ve ever been in. We brought up the silliness from the night before. We attacked our past actions and in the end, we had to escape each other. We nearly brought each other to tears. We had thrown things across the room. I needed to get out for air. For something.
I dropped by a random bar named Plateau lined with Marilyn Monroe posters and tea kettles. I, unused to real comprehensible conversation, had extreme issues asking for a cup of tea. Two dark haired beauties sitting next to me interceded and ordered me a pot of red tea (decaffeinated, thank you very much). Both were Cretan students living in Sevilla for the next few months. The boy, Alexandre, a dark haired, pragmatic and serious mathematician, who constantly avoided homework in order to practice Spanish. The girl, Eftihia, a dance teacher in training who had come to Sevilla to train in flamenco and Argentinean tango. We talked for hours. They were convinced I couldn’t speak Spanish to English became our lingua franca.
As we proceeded to leave the bar at 1:30 we were harassed by a bouncy sprite of a Hungarian and her blonde German art form of a boyfriend. They bought us beers and we sat down, once again conversing in English. We talked for at least an hour about everything from the varying international methods of trash collection to the politics of the EU. Afterwards we retreated to an indy rock bar around the corner that conspicuously resembled the black cat. It was exactly what I needed.
Though that night I had severe insomnia and only slept for an hour, it was a fair trade of for what could have been a very lonely day indeed.