In a café (it seems that the same word, with the same accent, works in French, Spanish and Catalan, for the beverage as well as for the business), with wifi.
Rain: which is actually very nice – my room has been so dry from the heaters, I'll leave the windows open a bit later to let some much-needed humidity in.
Reading Jungians on integrity, functions, and being able to view the world with any clarity; puttering about with texts on the computer; trying to push myself towards editing the articles for Gerhard's book (much easier than it seemed even three months ago, but I still remain a past master of avoidance).
Dreams that are surprisingly fuzzy and fragmented, some even quite satirical, as though someone somewhere is pointing out that I might tend to take myself too seriously (horrors, that can't be true). Some thoughts about the fading probability of the relationship that had me so enthusiastic last month, but without rancor or much sorrow – just a sense of, oh well, that one didn't really work out, did it.
But the immediate and the present always has its charms. I'm proud of last night's dinner: having been unable to figure out how to light the oven, I followed Susan's advice on cooking chicken breasts on the stove top – and added chopped dried apricots, chopped hot peppers, pepper, olive oil. Ha, it all worked. As I texted her afterwards, in great pride: I am such a stud.
Except that now she and Rob want me to make dinner for them... hmm, must do some planning I guess, they wouldn't be impressed with leftovers.
Would you like to hear about the many tiny dogs, most of whom have some outré form of day-glo rainwear? I was about to say it was 'terribly effete' of them, but that's not fair – it can hardly be their fault that their Catalan mistresses think they are adorable in red plastic rain-suits. Perhaps inside the mind of each tiny dog is a great, proud, gray wolf that tears its raw, living dinner into red scraps across the arctic snows, and then howls for its fawning, groveling pack afterwards.... Or maybe they like the rain-suits, who can tell.
But it is distinctly colder in this posh café, as everyone in this beach town wonders why in God's name (en nombre de Dios!) they chose not to insulate anything when they had it built. And the cleaner must be done with my apartment (mostly changing the bed, plus all those dust bunnies – does anyone else fuss about whether a cleaner approves of exactly how you left a room? I'm like my mother, cleaning before the cleaner comes)...
And, warmest of all in this chilly, rainy weather: Patxi, the engaging, open-faced bartender seemed so happy to see me in the Basque bar yesterday. I must make a point of dropping by there, he must really like me... I am a wolf, in the arctic snows....
Comments