The decreasing blog frequency can only mean one thing: normalcy has arrived. I tend to write more when things strike me as surprising and memorable, but the fact of the matter is even when I bike to class a different way, or walk around to the coffee shop from the top of the block instead of the bottom, I have made it to the point in this “experience” (for lack of a better term) when things start to feel unremarkable (in a nice way, don’t get me wrong).
More remarkable than the blog: the sunsets over the sea.
In personal development news, I can say that I am a little further in book one of short stories…it is written by a dude and you can totally tell. I think I actually need to re-read some of the stories because I wasn’t always paying close attention. As for book two, I have made little progress, but the first two or three stories certainly show the sensibility and perception of a woman’s perspective, which I appreciate. (My academic readers may feel troubled that I said that women’s writing is somehow, inherently different than men’s, because as my women’s studies prof said “I don’t think women exist,” but for the purposes of today’s rambles, let’s just say it IS. So there….[still no feminist apocalypse happening? phew!]) Anyhoo. My whole point is that I’m probably taking book two with me on the 16 hours of flights that separate me from freckly Mexicans (one in particular. Though there are many.)
I’m also considering getting an audiobook, since sometimes the movie selection is only MEH and, as I saw somewhere, listening to a book counts as reading. There’s one that looks particularly interesting, if trendy, on Modern Romance that perhaps could reveal something interesting to me about my own [not so] unique experiences of finding a person in the age of Whatsapp.
ALSO: I am proud to announce that I have used Catalan to buy chocolates, tell a pharmacist I had a sore throat, and find a cute baby gift for D’s brovah and sistah-in-law. It’s still rough, but ya know what…my goal was to overcome my vergonya [shame/embarassment] and just TALK. And I’m doing it. (Buying the gifts was therapeutic for another reason as well: it gave me something concrete to think about rather than flying, which I don’t always love. Now, I am not flying, but rather I am a woman on a mission to hand gifts to other people and in order to do such an activity, one must land. And since I have this special mission, land we will. Does this sound ridiculous? It is.)
In other news, I am always, ALWAYS, a day late and a dollar short on my readings. But since that’s not news, mooooving right along…
Saturday was a lounge rat day. I wasn’t feeling great (cue trip to the pharmacist. This won’t be the first or last time I praise their wondrous ways in this country…) so I spent my day sucking on three high-potency cough drops and watching a 1990s documentary, which featured one particularly emulable [is that a werd?] teacher, and old Jimmy Fallon skits. There are a lot of subordinate clauses in that last bit. Hope you’re still following me. Many trains of thought all leaving the station at ze zame time.
Sunday, at the early hour of 5 pm, N. and I decided to get out of this humid, exhaust-filled city and spend some moments at the beach. We puttered south on the local rail and got off at Garraf. The sand was nice, the water was soup (with a few plastic noodles to boot), and the jelly fish (singular) was the size of my head. In any case, it was good.
As my mom would say, a very original idea.
Also, the very rectangular, teal hotel makes me think this spot came to be in the 1950s/60s tourist boom…
Must’ve been funny?
Little beach huts.
Looking at the hills surrounding the beach.
After seeing the little café-bars on the hillside, we unanimously decided that a glass of wine was in store post-swim. Rubbing my eye brows, snowflakes of salt flittered down as we staked our claim for the good table…front line to the sea. The absentminded waiters filled our glasses to the brim and, as any other Millennial might do, we contemplated life and our dumb luck to be watching such a beautiful sunset. Natch, we snapped the equivalent of two roles of film. Our musings and meditations lead us no particular conclusion other than, “Hey, the sun’s pretty far down now. Maybe we should be getting back.” Putzing our way back up the steps to the beachside train stop, we overheard the guard say “This is the last train.” WOOOOPS.
We bolted through the underground walkway and made it to the other side of the tracks with just minutes to spare. Again, we considered our dumb luck, sitting on a train around 10 pm with dozens of other salty passengers.
And that was that.
So. Peace, love, and gift delivery,
(Probably had a gulp of vino in those chipmunk cheeks.)