heartbeats

I'm listening to songs that I associate with feelings and people.

The last night in Ohio my lover said "you never notice heartbeats until they're gone."

I'm now listening to the Knife "Heartbeats" and thinking about it. It seems like that time in a past person is so removed from the one that sits here right now. They know each other...one will occasionally ask the other how they came to be this way...and the other is silent.

I still have to make new associations for the song "tonight" by Lykke Li. I have been listening to it a lot but have no established neural connections with it and a particular sensation.

This weekend passed in a flurry of blurry despairing conservation. Parties were had, drinks were drank, people scurried ... had sex ... laughed ... and lived through their senses for the evening. Partaking in one ritual eliminated 2500 mL of beer.

There were good times though. I played a game with myself on the computer while letting time slip cheaply by. Today I am finally fruitfully roused to activity. Running, planning lessons, pinning my lessons at the top of the board by soliciting recommendations from all the people I've helped.

Italy is staring at my countenance blankly. The question rises to my forebrain: What are you going to make of this? Is it going to be as lively and lovely as Lisbon? Will you shut yourself down and be introspective as Paris made you? What character will be using your cells to express new angst and desire? Will you earn the laughlines that are parting your cheeks from your lips? Or will you learn again that reality favors the ones who ignore it the most?

It was a holiday and I didn't manage to scoop out the joy that I had hoped. Nights one two and three were similar. I was inside. Last night I wanted to go to a rooftop party but there was a construction site that obscured my directions so I got lost.

On the plus side I have my saxophone, plans to go to a concert tonight, and plans to go to an exchange at a bar tonight as well.

rain

The sky is orange and rose. Crickets chirp and the locusts buzz as the frogs, one by one, join the chorus of a song I hear every night. I sit shirtless in the kitchen I mill over my salad, searching for the bits of feta to combine a perfect bite. Ginger tea sits beside it. Cooling.

The day was a long one filled with much beauty. I woke up at a late 9:00 a.m. after some sound sleep. I went to church this morning to discover that we were going to Panera for a bite and relaxed lesson. We talked about Poland, the rest of Europe, and psychology.

I came home and sieved through facebook for 10 minutes too long before heading to the Massillon recreation center. After a good shoulder, leg, and trunk workout I came home to play water volleyball with my family, Laura, Carl, and Trevor. I met him today.

It was competitive and relaxing at the same time. I don't like to keep score because John gets riled up about it but it was his birthday Friday. We gave him shouting rights. 

My nieces came over and ate a fantastic dinner with us. A thick salad with avocado, feta, and spinach, small pieces of chicken, cheesy rice with mixed vegetables. I had a Great Lakes Wright Pilsner and a sip of Janee's BRX cider. 

We sat around laughing and exchanging stories as John ate his melted birthday cake. The girls got tired and one by one people left. 

Then I dropped $75 and polished off an extended essay for an Ohio medical school. 

Last night was a thunderstorm, some refreshments in good company, and dancing in Norton. 

Before that I was in Kent with my best friends who are all doing well. Steve has a stable job, Josh and Jeff are dating girls. Mathias is in Arizona. We went to the bar and I met almost everyone I could. It was rewarding. 

Finally having my paychecks has given me more energy to go and do things. I've finished the 7th season of How I Met Your Mother and loved it. I vow to never get addicted to TV again though. It is a passive activity that gives me no energy. The series has proved useful in many ways though. 

I feel like I'm having the summer I wanted now. I'm in control and not treading water dreading tomorrows. The warehouse is its own place. I don't detest it. Once I have my $2k I'm going to cut out of there and prep lessons for next school year. That goal seems impossible considering that I'm $500 in the hole, have student loan payments, and  more applications to do.

Speaking of which...

Athens.

Strolling by the muckish green pond in Emiriti Park I couldn't help being sucked into an undertow of passive contemplation. Again, there was no emotion in it. I just felt dipped in an ocean of memory washing toward and away from the shore of my present consciousness. The eager anticipation of the past 5 years dissipates into a question of the validation of my accomplishment and the desire to form new connection through shared passions. 

I had coffee in one hand and chocolate from Belgium in the other. The ashy dark roast was perfect for a morning after a bit of the bars with my friends. There was no breakfast yesterday. 

First I went to the biology department. Being summer, I skipped by a few frantic faces scrambling to their summer quarter exams. The fact that I have different stresses now is something I muse at. Exams were harrowing but debt and time lapses are a different evil. 

First I visited my human sex and reproduction advisor for a bit. She's looking well for her age and lightened my mood with some good banter about the transition to semesters. After giving her a chocolate bar I headed to my Pre-Med advisor with another chocolate. I congratulated her on her son and asked her to send letters to a few schools. 

Randomly I saw Van driving down court. 

I met up with Badger, Dan, Eric, Sean, and a lot more people along the way. We made some good new memories out at Strouds with some pbr.

I couldn't ask for anything better. The night ended with Sean and I slamming each other with foam swords. 

transference

Last night I had a dream that I was being held captive by someone very similar to me. For some reason I was a passionate young woman who loved to paint. My captor was a strong psychiatrist with a drive to control others.

There were times that I loved him. I painted with him and talked to him but he seemed too focused on his work and the noise that he made to listen. Eventually I was hospitalized. He strapped me to the bed and cared for me. He made me sick then he cared for me.

Then he let me go. When he let me go he dug into my right arm to put a portable IV drip with beautifully colored chemicals. As I tried to forget about the confinement each color slowly drained into me and I became less of a combative person. Eventually I was serene and submitted.

Then I woke up on the opposite side of the bed, exhausted, and smiled.

It seems like this is just how things go.

I've written paris down like it was a chore. I don't think that what went on will go up until I know how I feel about everything.

Being back home has brought joy and challenge. Lazing on the river drinking yuengling with Jason on the 4th of July was serene. Having a light dinner and drinks with a cute traveler from Ohio was intriguing. Reconnecting with my best friends and watching them progress.

There was a precious moment between my two nieces where MacKayla was feeding Allison ice cream and then feeding herself alternatively. It was a nice short moment of beauty in the world to watch something so pure come out of so much chaos at this house.

I see myself differently. In the Portrait of the artist Dedalus never flew back home. I realize that these people do better when I'm around if I share positivity.

At the same time I feel like I need to chase this feeling of newness. Perhaps I have progressed in my tastes past modernism. The philosophy books hang in my room as I've abandoned that desire to contextualize every emotion in a logical framework which as a purpose. I'm not even sure if that was the goal originally.

Fromm shattered my need for any of that. I feel like he has become my doctrine.

One thing which I found difficult to swallow about Fromm is his embrace of the difference between male and female. The professor showed me how we can't classify as "male or female" because we're the same and those aren't absolute (see: sex changes and hermaphrodites).

The thing which Fromm teaches, as well as "Men are from Mars, Women from Venus", is that we shouldn't deny these differences but celebrate them.

I'm a little tired to hash this out right now. I have plenty of things to put down tomorrow after I take care of a few admin things, apply for jobs, and talk to my advisor. I'm heading to Athens.

homesick? no. it's time.

I tried another run today. Got a full 12 minutes before I started choking up from the dust. Sat around and watched some TV and now it feels better. Listening to "Tonight" by Lykke Li and sending skype texts about tonight.

I'm trying to replay all my successes in my head. I"m trying to write something inspirational but it's difficult with all the input from reality.

This past Thursday I played chess with a cute Spanish girl. Lent a nice Ukranian a book. Learned Go. Hung out with Ian.

Last night I went out for drinks with the knitters. Then I headed home and caught up with the theatre crowd downstairs. We went to Torito, which is my favorite local bar, and I met some of the cast. Maria wasn't there.

Today I booked tickets for Versailles, the Seine river cruise, and read about the Louvre. I think I'm going to arrange my documents and give Emilio a call.

For some reason I feel like I'm doing nothing. Maybe my perception of time is distending as I get closer to the end.

There's still so much to do. I need to figure out New York to Ohio. I need to get a suitcase and figure out where I'm putting my stuff. I need to cancel my student loan payments for the next few months....transfer funds from my Spanish to American bank accounts. I gotta figure out taxes for this year and find a job for Ohio.

So I guess this is why it seems like I haven't done much. Paris is all planned out but I still need to take care of a lot. It's exactly 1 week to the hour before I see Ambre again.

Last night was a riot. I need to get in  touch with the lifters before I leave.

For now I'm reading Ochem shirtless in the kitchen. Apart from a few pounds that comes and goes week-to-week I am the most cut I've ever been. It's strange to look at myself and think, physically, I will never look this young or attractive.

I've never liked when people size that up: you're YOUNG. Stop saying that!
No.
Stop attaching any significance to it! I have had experiences enough to stress me to gray hair. I have life in me but anyone reading this has life too. Don't use your age or situation as an excuse for not being what you want to.

I talked to a student about my travel and tenacity meeting people.
 She said "oh to be young again!"
I replied, a bit shortly, that there is no excuse for not doing it right now. Especially because she has a better sense of how to land on her feet.

I have been extremely lucky this past year.

It hit me like a ton of bricks last night. I talked to Marcos, the shy knitting guy, about missing family and getting tired of not having a good solid base of reliable friends around. He wasn't interested in talking about it. That's what I expected.

I am ready for a tame week. Planning. Saying "be right back's" and have no expectations.

Then I'm ready to put all my energy out for Paris. I'll slide into New York with light luggage and a smile on my face. Hopefully I'll know how to grab the bus home by then...soon I'll be with Josh, Sean, Jessica, Janee, Corina, and all the dogs back home. I deeply miss it.

I can do without all my friends and family...but I really kinda like them.

today

Lykke Li's "Tonight" is playing through the speakers of my $300 HP 2000-299WM Notebook PC. This weekend I was a bit lazy. Friday I went out with the guys from the gym. They are good people but subject to the exact same tropes and traps that I am. Bros are bros no matter what country.

We went out with the sexy lifting instructor and her creepily older boyfriend. I'm asking her out today; she suggested that we go to the bar I'm just picking. This week there's nothing holding me back from any social risks. I have a little cash, a little time, and the alternative to being hyperactively social is sitting in my room watching sitcoms and sipping Pauliner. The alternative is so appetizing that I gotta make my social life that much more awesome.

Now I'm listening to "I Know Places" by Lykki Li. I've got in the habit of pounding my mind into positivity every morning with light music. My tendency is to get angry but this catharsis sets me right. Friday night was a perfect example of medium payoff. A group of strangers felt my energy and we had a great night. Unfortunatly the set was good but the setting was bad. We partied on the street for a bit and I met people. Then we moved to the disco where no one could hear anything and we just danced awkwardly in a circle.

I still don't understand why people reason themselves into going to those places. The only excuse I can think of is "everyone is doing it."

They also need to realize that self-consciousness and social constraints are bs. For example, they sat around talking about how badly they wanted the instructor when there was a group of attractive girls around. They pulled me away from two groups of girls with whom I was chatting up and making laugh. They're good guys though. They want to throw me a "welcome back to Madrid" party this September.

One thing  that I should advise people about Spain is that they should be forewarned about the women. They are all good looking. The average is way above the average looking girl in the United States. On the flipside, you don't get the huge genetic variation that there is in the USA. They are mostly brunettes with brown eyes, a perfect ratio of amply shaped breasts, bright smiles, and sensibly large hips.

There hasn't been a Spanish girl that has floored me like the occasional woman in the USA. Maybe because there isn't as much contrast.

Speaking of contrast....

Saturday I laid around and watched TV.

Sunday I laid around and watched more TV. I got up for a few hours to cook, play saxophone, planned a few things, and ran for a half hour to compensate for being so lazy. Not a good tradeoff, but better than nothing. I also talked to Alison and Ambre.

Today I woke up , calmed myself, put on music, folded clothes, cleaned up all the water, wine, beer, and juice containers strewn around my room, watched one (the only one for today) episode of "How I Met Your Mother," ticked down some financial stuff, and drank coffee. I'm about to shower and hit the gym.

I feel no sense of loss or need right now. Looming on the horizon is Paris and my friend. I've grown so much it will be nice to see her and myself hanging out with her. Last summer around her I was everything that I now absolutely hate:

Supplicative, needy, uncomfortable in social situations, unsure of my sexuality, uncertain if people enjoyed my company, out of the moment and in my head, and constantly feeling the need to demonstrate my value through stories and actions...and above all I was obsessed with one girl: Her. I tried to use her at one point to make other girls jealous. I was unable to use a map and uncomfortable travelling by myself (this fact is ASTOUNDING to me now). After getting lost in 15 different cities in 4 different countries I feel like I know a few tricks to planning trips.

Then there's these:

Socialize Unabashedly

Interact Interestedly

Exist Contentedly

Present Positively

Take Lightly

Pursue Assuredly

Be Appropriately, Confidently Sexual

Set Boundaries Firmly

Irritate Slowly

Lead Capably

Live Passionately

My own personal 11 commandments. 

All this stuff I've worked really hard to change. My roommates, my lifting buddies, my coworkers, and the people I go out with have noticed the daily change. It's empowering but I'm never finished.

Today is going to be, by contrast, a great day. I'm going to wrap up some more Paris planning and prepare myself for the trip back home. I'm going into the trip with 0 expectation that the woman I'm travelling with and I will hook up. After the poor, manipulative, self-deprecating show I gave last summer I'm surprised that she even conceded to invite me to her home and spend a week in Paris.

On the flipside, there are a lot of beautiful people in the world and Paris is no exception. I'm positive that I will be out of my head and immersed in the history, culture, sightseeing, exchange of ideas, and air of liberty.

Some events that I have planned so far: Louvre, Notre Dame, Eiffel Tower, Seine Cruise, Versailles (obviously).
Apart from that the catacombs, infamous "lock-box" toyshop, and Shakespeare Cafe are on my destination list. The food is going to be amazing. My more difficult task will be to try and learn something while I'm there. My greatest fun in Madrid has been meeting people through shared experience. I think that a week of straight sightseeing will be boring if I am not producing something.

Who knows? Maybe it will be a good kick for me to start putting together all these wonderful story fragments I've created?

Regardless, I want to meet up with someone I met in Granada and some people we met from D.C. to hang out. This will be a wonderful transition from this period of growth and self-examination in solitude back to my home where people wouldn't let me reinvent myself. With my new stories and skills I have the "excuse" to be a better person. Something which is difficult when your setting never changes.

Ok. Now I'm off to be productive. Good day!

White Wine and Chicken

After last weekend's carbohydrate binge I have been spending 2 hours per day in the gym and eating nothing but fruit, vegetables, and light amounts of meat. This morning I boiled some pasta and added apple vinegar,  ground black pepper, garlic, onions, and just a little salt. No oil was in there.

Today I rowed for 9 minutes and ran for 32. Burned 1/2 my caloric intake for an average day. After that I turned on some social psychology podcasts and turned to the kitchen again to try something which my venezuelan roommate recommended: water while frying chicken.

I have no idea what happened inside the pot when I was frying it but the chicken was tender while I only used half the oil. I added a red bell pepper, some cabbage, garlic, onions, salt, black pepper, a bit of apple vinegar, and a big splash of Montilla Moriles sweet white wine late in the cooking. I set it on the stove top with medium heat and got on facebook for twenty minutes.

The wine went straight to the vegetables and mixed with the sweetness of the bell pepper. It stuck in the skin of the chicken. I've been reading about steroid synthesis and heard that there was a difference in the production of testosterone depending on the amount of carbohydrates we consume.

I badly miss my biochem book. In the meantime, it was a delicious meal and I'm going to run it off tomorrow. I'm in good shape despite a come-and-go gut. I oscillate between more cut that I've ever been in my life and back to my college shape. Soon I'll figure out what the best way to eat here is. Until then...I'm going to keep away from Spanish bread and try this wine, vegetables, and lightly fried chicken.

Next time I'm going to try to "planchar" as they say. That involves almost no oil. My biggest fear is salmonella so I tend to slightly overcook.

in heat

Last night was all too well-known to me. There was a little wandering and some lesson planning. There was a goal that I never reached but had fun trying. There was a little more wandering.

I got a drink at the Tabacalera before heading out to meet up with an old coworker. She texted me "I'll be a little late...we're coming back from the mountains." I went out to find my goal again.

I guess I should clarify: Being from Ohio country I have a few values that are permanently instilled in me. One of these is the culture of brewing and appreciating good beer. There's variety and subtle tastes that I love to explore with friends while dulling the senses...deeply enjoying the benevolent company of those around me.

With 5 types of lager, lager, and ...  lager I have been going a bit stir crazy. Yesterday I set out to find a store that had a good selection of drinks from Belgium, Germany, and the USA. I never found it. I went on the metro back to my home but stopped in to a chino store to grab some lager and found a German pilsner. I decided to buy it and try it. It was fantastic.

I chatted with my roommates then went to bed. It was a relaxed day. There was no pressure to get anything done. Today I am paying my last months rent. As I walked yesterday I thought of great ways to improve my satisfying life.

Location

Walking around the Lavapies area I saw a pleasant mixture of tourists, vibrant youths, and immigrants. At the moment I feel like all three of those. Barrio Salamanca doesn't suit me well however. Maybe I just need to go out more often.

Today I have a few goals:
1) Retrieve my book from a tutoring service place
2) Plan out my night lesson at the private school
3) Learn French for at least 1 hour
4) Cook
5) Work out
6) Meet up with Tom for a pint of microbrew at this new bar I found
7) Work out again
8) Watch 1 episode of American Horror Story
9) Pay the rent
10) Budget next month and trip this weekend to Santiago

I want to squeeze kempo and salsa in there but I'm not sure where they could fit.

Anyways let's get to the interesting stuff: emotional states, past behavior, and how I'll improve...

Friday night I skipped out on knitting club, worked out, and watched superhero movies. Admittedly this isn't the greatest idea but when you want to save money it's a good idea to stick to home.

The night night I went out with Jacky to see the Avengers. The movie was fun, mindless, and exactly what I expected.

Then we went out to wander the streets to pick a bar and park. We had some wine and olives on a perfectly warm night. I got hungry and decided to head home so as to not spend too much money.

She has been a good friend, a bit tweaky at times, but consistent and loyal. It's the perfect place for us. Besides, she's going to Dublin aaand said that it's fine for me to stay with her for St. Patrick's day. I can't argue with that.

Shamelessly, I'm going to, for the next half hour, meditate on success and failure in the realm of sex and love.  I find it interesting that I'm not panging for companionship as I once did. Sophomore year of college I would think about the cold bed and feel guilt, fear, and longing. Now I get a sense of eager anticipation followed by a curious indifference.

If you asked me last year I would tell you that I thought Madrid was going to be a crazy festival with girls everywhere, literature, occasional clubs, intellectual discussion, and a relationship.

As I wrote this line I realized what my development has done. If you talked to me last year I would have blasted you with the interview "Where are you from? What do you do? How long are you in town? What do you do for fun? ... ... ... What are your thoughts on ... ... ..." and followed it up with an accurate judgement of you as a person. I would have demonstrated my knowledge of science and philosophy by challenging you with a couple questions then I would have left the interaction feeling like it went well.

Now I go to the opposite end. On a good night, I will talk about absolutely nothing in that style. Comedy, intrigue, and a very small bit of information are what I go for. I still should probably open up just a little more, now that I think about it.

My life has just been so full of insane events, challenges, and opportunities for growth that I have trouble choosing which person to let people know. There's frat guy, uptight scientist, philosopher, hippie, deadbeat, artist (music and poetry), teacher, jock, or hick. I'm comfortable being all of them.

Anyways, I realize now how much I took for granted the friends I had. Masked in didactic thought exercises I would cut them down in my mind for not taking their school as seriously as I did. The factory helped me blunt that horrible instinct. Now I feel as if it is all gone. I'm ready to appropriately expose my real self incrementally to someone who I see fit.

At the same time I know that I am really happy with all this time to myself. I work out daily and spend a lot of time learning and planning things that I want to do.


 (Graphic part coming up. Stop reading if you're related to me... or don't want to know too much about me)







I do miss having sex all the time though. I mean...all the time. When I'm in bed with a woman with whom I'm emotionally involved...it has to happen at least twice. The first time is like a handshake...like I'm just getting to know them. It's usually a bit quicker and awkward. Then we lay and talk (this is where I usually screw up... ask me about my worst pillow talk lines sometime). Then after 10-15 round two lasts as long as we want it to.

In the best relationships I've had we will make love at least 4 times: twice before we go to sleep, once when we wake up, and once again after coffee. It's just fun.

The craziest one we would, literally, go all night. There were nights where we would start in the evening 11ish then go on and off until 6 a.m. came with the birds and left us both physically exhausted. We'd change positions, walk freely naked in the barn with the moonlight peering across the field. There would be twinkling fireflies, a touch of mosquitoes, a light fire in the kettle, and a spread of lumpy pillows and mostly clean sheets.

Other times, when I was younger, I'd take girls away from the barn parties I'd host to a nearby field and just talk. After an hour of just talking we would put our arms around each other and think about the stars we were viewing. It's amazing what a woman will tell you when she's out alone with you in a field.

That same field hosted me with the most important love of my short life. A nice night with a gentle mist of rain forced us to take cover in our nearby chicken coop. We held, talked, kissed, and made love unashamed  beneath the moonlight. The sound of crickets, bullfrogs, and strange creatures couldn't shake our mission.

However, with the best relationships you can also just be with that person and have a great time. Understanding the neurological differences (which feminism...unfortunately and ironically discounts in an attempt to better the current situation for females in America) really helps.

That stupidly reductionistic book "Men are from Mars, Women from Venus" elaborated on observations which I've made in some of my most intimate relationships. I am a little emotionally volatile at times. This usually has something to do with my physical state. If I'm hungry, tired, intoxicated, or sex gets interrupted I can't think straight. When I can't think I go into defensive mode and I don't speak.

They call that "the cave." When men get emotional they often retreat to fix other problems etc. Men are practically oriented on physical objects outside their body and women are fantastic readers of emotions, expressions, and sentiment. Knowing this has helped me weather some pretty crazy relationship problems in the past 10 months and allowed me to connect deeply with some people.

I guess what I want to expound on is the fact that I know the formula and am able to carry it out very well. The last 5 relationships that I had for more than a month ended because of logistical issues. I have to be physically separated from my partner to lose the powerful connection which I make. Let's be honest...without the emotional rollercoaster of oxytocin which sex gives us it's kind of difficult to maintain a lifestyle focused on reuniting when it is expensive and/or impossible to do so.

This is why the most recent woman and I broke up. We were making love until the last night together. Then, at 4 a.m. it just ended with her seeing me off at the airport. I had thought about continuing...but it would be better just not to lie and say that it's over. 3 months together doesn't warrent 6 months apart.

Fromm's "The Art of Loving" has given me a template to accept and carry out the teachings of Jesus Christ in the framework my 21st century pragmatic biologist discourse. I share it with everyone and let it guide our journey of self-actualization in each other's company. It is either after discussing our thoughts of these things or after engaging humorous or amorous conversation that I love getting physical with someone.

The most powerful moments of my life as a sexual being were staring into some brown eyes, passionately thrusting, kissing, and oscillating between my rational thought and an emotional state of pure being with another person. These are moments which I carry in times of triumph. In times of sorrow, the knowledge of it's return carry me.

It's so wildly good to have a thoughtful woman beneath, on top of, or in front of you. You know that you both want the same thing and that it's going to be so good! Then, for hours, you revel in the capacity of these feelings. You bask in the simple, animalistic pleasure associated with embracing your blissful mortality in your body's sweaty, panting, maniacal effort to create new life.

I can only imagine how well my reunion with people in the USA will be with my new improvements in my temperance, the renewed self-love, my well-tuned physique, my feelings of wholeness, and my light-hearted approach to the gravity of our transient life. I understand how manipulative I was in the past and how devastating emotional overinvestment can be.

There are two things holding me back from dating a woman in Madrid:
1) Logistics! I need a good group of friends, a nice intellectual atmosphere, and a few interesting girls around me to really feel in my element. If I'm not in my element...there's no way I can truly give myself to a deserving girl. My element would be the barn with friends, a house party with some quiet area where we can go dance then come back to talk or be close, the lake at night, an Athens bar with friends, or a setting with a many biologists exchanging ideas about life and cognition.

The antithesis of this has been the case in many days of my life. I sometimes have inconsistent friends and must make new ones every week. Sometimes I can't be in the right place. I can force myself to be outgoing and make friends to be with anywhere...but this ingenuine approach only works for an hour and a half before I get tired of being fake or pretending with lame people. So many people in Madrid, and in the USA as well, care deeply about things like clothes. Don't get me wrong, I understand the value of a status symbol. To me, a clean appearance and a decent middle-of-the-road look is perfect. Anyone too dirty (unless they're working) seems disrespectful. Anyone too clean can seem (condescending as well as other things) too into themself. I get the up and down wearing clean clothes:

 A clean, well fitting, and not flashy pair of jeans and a snug t-shirt without holes is what I feel comfortable in. I was shocked when I wore this outfit, sat on a seat in the metro, was recently showered and had deodorant on, and then something happened... a woman next to me was decked out in jewelry, earrings, a strange dress, fancy shoes, and she had a hairstyle that I usually see at homecoming dances. She looked at me, looked down at my square toed dress shoes and back up to my snug, clean red t-shirt. She moved seats to a different car...next to a Spanish man in a suit and with a gelled mustache.
Fuck her feelings and whatever she is thinking. I have no patience or desire for such people.

2) Fear!
After the incident I have been reticent to engage with a woman who I don't know very well. In college I had a random girl in my bed who was  a virgin before I met her. After that we never spoke again. I saw her around and felt shame and a strange sense of disgust. That night it felt great; she smiled as we pressed against each other. I couldn't find a condom so I never finished but... yeah. I feel pretty terrible about that.

It has happened multiple times. I get into a situation with someone. We do it once. Then there is a strange sense of regret and abandonment. Instead of getting close with someone you alienate them by pushing too hard. This fear of alienation has kept me from realizing one-night-stands here. Although, the fact that I will never see them again anyway should be impetus to pursue them even harder.

I understand the attraction switches and indications of sexual interest from a woman. It's great getting and reciprocating them in a public place where everyone knows that things are heating up. It starts with getting them to laugh. The smile makes you warm. Then there is light touching, dancing, and a more interesting dance of social movement. You go away, she chases. You chase, she comes to meet you. Her pupils get big, her voice elevates in pitch, she laughs at jokes that aren't funny, she talks about you, and all that builds to something that needs release.

Recently I have just been studying behavioral psychology. It's so fascinating to see this stuff in action. I do A she does B. The fear, however is overwhelming. I will have someone I'm really attracted to close to me. Instead of rationalizing it to death like I did before I try to ride it...I always fall off though.

Moments like outside a hostel I was with a girl who I'd been chatting with all night. I had her close to a wall. She arched her hips toward me...lips parted...I was attracted to her from hours of talking and flirting. We met once before and she had grown on me since then...everything in my mind says "lean in." I lean in. She leans in and nearly closes her eyes. A man comes out of the hostel to say to others "be quiet."

When the mind is in a state of anxiety it overemphasizes the salience of any other stimulus. Conversely, if it is relaxed and driven...it takes a loud and obnoxious jolt to break your brain state. I was intent, focused, but saw this as an opportunity to deny myself what I wanted  . . . I told her good night and left her awkwardly by the wall.

The next night I was dancing wildly with several people. I led the group to have a good time and was making everyone laugh. I felt good about myself and everything around me. Again, I was with a beautiful woman outside...she had been touching me and following me all night as I trounced around and danced with every woman at the bar. She didn't usually smoke, so she was going out of her way to be close to me. I got awkward all the sudden, high fived her, and went to bed leaving her confused outside.

The next night I was dancing with a blond. She let me carry her around the streets on my shoulders while she fed me sips out of a plastic cup. We both were attracted to each other. She followed me down my hall to my bedroom and I put my hand gently on her neck. I rubbed it, stepped in...smiling I said "good night" and left her at the door.

Again, I was in Salamanca with a woman I met on the bus. We were out dancing and danced in the kitchen. She leaned in and I gave her an awkward hug.

Then the same happened in Porto. I didn't follow through in a party in Granada when a woman blatantly asked "quieres follar esta noche?" Instead I hesitated and said "I. I guess."

The thing is: I'm not like that. I am calm, direct, and have no problem initiating what both of us want. As soon as we lock lips I love taking things slow. By the time I move to something which is explicitly erotic we're already really wound up. After that, we go at it and we both get release.

This fear is something which I am going to end this weekend. I know I am going to see someone who likes me. I am going to get over it and go for that initial contact. Maybe make it light with someone I have no intention of going home with. However, the ice prison is something which I'm going to stop immediately...it's only once in a long while that a woman initiates the first contact.

The day is slipping by though. I have to go fetch that book and work out. Again, while I work out, I will be thinking about a tall beautiful girl from Ohio or Spain...or maybe a short girl from Italy.. and how much I want to tune my body to get us where we need to go.

Pure fiction.

Bone-Deep Feelings

Right now I'm sipping my chirri coffee on the yellow two-seat table in my flat in Madrid. It is a cold cloudy day in May...not the Sahara dust cloud that made me sick for the past week and a half...but a raincloud with the promise to clean the air and all surfaces. Peter Brown's sampler is playing and I'm musing about the different paths we took.

Music remains a huge hole in my life. For some reason I hold a bit of shame for letting it go so far behind me. I'm not even bringing my saxophone back to the USA because it would set me back 100 Euro just to transport it. More than likely I'll pick the bass back up and re-record "night's harmony" on this new computer.

I had a full disc of casio-songs on a free software that Pete gave me 4 years ago. The computer crashed and I lost all of it though.

This past weekend was a bitter-sweet one for several reasons.

Let's start by my physical state. Last week I went for an hour long run in the partial sun of a hot and sunny day. The last time I ran that long was in the Shawnee camp with Badger and Sean over a year ago.

I had no intention to run that long. I know my knee is still jacked up from that judo match last winter...but there was so much intrigue and beauty on the streets that I just kept going and going. It was hot and dry, my throat was craving water but then I saw a peacock in Retiro; my knee started to crack but then I found a colorful street to strut through. The day was great.

The next day it was cloudy. I thought it would rain. Instead of rain clouds in the sky there was a progressively thicker layer of dust on everything in the city. Those were dust clouds obscuring the sun. I had never seen anything like it. Had I known...I would have not ran that day.

I spent the next three days clutching a fistful of napkins, toilet paper, and handkerchiefs...anything to catch the mucus streaming out of my face. Allergies are a pain. Running for an hour and sucking up more dust than a sweeper didn't help.

Friday night I went to knitting club but wasn't exactly perky. I saw people and made some jokes. There is a girl there that I really like. She's shy, funny, has a nerdy charm, and speaks English. We flirted for two and a half hours one night but since then I hadn't sat next to her. This time I was blocked in the corner by the token angry old woman knitter.

In my recent reinventions I have placed myself in a high-value, positive, and efficate position. I don't permit negative thoughts as often and don't rationalize everything that I do. Finally the reductive process has been successful. Sick, however, makes it tough to be positive.

I asked Marcos to come have a drink. He agreed but said he had friends coming. I invited myself to hang out with them if it was ok. He called. Shy-girl and I started bantering for a bit then Marcos thundered up and took me away to the bar. I need to get around to asking shy-girl out. It's too nice an opportunity to pass up even if nothing is going to happen. It's good to feel natural with another person.

Marcos's friends were ok. One was a gorgeous, typical looking, Madrid woman. The other was a blonde, taller, and really sweet. Unfortunately, the typical looking Madrid woman also acted like a typical Spaniard. Long-winded complaints were all the conversation permitted for 30 minutes. I checked my watch. No. 50 minutes... another round. An hour and twenty minutes. I tried to stab at conversation with some questions but I know nothing about the Madrid-Barajas Air Traffic Control World....which is how they knew each other.

Jason always deflects my sister from talking about work when they're together. I understand why. Although her job is interesting it's scathing to hear someone moan for an hour and twenty minutes. It was Marcos's turn. He talked about some things which were much more interesting but still slightly exclusive. The blonde asked me a few questions and we had a light chat for a bit before typical Madrid woman piped up to kill the rest of our time together. Those Mahou beers, medium sized, were 3.75 each (About $6).

It was a cold night to be drinking out on the patio...but I welcomed the air since the Sahara Cloud had moved. Arms crossed, legs crossed, and chin down is not a good posture to have open and warm conversation. However, some of us were underdressed for patio drinking in 55-60 degree (F) weather.

It reminded me of earlier that day when I was with the other teachers. As usual, they complained externsively about the employment situation. Then they complained about the government. Some laughs were shared and stories were exchanged. Loli, Pilar, Susana, Alina, and Miriam were there along with an older teacher with whom I don't work.

We ate together. I checked my watch as the conversation edged in on the admission test requirements. The older lady and I chatted as we got cocido soup and salads. Unfortunately the restaurant had a one-size-fits-all pricing system. My soup, salad, banana, and 4 oz beer cost me 8.50 euro.

I can think of better or worse ways to spend my Fridays. I was upset spending almost 20 euro in total during the day but I was glad to be with company. My question remains: how do I filter the right people into my life?

Saturday I was determined to be productive...but I stumbled upon the show Louie and tore through one episode after another for a few hours. Then I got a fierce workout, played sax, studied a little toxicokinetics, read some epa reports on natural mercury deposition, and killed time on facebook.

Then I sat down with a glass of red wine and watched an episode. Another glass and another episode followed. Eventually I was through the entire second series. I went to bed with a sick stomach at 9:00 p.m.

The next day I woke up feeling down. I made a salad and studied a bit. Then Rob called to go out.

Spain has its pride and charm for a variety of reasons. However, beer is not one of them. They boast a broad selection of 5 lagers that taste similar. They're not bad. There's certainly a bit more flavor than Bud Light or Natural Light. However, if you want to switch out the lager for a pilsner, pale ale, or porter...you're out of luck. The Irish pubs are the closest you get to variety and they charge 5 euro per glass.

This is why I was excited when Rob pointed out an international brew fest near Casa del Campo. It spritzed rain but nothing could stop us from sampling. It was 5 euro for a glass and 2 for every refill. We tried triple Indian pale ales, pilsners, a wheat beer, porters, stouts, and spiced ales. We mingled with a fantastic couple, met some thirsty American guys, and chatted it up with the heiress to a brewing company. We met some American girls in the Auxiliares program and enjoyed the day sampling and wandering.

Then we sauntered over to a theatre where we thought Citizen Kane would be playing. Instead it was a Chilean movie we had no interest in seeing. We snatched some kebaps at a nearby place and went to the Cat's to chill. After a little while we met a Brazilian wanderer and hung out with him for a bit while we chowed down. The food was amazing as always.

Being back at the Cat's reminded me how far I've come. A big part of me wants this adventure to draw to a close. There's a beautiful Brazilian woman and a couple nice French friends waiting for me on the other end of June in Paris. I also have met some lively and interesting people in the USA to hang out with. I've grown to be more open, controlled, and sociable. I feel stable and whole.

At this point I would love to begin medical school. However, as the chips fell it looks like my best option is to come back or do AmeriCorps next year. I'm waiting on some documents...again...to verify which school I will be working next year.

As accustomed to solitude as I am, I still miss my friends. Pale ale brought me back to two summers past. After a shot of god-know's-what I was wandering through the woods and fell down a huge hill. I lost my shirt and was badly scratched by the underbrush. I wandered home to 78 after asking a couple people which way court street was. The nights were rich with drama and learning. The days were ripe with information and good times. There was always a variety of beer to be had at casa, of course, to be consumed in moderate amounts always with some friends.

Rob, Tom, Jacky, my coworkers, David, and Ian are my friends here. Our times together seem sparce.

This summer I'm looking forward to spending time with all the people that I love. The lake will be waiting for me. I will be jumping between Canton, Columbus, Kent, Akron, and Athens as people beckon. I already am looking forward to spending time with a woman on those warm summer nights in the cool water.

I live in a truly unique corner of Ohio. Last summer after hard hot days dreaming of a French affair that would and will never happen I used to come home to a bit of gin, some cold pasta salad, and adventures in the barn with a nice girl. At the time I thought things couldn't get better. Now I realize that that place is and was something I will always cherish.

When I sit in the Fish Barn in my mind I am immediately taken back to all the times there. The place is a skeleton on which the muscles hung. With time they waste away. I went from having parties there and drawing crowds of the artistic and adventurous out of the crags of Jackson High School to running with nothing but shoes on accross the sheep pasture to play music to the night with my friends.

With the onset of turkey farming and the passing of high school things, inevitably, changed for the place. I grew older, wiser, stronger. My friends moved away to more vibrant places. I still go there in my mind on lonely nights in Madrid. I remember every detail of the stages.

At first there was wood everywhere. Brandon and I tried to set up a tarp tent in the swamp behind the barn. We went out there to play harmonica and drum. I went out to that tent when my brother hurt me or threatened to do something awful. There was only room for two chairs. I took my young, happy, strange girlfriend out there to kiss and wander without the traditional values of my family encroaching upon my self-discovery.

As the spring rains came we got bored with a small tent and remembered that there was electricity in the wall-less barn adjacent to our fort. There was one outlet crudely wired together by my uncle and a lot of switches. At this point the garden was overgrown and there was garbage all around the barn. With time, though, we stacked the wood in a logical way.

The tornado changed everything. If a summer came before that I would be out in the lake meeting people and talking to the community. I'd sneak candy from our concession stand and eat it in the basement when I was a kid. My parents didn't know how I got in. There was a small hatch behind the water softener that led in to the storage room.

However, when I turned 13 there was none of that. Just a barn full of wood and an empty hole where the stand used to be. The barn was perfect though. It didn't get wet with rain.

Progressively, Brandon and I brought things up there to do. There was a box of toys and a deck of cards. We made up stories and talked about the future. Remembering all the old things in the attic of the house I decided it would be a good idea to bring a TV to the barn. Carrying everything up there required some strength and a lot of strange contraptions.

Eventually, we had a couch and a TV. From the goodwill we bought VHS tapes of classic movies our parents wouldn't let us watch. We bought odd things to break and decorate the place. We found an old N64 and played smash brothers in the fall instead of doing homework.


When Brandon moved away and we refinished his old house I would go to the barn to read Plato and Kant. My dad always tried to get me to read the Bible or St. Augustine. I did...but I preferred history, philosophy, and logic to the classics I grew up with.

Yeah, the skin has changed but this summer the skeleton still rests. I hope to have a few people in town who are adventurous enough to drive across a sheep pasture to chill in a barn without walls. There will be local Ohio brew, music from the old guitar, and ...after midnight ... swimming.

If people come or not I will still be there. Musing. I always knew that I would have incredible adventures out in the world. We talked about it when we had fires in the kettle on winter nights. Before the smoke filled the top we would muse about what we knew and would know. Most of those people I met in my barn would never leave that place. Some of them are now in medical school, quite a few are insane beyond the point of help, and a generous amount I will never see again.

It will be nice to see it I can find company just crazy enough to enjoy some summer nights with me.

Salamanca

Recently I've taken to just staring at the map of Spain, my new found home. 46 million inhabitants are here eating ham and taking siestas. There are a lot of things that I will never get used to.

Flash back to the bus ride from Malaga to Sevilla. Two weeks ago during the May bridge in our work. Alec and I were heading toward feria and great times we didn't even know possible. I met a really nice Japanese linguistics student on the bus and talked the entire four hour ride.

This past weekend I was in a mood to travel but Santiago de Compostela was 100 more euros than I wanted to spend. I decided to skipstep over to Salamanca, which is a mere two and a half hour ride from Madrid, to pay the charming little university town a visit.

I had a jarra, and a small glass of beer with my sandwich at Mendez Alvaro. It's always overpriced but fantastic when you need it. On the bus I sat next to a middle-aged Spanish woman reading a romance novel. My laptop was open and I was listening to a French podcast. Then I switched to a self-improvement podcast about the psychology of wholeness.

There was a sign about some festival at the station. Upon my arrival I marched in to a local internet bar and had a couple drinks, tapas, and found...to my dismay...that there were no hostels available. I realized that meant one of two things. 1) I could party all night with no break. 2) I had to find someone willing to lend me a couch.

In the bar I met an American and Spaniard who wanted me to come out with them last night.

I called the Japanese linguist and we met in the afternoon for a drink by the river. She showed me the entire city including the cathedral, main plaza, and the old Roman bridge. Immediately I was glad to know someone so warm in the city. She went off with her friends and we agreed to meet back up later that night.

At a local bar I got a huge sandwich, some ham, and potatoes followed by some more tapas. Then I hiked back to the beautiful old plaza and saw some street shows. There was  a very flambuoyant man spinning a disc and dancing. I really enjoyed his show. Then I went and watched the game for a bit in a bar. Sauntering back into the plaza I caught a concert.

The American said they were going out at one. Maybe I'm getting old...but I don't like starting that late.

After the concert was over I called my friend. We met up and drank some lemon beers before going to a salsa club. There was a good band playing American music. Salsa came afterward. I grabbed her by the hand and explained the basic steps in English...stopped...and then in Spanish because she spoke no English.

We had a great time; she agreed to let me crash on her couch. The night was perfect on our walk back; she said she was embarassed to not know salsa better. In the kitchen we had a little private lesson. Stepping faster and faster we broke into laughter at ourselves. I leaned in quickly, she was smiling, I paused, then we hugged and thanked her for a place to stay.

The next day we had a river picnic and I took the bus back to Madrid. I probably will never see the American again but I encouraged the Japanese girl to visit me in Madrid.

Throughout the entire weekend until that pause in the kitchen I was comfortable. Since as long as I can remember I've had this ability to recognize and appreciate my emotions. Usually, my impulsivity overcomes my anxiety and the whole mass of emotions runs together into a blissful human experience.

The "no" response is something strange, however. I've had it ever since I could remember. Being a sophomore in high school with a blonde girl on my lap. Feeling each other, passing ideas, and immersing ourselves in the moment was incredible. Then, with my hand in the most intimate position, I asked to leave. No reason, no thought, just wanted to leave. The same happened in the barn with an ex, with my closest friend in Toledo in the summer, and many, many times here. This is changing now.

Tonight, today, now I'm not going to say no to doing what both people want. You only get so many chances to love and laugh in your life. Burning those to feel safe is not worth it.

The seminar I listened to resonated with me. I passed back over Fromm's life story on my way back to Madrid. I discovered something heartwrenching...

He loved many times in his life...but the deepest compassion was for his wife Henny. They both were survivors of Nazi Germany and fled the terror there.

Henny developed a bad case of lead poisoning that left her bed-ridden and unable to use her joints. Except...it wasn't lead poisoning because that's not the typical symptom. Henny had what they could only describe as "a rare form of arthritis with no cause or cure." It sounds too familiar.

So. This morning I have been working on my medical applications. Then I worked out. I am about to play some sax and eat something before meeting up with Rob for drinks in La Latina. tomorrow is a free day. Ambre and I are solidifying our plans for June. I have 70 euro to spend in Santiago the last weekend of May and 25 euro/week for groceries if I want to save up for Paris.

The job outlook seems like this: Clay's Park, Sylvester's, A.R.E. . . . . .

I put out a bunch of info requests for summer camps and biology jobs. Filling out applications tomorrow morning with coffee. I love late mornings.

dedalus:coming home

I love thinking. It's something really human we have to get good at and, some days, overcome.



For instance, it's hard to think that this time 5 years ago I was heavily involved in Plato, Hesse, Kant, and Freud. I would meet weekly with a man I call "the professor" to discuss my important struggle trying to reconcile religion and cognition as I know it. I was dating a stunningly controlling but very cunning black haired girl from my hometown. We would rave about the environment and the system.



The next year I was still confused with college. Still, I would meet the professor and the black haired girl to hash out how to save the planet and my eternal soul. Conversations had weight. I was dating a lovely, dainty, brilliant Chinese girl at the time. Wrapped up in living fast I went skydiving, and fled to Spain for the first time. 2008 was a great and terrible year.



The next year I was reeling from a mistake that took 5 minutes to accomplish but forever to explain. I was timid and focused on interpreting literature. However, I didn't take much of a driving soul from the books. At this time my mother had been diagnosed with RSD and I sought to do nothing but learn everything about the disease. Literature, Spanish, some parties, and biology were my  foundation for life.



Junior year I snapped off with the classes. 20 credit hours a term. I was then dating a beautiful, tall, intelligent woman from WV and experimenting with poetry and creative fiction. My writing became more important and my connection with the fraternity strengthened. Everything in life revolved around school, girls, friends, good times, and literature with thought took a back seat. It was a cold winter night when I was wrapped up in blankets and overcoats that I knew I shouldn't see someone. I did, and passed some great time with her. Unfotunately, that came at the expense of my ochem study.



The next year I balanced everything perfectly. Pizza, labs, and MCAT were all I focused on. With medical school and the rest of my life on the horizon I had one thing to think about: my decision. Should I stay with the women and friends I had won through the years of study, working various jobs, and volunteering to help the environment. Would the hippies, bros, biologists, and friends from the woodwork forget about me as time passed? Could I possibly find something better across the Atlantic ocean? Like Daedalus, I chose flight. It wasn't for fear or wanting to reinvent myself after my mistake in 2008...it was for the desire to grow in unfathomable ways.



The unplanned happened. On my summer trip I had a problem with the background check that cost me 4 months of work here. I plunged into the life of a college graduate without a masters degree: factory and restaurant work. I had a comfortable life. Working 65 hours a week is something that one gets used to. Working 16, as now, is something I'm not used to yet after 4 full months here.



But, now here I am in the 5th year since strutting my high school stage. Degrees under my belt and itchy feet wanting to wander...I wonder: I didn't get into medical school this past time. I got my last rejection letter in April. A terrible feeling creeps up your spine at the thought that your total will and the summation of your efforts are not enough. I've been meeting people with the phrase "no one person rejects you. your approach and conversation is a situation. they know nothing of your struggles, apprehensions, passions, or positive attributes. they reject a certain string of words or phrases in a situation at a given time. you're just a moment when they say 'yes' or 'no.' so you can't take it personally."



Getting rejected from a school is different. You tell them your accomplishments, struggles, personal habits, past experiences, and EVERYTHING that matters. Maybe I need to get better at putting my life on paper...but having them say "no" to all those sleepless nights with ochem, evo, biocalc, biochem, phys, dev, and all the other crap I learned...is shredding. This time I'm earlier. I hope that makes a difference.



So here I am in year 5. I am no longer the philosopher I was in high school. I am a weathered scientist with an unwavering desire to understand how my body works. I want to know my neurons so that I can cure dysfunction in the nociceptors that give my mother constant pain. That's the naked construction that I have been forcefed by experience.



Dedalus flew away from people's responsibility: they asked him to be a great poet of Ireland. They wanted him to be catholic, they wanted him to be their champion, they wanted him in a role. I felt the same pressures growing up. The professor wanted me to teach philosophy (he got his wish more or less), the black haired girl wanted me to write (I guess this counts a bit), and my family pushed for medicine. Here I am a wanderer; I learn from the school of experience and speak in my native language for profit.



I am successful and happy here. I make a decent wage, have satisfying work, and am living in one of the most beautiful places in the world. When offered the position caring for nutrition in children in the appalachian region I said "no" because I wanted this job. Now I'm forced into a decision time again. The uncertainty of the moment is a chaotic bliss.



$500 to apply to medical schools? After transfer and conversion fees from my Spanish work that's 1 1/2 weeks of work. That's a short trip to Amsterdam or Rome. I guess the real question is: is a trip worth the death of a dream?



For the day I am off. Stuck in Madrid because I have 3 euro in change to work with. I get paid this upcoming week but can't go to Salamanca without cash. This is a good thing because it has made me fill out applications all day. Right now I finished my coffee and am going to the gym. Last night it rained and I went to the park for a glass of Mahou. I sat and watched the dogs play in the rain. The moon was full. I could say that I was lonely but that would be a lie. My friend and I were supposed to be together but we never met up.



 Tonight I think I'll reunite with some Americans and Mexicans I met when I first got here. If they don't get back to me I'll call my British friend. When those two fail I take to the streets or parks to meet whoever wants to have a good time or share experience.

endorphin hungry

It seems like I have a lot of catching up to do. The month of April has been nonstop travelling and adventure punctuated by spurts of productivity and maniacal change. I can say that I've been depressed the month of April. It goes with not eating regularly, being reminded that I'm out of medical school for the 2012-2013 school year, lapsing from 6 weekly workouts to 2, stopping my rigorous lesson plans, stopping my dates with Spanish women, and getting out of knitting club. Let's go with the opposite this month. Today I searched for jobs and applied to 4. I also researched a bit about things to do around Madrid. I think that no matter how much I search I will not find an ideal job in Ohio. It seems like a nature and cultural educator in a kids camp, volunteering at the red cross, or some sort of wildlife or farm volunteer work are my best options. My fear is the truth: my best option is to lay low in Massillon and work 70 hours per week. Ideal would be Athens or Columbus. OK would be Akron with a tech job or something interesting. Worst would be temp jobs at home. I would love to see my family but need to stay productive and focused. I am planning on seeing Ambre for a week in Paris and Lille but want something meaningful when I get home. I hope to find it.

company in the Czech Republic part 2

After a long walk toward town I asked person after person about the bus station. No English. Eventually I bought something to eat from a street vendor. He spoke pretty well and pointed me in the right direction. I got a little lost and ended up in a hostel called "Czech Inn." It was the one I was looking for the night before.

I sat on the computer blankly contemplating the insanity that was my night before. Determined to get out of the city before I met the Ukranians again, I closed my laptop with the instructions to the bus station and set off. I had no idea how lost I would be when I got there.

Again, there was no English. I went to a window and wrote down "Olomouc" which some people pronounce "uul mosh" and others something else. The man chuckled asked "English?" from behind his desk and then told me to go two desks over to ask there.

After going there I grabbed a ticket from the man who simply said "11:17 or 12:17" and I ran up to the platform.

Little did I know...there were three wings designated "R," some other letter, and blank. My ticket was in Czech and had no departure time. I ran to a platform and asked an old German man. The floor staff spoke only Czech but the German said "It's here."

Three minutes later he said "no. It's not here. Go downstairs."

I went back to  the info desk and got scoffed at. Ran back up to the platform and stared at the monitor. Throwing away 100 crowns for a water bottle, I wondered in passing what this trip was really going to cost.
I boarded the train.

Olomouc was cleaner, Olomouc was older, and Olomouc had even less English speakers. I wandered and got lost until I heard a few brits speaking English in an old courtyard. There was a church and some bums past an old square. I walked through, gazed at the statue, then entered the church.

It was different from those in Spain. More pictures, more statues, and tons of Embalacias (I'm not sure if that's what they're called). They are beautiful, old, golden figurines with occasionally sensible things on them. I didn't understand what they were or what they meant but they were beautiful. It was Sunday, so mass was in session and the priest stared at me as he read his lines to a half-full audience.

After gazing at the Czech inscriptions and seeing the artistic depictions of the crucifiction I wandered out. Next door there was a large lawn surrounding a museum. Because it was Sunday, the exhibitions were free.

I wandered from room to room reading history of the old stone painted statues. In the center room there was a giant painted chariot beautifully adorned with figurines and designs. Then, I went downstairs to see, up close, remains that were over 1000 years old. There were tools and weapons from the ancient people there.

The contrast between their lives and mine I felt deeply. So long ago they lived but the same anxieties of betrayal and self-preservation are something we both have in common.

Speaking of self-preservation, I hadn't eaten since that sausage from the street vendor. About 8 hours had passed and I was ready for some more food.

I checked in to the Poet's Corner hostel to the surprise of the nice Czech hostess. She was a nice woman in her mid 30's with a nice smile. Smiling back, I asked her the ins and outs of the city. She recommended a lot of nice microbrews and some areas to see during my brief visit. She didn't have change for my 500 bill so she stood up to reveal a very large pregnant belly.

I felt bad because she then proceeded to climb down the 5 sets of stairs to get change from the store nearby.

After she got my change she set a bed with a chocolate mint on the pillow. There was only 1 person there: a Chinese person. I joked about having a "luxury private suite" with him because there were half a dozen empty beds. We hit it off pretty well and I asked him to come have dinner.

I had the microbrew in mind. An Australian man, the hostess's husband, came in and let us know about the fantastic ribs at the restaurant called "M" on my map. We chatted about the city and I told him that I, unfortunately, had to leave tomorrow so I had to make the most of it.

The Chinaman called himself  "John," (to my recollection) and he was from Hong Kong. He lived in London but he was Mormon. It was an interesting conversation on our way to "M."

As soon as I sat down I picked out the giant .5 kg ribs and .3 kg vegetables. It's nice there that they list the quantity of food that you get as well as the price.

That night I was looking for trouble but didn't find it. The hostel was deserted. There was no one on the streets at 10 p.m. I went to a corner bar and no one spoke Spanish, French or English. I decided to get a frantic night's rest in preparation for my interview the next day.

I woke up at 7:30 a.m. and sauntered to the number cafe the pregnant hostess told me to visit. The breakfast was nowhere near as fantastic as the beer and ribs from the night before (Czech food beats that of the Spanish handily).

I finished breakfast in a rush and ran to a shoe store. I quickly tried on several pairs of shoes before settling on a size 40 dress shoe. They're a bit large for me but they have a square point to them. It was tough to tell the first time I put them on that they weren't going to work out.

I quickly paid with visa after demanding that the clerk stop trying to upsell me with her broken English.

I ran to the interview and demanded to know where my appointment was. Again, the receptionist spoke no English! It was so frustrating. I got around to seeing them afterward and they were very nice.

The interview fragment went very smoothly and they were enthusiastic that I was interested. Pending my grades being what I claimed and my MCAT (I told them the truth, so I know I can get in) they said that they would be happy to accept me for an interview.

Then I saw the facilities and was not impressed nore let down. Everything was modern, the staff were knowledgeable and courteous. The sticking point was this: The program admitted highschoolers from particular medical programs in southeast asia. I wasn't worried about integrating with a multinational group...I had more problems with going to a medical school with a group of 16 year olds. I felt like my degree put me in the "overqualified" category for the school. In addition to that, tuition is 10,000 euro. Not worth being so far from my family.

I was glad to go though. The tour of the facility and conversations about science, medicine, and why I want to practice really put me in gear to plan ahead.


I also wanted to speak with the Americans there but didn't have a chance to meet them.

I ran in my square shoes to print my ticket. Then, I ran faster for 2 miles to catch my train. The train moved slowly and I could barely contain my apprehension as it slogged back to Prague. I thought 65 minutes was enough to get from the station to the airport but that turned into a little 45 minute window.

I got on the "express bus" at 4:00 and we started off at 4:05. I removed my belt and the metal in my pockets in anticipation of running through security. By the time we got to the airport my plane was boarding with 5 minutes left. I sprinted around the airport looking for the C terminal. The only thing I could think was "300 euro if I miss this flight!"

I found someone. Yelled "C GATES?! C GATES?!" They smiled and pointed. I ran through security and sprinted to the gates. I got there for last call. Smiled at the woman and whipped out my passport. As soon as I got on the bus to shuttle us to the tarmac the doors closed. Exhausted from stress, I zoned out in reflection.

Madrid felt pretty comforting to sleep in after that adventure. I learned something. I now know what it's like to have 48 hours of frantic ignorance and adrenaline.

company in the Czech Republic Part 1

After my company left I felt the urge to replace and review. Consequently, my adventures of Prague happened.

It's a blur. I woke up frantic at 6 after short hours of sleep. I centered myself by rapidly eating the pasta and stir fried vegetables I made the night before. Then, of course, I crammed two shirts, a pair of socks, my laptop, and some money in my bag before hustling to the 6 line to Nuevos Ministerios.

I knew I should be smiling, talking to people, and enjoying the flitting moment but I was on a mission: Prague-->Olomouc-->Medical School-->Prague-->Madrid (In 52 hours aaaand GO!)

Eating became secondary when my "9:30 a.m." flight became an "I guess we'll take off at our convenience regardless of your 40 minute connection in Zurich" flight.

My next flight had 5 minutes until takeoff. I got to the gate by "last call"

On that flight I met John. John was a medical technologist specializing in heart machines in Wisconsin. We passed a good flight bantering about Europe and travel.

Then in Prague time stood still and I took off my watch. There were Czechs dancing in the square in front of some old buildings. I wandered around and saw a river, cathedral, old buildings, and a lot of a language I understood none of.

Then I happened upon a holed up restaurant. I was famished at this time. I pointed a finger and said "un" "uno" "one" to a confused person. I made a gesture like I wanted to eat.

In retrospect I should have learned some basic Czech.

My waitress spoke English. Next to me was a giant family laughing and eating. I asked for a beer.

I got a budweiser.

Thinking to myself "why would anyone want this beer in another country?" I took a sip. I stared at it. It was amazing. It was on par with Dortmunder from Great Lakes...except...it was drank faster. I downed 1L before the meal came.

In reality I had no idea what I ordered. Out came a simple slab of roast pork on top of a mountain of vegetables. I mixed the two and washed it down with more "Budvar." It was heavenly. I was in a trance. The meal cost 185 crowns...which is less than 10 euro depending on where you get your money changed.

Content, I walked out to smoke a cigarette and find internet to get to a hostel. That's when it happened. Two men with good intentions lent me a lighter in exchange for a cig. One had long greasy hair and a big nose. He spoke a bit of crude Spanish that he picked up in Barcelona 10 years ago. They spoke no English so I walked the other way.

The man with the short hair ran me down and asked "what?" and I, a bit frustrated, pointed to my chest and made a sleepy gesture. Short hair smiled, pointed **you** **sleep** **shower** were the gestures. His friend seemed disinterested. I nodded. He waved for me to come.

At this point I thought they would point out a hostel. Then the greasy haired man with burnt hands and a vacant expression said "train. hostel expensive"

I hopped on the tram with no idea how to pay. Short hair started saying "blah blah. you. my wife. me no."

In 10 minutes I was at their house. It was in the projects. Several beds in one room. Several people in a bed. No one spoke English. I wanted to leave but decided to stick around to see what would happen.

A greasy Ukranian man came out and mumbled a few words in English. I asked "internet?" and he shook his head. Eventually the wife came back and asked me "Why you here?" I shrugged.

In a half hour Chicago came. This is when things got more interesting.

Chicago was a chubby, pale, redheaded man who spoke fluent English and several slavic languages. From the start I could tell that I couldn't trust him. The more I distrusted him the more he assured me he was trustworthy.

Short haired man asked him to ask me for money. I gave him a small sum for a rough bed. Chicago said "he says it's uncomfortable because it's meant for two people. If you bring a prostitute back it's no problem."

His fifteen year old son stared me down the whole time.

Then Chicago and I went to the center. He was broke. We shared fantastic dark beers and swapped our stories. He was living illegally and was doing "construction." Later in the conversation I figured out that "construction" meant demolishing buildings and ripping out the copper piping. His main income was his mother and selling drugs.

Then we ate meat paste on the main street. All the dealers lined the streets that we walked down. Immigrants, amputees, people with despair and urgency in their eyes all stared at us. Chicago called me "the tourist."

After raking the streets for a bit he found a dealer to buy drugs from. I, still intrigued and a little buzzed, kept my distance but followed him expecting to happen upon a respectable lodging in the near future.

He shook hands with an African, shook hands again, and ran away smiling.

The main street was beautiful and dirty. The whole city seemed like it forgot something and was trying to remember. As the night went on it seemed more like they were trying to scratch out those memories.

The handshakes were an exchange of his parents money for pot. Enter a Russian woman tripping on something. She demanded that I buy her a beer so I obliged.

Chicago took us to the metro. He told me we were going to a dorm party. I felt safe in the city. All my posessions on hand I was ready to ditch them at any moment. On the metro weed was smoked by Chicago and the Russian.

He told me we were going to see a view of the city. I shrugged. Ready for anything, I followed with an unnatural interest.

20 minutes walking I realized we weren't going to a party and we weren't going somewhere touristy. The Russian woman walked us around the outskirts of Prague confusedly for 2 hours. We were in the middle of nowhere at the end of our little hike.

After this, I felt a bit tired and completely ready to crash. Chicago tried talknig to me about life. Then he told me not to trust the wife of the man who brought me to the slums.

We arrived at the house but Chicago and I weren't allowed in. The Russian went in and came back out after 25 minutes. She had something in her hand but I didn't want to know what it was. Suddenly, she was gone and we were waiting for a car.

Chicago tried to convince me to do some white powder with him in the park but I refused. Then he asked me for the foil to my cigarettes. He pulled out the whole pack and put his drugs on the foil. Hunched over on a park bench he lit the paper on fire and quickly burned up all his drugs.

In a rage he tried to smoke the paper. He cursed in his language, then in English. I wanted to know what they were but didn't ask him.

I was in another world. It was a world without school, jobs, or forethought. It was a complete moment and nothing else. There was no "next year" and there were no bills. These people lived with what they had and wanted what would make them feel good. It was sickening. It made me thankful for my time in college and my hard work to come here. It made me relish the fact that I had student debt but also the conscience to pay it back. By contrast, all my doubts about my life path were, temporarily, absolved.

This guy was a little king in his world. I can't say definitely that there is something wrong with his way of living. It's just not mine. I appreciate my world now. I'm not begging my mom for money to gamble and spend on the present. I'm working toward medical school and what I see as beauty in the world.

In the car I was asked for money. I said I had none. By this time I had come to my senses and realized that I was in plenty of danger. There was a man and a woman in the car. They wanted me to buy something from them but couldn't speak English.

I was delighted and terrified to arrive back at the slums. The Ukranian wife stood in the doorway as Chicago yelled something into his phone. I saw the 15 year-old on the bed. I asked slowly "Is the water OK to drink?" He nodded.

I was on the fence at that time for more adventure. The history and beauty of the city was a splendid backdrop for all the depressing activity.

The wife shouted "go sleep now!" and Chicago tried to come back into the room but she closed the door and locked him out. "You sleep now and in the morning you go. OK?"

I nodded.

Sleep was never so light. I clutched my bag wishing I spoke Czech. The 15 year old in the room was watching tv through two computers with half-working parts.

The next morning I started awake by the wife again. Her black hair was matted and half draped in her frantic face. She furrowed her brow searching for words in English. We stepped outside and spoke softly. "I go to city with you. Find hotel."

"I'm leaving the city today."

"I take you out of here."

"Just point me in the right direction and I will find my way."

"Out of here turn left and go straight to Praha center. Don't come back."

"Ok, thank you."

"The young man you were with said he wants to use your money. Don't stay with him. Don't come back. They want take your money. So. Go."

She nodded her head and spoke with an edgy voice. She didn't want me there to shake up their world. Less money around meant less problems. She was thankful for the little bit I gave them.

I stepped outside. She gave me a lighter. "You keep. I insist no more problem."

I know now that she was talking about how I met her husband by asking for a light.

Immediately in the 7 a.m. morning light I felt a great love for everyone I knew. I felt great to be alive and to have my feet on the right path. The only thing I had to do then was to go to Olomouc.

Two steps forward. Sidestep. One step back?

Lisbon was amazing. I learned a lot about myself and the people I'm around. There's a lot to be said about how refreshing travel can be. You're out of your routine. You're in an elated emotional state. You're ready to be bold and amplified. Through this can come destructive or intriguing behavior.

My last two days in Porto had a lot of contemplation and solitude to accompany them. It was a perfect place to reflect upon myself and what I thought was important. That set my mind into a perfect state to meet people and be comfortable with myself.

At Lisbon I met a great set of people and hope to keep in contact with them. In reality I will lose contact with all of them but that's the nature of travel and exploration. I learned a lot about how I interact with people and what works.

I'm starting to realize the power of meditation and workouts in stabilizing my interaction with people. The mind leads the body which leads the mind...

One of the people I met in Lisbon I invited to stay with me for a week. All the bad habits that I was able to kick while on vacation came back as soon as I was back here. The overanalysis, the backhanded comments, the sarcasm, and the approval-seeking surged forward like an unwanted tide that had been held back for a week.

I'd have to say it was one huge step forward followed by a step back. Really, it was more like getting ready to jump foward again. I understand what I like about myself and relish it. I understand what I dislike about myself and throw it away.

The problem of these bad habits comes up as soon as I start caring what people think about me. It may seem selfish but the best mindset is "I am a positive person and effective in my environment. By my happiness and presence everyone around me gains knowledge, enjoys laughter, and has an open ear to listen to their problems. What could possibly stop me?"

The answer to that question, I know now, is "nothing but me."

I am excited to go to Prague this weekend. It's going to be a whirlwind trip with a lot of time spent en route to a medical interview and school tour. I only have 3 hours total in the school of my destination but it's enough to get a real answer on what it's all about.

I realize that teaching is my passion but today I badly missed science. I started talking about senses in one of my classes and remembered how much I love learning biology.

This gradual and sincere realization is what I took time off for. The question was "do you really want to dedicate your life to medicine, teaching, and learning?" It's a huge investment and I know people who regret not doing something to assure that it's what they want.

So. My friend from Denmark left. She was pleasant, free spirited, and good company. Now I am going to Prague. Next weekend I am going to Granada. I don't expect to meet the people I knew before again but I expect that it will be fun. The weekend after that I want to visit France. I thought I could hold off until Ambre and I had our trip but I really want to practice my French and travel some more.

I learn something every day. My life here is asymptotically nearing perfection.

Scramble to Portugal

I'm sitting in the Lobito cafe after a long sweaty three hours of scouring Porto for someone who speaks a language in common with me. Single words get by. "Thanks" or "There?"

I got chased down by a man selling sunglasses. He said he knew the area and he spoke fluent Spanish. Unfortunately...not only didn't he know the area but he also spoke very poor Portuguese. He begged and told a story about his kid having cancer. His kid is three. He had to go to Lisbon for an operation. Consequently he needed an operation. I said I'd give him a couple euros if he pointed me in the right direction...which meant he kept following me and asking for a couple hundred euros.

He did find the street. To get him to leave me alone I said I would help him later because I'm going to Lisbon. Consequently I'd pay his ticket and go with him to see his son. He said it wasn't possible because he was going by car. A pack of oreos got him to leave me alone.

Anyways, apart from the hassle of finding my hostel the city is beautiful. Oporto means "the port" ... not the most imaginative name. The streets are similar to Spain. They are confusing, cramped and nonsensical at times, and lined with old adornments. Unlike Madrid, the streets here look like old shower tiles. It's hilly and there are a lot of seagulls. The churches and houses have a different style.

Portuguese is strange. I can pick out individual words but nothing else. If I repeat some words over and over in Spanish they understand. Sometimes they repeat words that I don't get so I just say "obreeguhto" or whatever and walk away.

The coffee I just drank was even smaller and more bitter than those in Spain. I got a massive plate of food. I have heard that prices here are much lower than Madrid but that remains to be seen.

Tom's roommate lives in this city. She said that she may be free to meet up when I'm here. Until then I'm going to take advantage of my overpriced 24 hour metro pass and try to hit as many landmarks as possible until the evening.

I am booking into the hostel as soon as I get off this.

Coming here has granted me the feeling of risk, rush, and discomfort again. The contrast is necessary to appreciate what I have.

I have hopes for this hostel. They're always nice to meet people.

Scramble to Portugal

Rearranging

Optics are really fascinating. We really don't understand light. It is pure energy that behaves like a wave and a particle at the same time. When calculating optics we treat it as a ray. Trying to understand light has led us to question what we know about the nature of any particle or collection of matter. Light's identity crisis is fascinating.

Right now the light is glancing off the palm tree's leaves in my bedroom in Madrid. The view never was very spectacular from my place but, nonetheless, I love my room. It is ordered and clean. A place for everything...and everything in its place...

It's strange that I can't do the same for my relationships with other people. I try. There are coworkers, lovers, love interests, friends, my teachers, my students, and bosses. That's easy to compartmentalize. We work together, we make love, we look forward to making love, we pass time and share experience, I learn from them, they learn from me, and I listen to them respectively.

As that light pours through my window in the afternoon hours I wonder to myself what these boundaries and boxes mean. I will obviously never cross them. For some, however, they can't exist because the "i" is the only variable that suits them.

Right now I'm thinking about someone in my present who, for both our faults, has changed circumstance. Our interaction has given me sustainence, confusion, elation, occasional despair, and endless opportunities to learn. We're on the opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean at the moment. However, like light waves, this person still exudes an exciting effect on me. The inspiration that I get from them has permeated my writing, creeps to my consciousness when playing saxophone, and causes me to strive for perfection in everything I do.

I don't feel like I must go far. The asymptotic race toward perfection is, for me, nearing the speed of light. I now have a gym that is 2 minutes from my house which I have gone to every day for the past week. My dancing abilities in the salsa arena are progressing and I'm finding more and more opportunities to practice. Meanwhile I'm seeing my ability to blend in and stand out change with my mood. Knowing this, I've found ways to keep my mood up and grow every day.

With my headphones strapped on I'm learning optics (if you can't tell by the intro), some French, metabolic biochemistry, and neuroscience. With them off I'm practicing my Spanish and enjoying every second of this cultural epicenter.

There are odd moments and setbacks, of course, but each one lets me know what to improve in the future. For the first half of March I kept a budget. Unfortunately, I lost my trial period for Microsoft Excel. I also lost my PowerPoint abilities. So, I found a way around those two by using googledocs. I have half a month's wages to spend exclusively on my trip to Portugal this Saturday.

I'm sure that this travel will accelerate my pace of experience and discovery in Europe. Only occasionally do I find myself killing time on the internet on rapid stimulation sites like Cracked.com or FailBlog.org.

My goals for April: I will send $500 back to the USA in preparation for second round applications, I will continue to work out daily, I will continue my budgeting and keep with it on Google, I will continue interacting every chance I get with the people of Madrid, I will go to free French lessons on Thursdays, I will continue going out almost every night to new places, I will visit France, the Czech Republic, and Morocco, I will continue learning salsa, my lessons will continue to progress in interactivity and efficiency, I will finally get around to learning a bit of calculus, I will stop studying psychology and focus on physics and chemistry, I will continue playing sax every day, I will continue to pressure my schools to give me worthwhile and consistent students, and I will call my mother more. All this seems reasonable.

I have accomplished a lot this month. My students' English is much better. I have no problems collecting information from people or navigating maps. I run into awkward situations (like accidentally going into a brothel without knowing it...note: if there is a neon sign and no windows then DO NOT ENTER).

Actually, I'll go into detail about last night a bit. I got done with my lesson, rearranged my room, worked out, ate dinner, then debated going to the intercambio. I decided to scope out the local club scene instead. It was great. I went to the "little bull" restaurant and met Marcos and Marina as well as introduced myself to the wait staff. After that I went to Cafe Moliere to see some free card tricks. I talked to the wait staff there as well to familiarize myself with the place a bit more.

Then I decided to go to a bar right next to my house with no windows and a neon sign of a girl with bangs draped over one eye. I asked the barkeep what kind of bar it was (I thought "pub" or "night club" or "salsa bar" would be the answer) and he said "bar de copas. con chicas." Literally this means "bar of cups. with girls." In my head this means "bar where we serve individual beers and have plenty of mixed company to hang out with." What it actually means is "at this place you buy an overpriced beer then girls will rub themselves on you and grab you asking you to buy them a drink. once you do (the drink is 20-30 euro for some reason) they take you to the back."

Not sure what happens at the back. Not sure why the price of the beer is variable. Not sure I want to know. The first person I talked to was nice. She was a good looking ecuadorian woman with a bright smile. In retrospect it's really funny that I didn't know what was going on at first. When she came uncomfortably close I pulled away and she followed me. She asked if I wanted to buy her a drink and I thought "man, she's trying really hard to get this drink. That's the third time she asked. I'm still not sure why it was 8 euro..." I said "sure." She stopped me and said "it's more expensive for me." I slid her my beer and said "I'm good without it." She rolled her eyes and said "es un bar de copas." In my head this really meant nothing but "it's a bar of cups." I still don't know if that's a weird thing there or normal.

She called her heavy black coworker over to explain to me in English. She yelled "you buy drink. go back. have sex." At this point it subtly dawned on me that this was a place I didn't want to be. I told her no thanks. She pointed at her friend and said "you don't like?"

"It's not that I don't like her. I just don't do that sort of thing. I thought this was a regular bar..." They laugh.

So: Neon signs in the USA that have poolsticks, martini glasses, people, beer brands, or whatever else...are fine. Dimly lit bars are cool.

In Spain: Stick to the Irish pubs, as clearly labeled, or the brightly lit bars with windows.

So again we're talking about light.

I remember the cold winter of December where Jason and I were skittering around Canton looking for bars to go to. There was a neon sign that said "Budweiser" through the midst of the festivities. It's always a grand thing when people are out in Canton. It's like something dead blossoms and you see what it's capable of. I deeply miss my family.

Tonight I believe I'm going out with a lovely green-eyed Spaniard for a show. I have some American friends in town as well who are supposed to meet up with me for a little tour of the non-touristy areas in Madrid.

Breaking away is blaring through my speakers right now. I wish I could move my family here. I'm arranging a university visit in the Czech Republic for an English speaking medical school.

I am turning 23 soon. My live has been very long and fulfilling. More trials are to come. For this, I am thankful.