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.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, May 21, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, May 14, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
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.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
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.
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.
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