wingolog

time

Well, I do declare! It took me until after lunch to realize this day has a personal significance: it was five years ago today that I came to Spain, not for the first time, but for this time.

Europe's been good to me, but the heartstrings still tug homewards. Here my word choice betrays me. True, there is no one place for me to go back to in the States, a "home" of relationships; but there is something there. Something green, something makeshift; something not entirely settled.

It sure isn't the health care. Or the architecture, for that matter, I notice as I hear the bells chime three, from the office where I sit.

I guess one doesn't have to explain the pull of a native land.

travellin

I'm told that in France one may wish bonne année all throughout January, as long it's the first time you see someone. So bonne année, tubes! Nice to rap at ya.

These waning days of my twenties are somewhat dislocated; or bilocated, perhaps. I spend a fair amount of time in Paris. Modern times, modern relationships, right? So it's me, my girlfriend, and the Talgo. I slept four nights on the overnighter last month, it will be four this month, and next month at least two.

It's not the cheapest way to travel, but I just feel bad about taking planes all the time -- apart from the environmental impact, plane travel just doesn't do a body right. You're alternately treated as a terrorist or a consumer. Your mind doesn't have time to arrive. It just ain't natural.

Anyway, until soon. Ciao!