6 Months?!?!?

I haven't written in days, I know that. I haven't really done anything in days, either, and I know that too. No huge island-hopping adventures, no food poisioning, no hook-ups or break-downs. Just things, small things, ice cream bars and taxi rides. Some days I've gone to school, some days I've woke up with every intention to be productive. I have my coffee, get dressed and fall back asleep for two or three hours.

I turned in my paper and finished school. I'll put the abstract for it (in English) up here in another entry. I don't know, whatever, I'll tell about the little things I did later, when I'm walled in by snow and culture shock.

A lot's been going on in my head lately, but much less anxiety than usual and more static intersperced with these clear, revalatory thoughts. Normally on the bus I'll fret over that they might reject my five-pennies-in-place-of-a-nickel for blocks and blocks. The last week or so I just sit quietley internally and externally, bouncing my foot incessantly. I hand over my five pennies, get grumbled at, and wonder about how fish socialize. So it's been a floaty, detached few days and I'm almost glad. I haven't been hit by the transtitions-mean-the-end-of-the-world notions I usually take up at least a week before a plane flight, and I've avoided the macabre thought that "that could be the last time I do/see/ talk to X!!!!" everytime I leave the house.

But Blanquita just came in and we talked about how six months is a long time and how it passed so fast. And it is, and it did. I came here in AUGUST. August is hot and I could barely speak and I weighed ten pounds less and my hair was short. My mom walked with me to security waving and crying. And then I met Pilar and Jimmy and I listened to conversations and I went to rediculous family gatherings. I rode the bus endlessly and cleaned my plate. I went to sleep so early each night and watched TV religiously on the afternoons when I was alone. I walked in parks and did laundry and struggeled to read academic articles. People langued at me and stared and ignored me. I socialized and sat alone, lonely or not. I wrote more often than I have in years, less whiney than forever, not particularly wonderfully but with words. Used my words that I couldn't and didn't want to all day. Let myself stay quiet in arguements and at lunch because I knew my keyboard was waiting for me. Of course, the stories and the gossip and the questions were still there, but they were easy to swallow when I knew no one else would like it. I developed much better control.

And I stayed in the same place for six months. Sure, I traveled and stayed out late and slept at Aracely's, but my life was in a time span of more than ten weeks, which is something I've beaten out of myself. I acted like a long-term liver, not just surviving from quarter to quarter, living for the next Monkapult show or DOGL or my Poli Sci presentation. I know I've talked endessly about routine but it's almost impossible how little routine my life has at K. Sure, there's the caf and then SusHouseFamilyDinner, there's Monkapult, there was the midnight boyfriendPhoneCall, but those are things that happen. Those are things to put on your calender. But the motivation, the daily life stuff that fell between those appoinments was almost irregular. Things happen often or they re-occur. But for some reason, I feel safer here in this routine even though I don't like the life as much as the fun of K.

And that's sort of shocking to me, but it also makes me understand things better. K is fun, but routine is soothing. I see why people pass up the fun, the excitement of a less steady life for a more stable one. The saftey is worth it. The calm of knowing what comes next is better than the exhileration of not being able to know. I've never really understood that feeling before, and certainly well enough to articulate it.

So we'll see, I guess, weather I can make a routine at K, with more or less fun that before, liking it more or less. We'll see what parts sobresalir as important, what melts away. We shall see how I set up my tiny life in the palm of the mitten, how I teseract home and back, where I go to, how I tell you about it. We shall see.