Before it’s a new weekend, the last one was…

(Aviso: this post was written, saved, and never actually posted when I wrote it some days ago. I thought I hit “publish,” but really, had pressed “save.” Ah-durrrr! Techtards, AWAY!).

Great! The weekend was great.

Hang on: I’d just like to take a moment from our regularly scheduled programming to direct your attention to the Madrid weather forecast for the coming days: between 55 and 60, from now through December 5thish. No. I’m not kidding. Not even one little bit. Oh, joy!

This weekend’s been a lot better than it could have been, and I have a certain special lady named Liz to thank for that. The only wonderful thing about duress of any sort is that it shows you who your friends are, and allows them to swoop into the rescue to be borne along on tea-dates, to provide tureens of popcorn and walks in the park and pleasant distraction. So Liz–if you read this–thanks for being my own personal little angel this weekend. <end laud/>.

Had a nice Sunday mornin’ with Talia to go scarf some tostas at a place situated smack inside the Rastro (easily as crazy as it sounds, but not if you go early enough), then coffee and a chat at Mama Inés where all the waiters are male and dead sexy, as is the well-dressed, well-groomed, fine-smellin’ clientele. And gay. (le sigh). Other simple pleasures of the day included a stroll around Retiro with Ms. Jurewicz, and a lot of good, old-fashioned ass-to-bed time.

AND, Amber returned from her Parisian weekend bearing a gift of fig—yes, I’m serious—delightful fig bodywash. Now I’m even less motivated to take quick, non-luxurious, less planet-killing showers, which I didn’t even think was possible. But summarily: tea, carrot cake, Liz, Amber’s triumphant return and fig bodywash all made last weekend a truly fantastic, estrogen-rich experience.

Whenever I stop to evaluate myself and my life at this moment, here in Madrid, I come to the immediate, inarguable conclusion that I am very happy here. Life is great. I will say only that it’s really too bad drama never ceases to pend, or isn’t somehow niggling at the corners of my psyche and well-being. Then again, I suppose I wouldn’t so greatly appreciate the good things if they didn’t constitute the calm eye of a stormy case of emotional chaos.

Fact: as my level of English comprehension and communication depreciates, and my Spanish one stays still, my posts are become increasingly more frenetic. I’ll work on that.

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