I spend my time capturing photos of light patterns. Speaking to myself in broken Spanish. Lying around my house without clothes, because, thus far, am living alone. Studying neuroscience, articulation and phonology, language development, and audiology. Attending happy hours. The occasional drink, the occasional netflix marathon, sleepovers, you know, the normal life.
I'm back to the land of many lightning bugs, a vast number of stars above, views of fields, and a bed full of nightmares. Last night I dreamt that I was alone, flying next to a train. It was cut in half, and I could see the inside. It was decorated such as a house in the 1920's, and I saw a portrait of an older woman, a mustard yellow wall, wooden door. (I now know that I dream in color.) There was a ballroom, and a kitchen, where the oven caught on fire. I flew above the burning train. Rested upon a dirty island; there was a cave filling with sand and water, and people were getting trapped inside. I saw their heads trying to reach the surface but they failed again and again. I've never dreamt like this. So vividly or so disturbingly.
I find myself distracted by all the English surrounding me. I no longer have moments of excitement when I hear my own language spoken in public. Instead, I hear things I don't want to hear, listening in on details about people's lives I would rather go on not knowing at all. I begin to stop listening to people all together. I don't hear the words anymore, I hear the rhythm. I don't know if I do it because I'm bored or because I am absolutely used to zoning out when I've lost interest (though it's not as easy now, when no one is speaking Spanish anymore. Because this takes every ounce of effort I have to understand something, it is much easier to forget to listen....) I just hear the sounds. The patterns that form in language. I even do it when I'm talking to myself sometimes. I'm just talking to hear a voice, and the intonation.
I'm not sure if time here goes faster or slower. I don't count the days anymore. I have no timeline and I don't know how much longer I'll be here. For the first time in over one year, I have no prospects of traveling. Katelyn and I are hoping to go to Chicago in November or December; we found a bus ticket for $6. For Spring Break, I have aspirations to visit Andrea in L.A., and in May, Tina and I are planning a trip to New York City. But all of these are just ideas and hopes. But I suppose eventually they will turn into, "get. me. the. fuck. out of here's."I'm missing a lot of people and a lot of things. I've left a lot of myself behind, once again. My friends here are just as well, but life here is hard when neither my heart nor my head are in the present.
