i got nothing

09/04/2010 § Leave a comment

I have no idea what to write, what to read. I have been doing a lot of wandering, wondering, purchasing of return-tickets home, looking for apartments online, going out, trying to take advantage of my last days in Buenos Aires. Nevertheless, I have been busy, although I might appear to be a vaga, a lazy lady.

The latest project was sparked by an article on the group called Toronto Coffee Conspiracy — TCC, not to be confused with the TTC which is infinitely less interesting. This is a band of coffee conoisseurs who periodically meet to conversate (verb of having conversations) about, well, coffee. I am envious to not make the April 20th meeting. I don’t even know if I have to know someone to get in, if I need a secret password, or answer a series of trick questions. I’m lucky I know how to use a French-press.

Nonetheless, the TCC has ignited some serious creative juices flowing through my head, of which I have already been in contact with a few media specialists, a.k.a. Mo Cross. With all of these projects on the go, each one evolving at a pre-Industrial Revolutionary pace, I can’t help but wonder if I have taken on too much or if it’s just right. Neurotic and uptight by nature, I tend to thrive on being busy. Once a 10-hour sleeper, taking days as they came, munchin’ lunch, workin’ overtime, I have regressed into the person I was in the years of yore. In all honesty, I really don’t mind.

With time on my hands and a forever occupied brain, I am truly enjoying being the person I always felt I was. I feel like I have transferred my energy of worry — worried about life and if I could find a career, a husband, some children (yes, find), a house — and have put it towards producing something. Lots of things. I have the feeling that this kind of production and creativity is exactly what Marx would have wanted for everyone, but I will go on about that on TIP.

What else has happened? I bought another suitcase to bring back my riding-equipment, the hoard of books I have mysteriously collected (I blame sleep-reading), and the mountains of unecessary clothes that I had already brought with me. Wondering if the little-poochie could fit in the bag. He would, but I don’t think he would last long. That’s a bad thought. Pobrecito.

Other than that, nothing else has been occupying my mind. Usually, just before a change of pace and place, I begin to space out. I think it’s my body’s coping mechanism for stress but I rather like it. It kind of feels like I am dreaming the entire time, floating in and out of rooms and enjoying each experience with mediocre shrug o’ the shoulders. Since I am a heart-palpitation addict, my body knows the kinds of situations that would induce a cardiac explosion.

For example, going home. Not only is it stressful to find an apartment, — of which I am not really stressed out about but feel like I should be — but, mentally, I am so excited and nervous to see all the faces I have missed for the past 6 months. Family, friends, old co-workers, mail from the National Student Loan Services (bring it!), etc.

Then, there is leaving all those that I have lived with and met: my roomies, the puppy, my new homies, riding lessons with Tanino-the-mule, tango lessons and milongas, the boludos and boludas. Che! (Hey!)

So, I am in a stupor, not a solemn one, just a neutral one. It’s nice, however, I find it hard to keep up with the writing, wanting more to savour sips of mate on our rooftop terrace. Yeah. I think I will take advantage of that terrace whilst I can.


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