I won't say that I've been blocked from writing over the past couple of months, but putting up a little post here, that's another thing. Fortunately, and great thanks to Pablo for the inspiration and a wonderful one way Sykpe conversation in the middle of the night, I'm getting myself back into gear.
The notebook I always carry (for those moments on the train or in the pub when I feel compelled to put pen to paper) is filled with an incomplete write up of my brief visit to Spain for the holidays and a story I started writing last September for a friend of mine.
I marked my 10th year on the trot doing the Spanish Christmas thing, and as I said years ago in one of the initial write ups, if my sister lived somewhere else, I'd be visiting her and her family there; it's just particularly cool for me that she doesn't live somewhere else.
Here's the very very brief version of the write up: some projectile vomiting which wasn't a particularly pleasant way to begin the trip, a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, celebration that my irish local in valencia has finally got their kitchen reopened (after a 3 year hiatus), lovely visits with my old friends and colleagues from around the city (special thanks to Steph and Jose Miguel), joy that my efforts to maintain a decent level of ability in the language haven't been in vain, several hours helping my sister work on her masters course, several more hours building and rebuilding various things with legos, a bit of cash spent on updating the wardrobe (though still focused heavily on black, white, and shades of gray), some groovy moments tickling the ivories, nice coffees, pensive walks by myself around the city, moments of reflection on the terrace, and a really lengthy layover in Barajas on the return leg.
A nice trip, and would have been absolutely brilliant had the vomiting not happened. Actually, it was more the aftermath that was unpleasant. It seems that everytime I'm physically ill, every blood vessel around my eyes explodes, thus making me appear more frightening than usual. Unfortunately, I failed to notice this until I got to the check in desk at Iberia, when the woman almost fainted when she saw me, then regained her composure and gave me my boarding card.
It took most of the flight before I started feeling better, so was more or less able to laugh off the "holy shit what happened to you?" comments that came my way over the next couple of days. (said experience typically only lasts 2 long days).
So much for pub send offs the night before beginning Christmas break...
The new year started quietly for me, just the way I prefer it, but it has taken off considerably.
I spent half of January in Prague, helping support the transition of our program. While it's a bit sad to regularly see colleagues from my own site released, I'm still motivated by the new challenges.
It's a bit of a fresh start, I must say. Taking several walks around some cool cities over the past weeks has helped bring me some much needed clarity, though I'm not urging everyone to walk the streets of Valencia, Prague or Frankfurt in sub zero temperatures in order to figure themselves out. But it worked for me, for both the personal and professional elements of my life.
A couple of Saturdays ago I sat in a cozy pub collecting my thoughts (walking around outside in the snow requires such a thing), and was suprised and touched when one of the staff came up to me, saying that she had remembered me from my previous visit to Prague two years before. It's sometimes nice to be thought of, or remembered; strange that it happened in one of the busiest pubs in the city where there aren't that many patrons that I would call regulars.
So, comforted by the warmth of the pub and the friendly greeting, I found myself finishing a story that I started last September. I'd worked on it regularly until late November, with little "interludes" mixed in periodically, depending on which way the emotions were blowing at the time. In the end, I discovered that it was more of a journal piece, and one best left in the journal. On the one side, it was good to reach an end; new realization set in, which helped me close the chapter. On the other side, there's always that bit of regret, maybe even remorse, that I find when I come to the end of a difficult chapter.
However, after a reread, I understood that the story had more to do with me, and thank goodness that it will remain only in my journal. As I put the cap back on my pen, I thought to myself how fortunate I am that no one can read my handwriting. (note - that's one of the advantages to writing while drinking a few beers)
Thus, chapter completed, on with the next one. Hey ho, let's go.
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack:
The Alarm - Knife Edge
Bouncing Souls - A Life Less Ordinary
