Watchin' the Bluejeans Dry...

I have felt like my head was going to explode intermittently for 2 days now. I’ve decided that I want to dedicate my life to being nice to foreigners somewhere and set up some sort of non-profit organization that they can come to for help in times of stress, where they can meet other people to establish a sense of community, and where they can find resources to help them in their transition to a new society.

This idea came to me as I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the washing machine, monitoring its every cycle after having left it running earlier today with the expectation of coming home to clean clothes, then returning to a still-dry heap of clothes with the soap soaked into them. RAGE, again… then hysterical laughter - my only way of coping with the intensity of emotion. If I knew how to cry, and I wore make-up, I would be wandering the streets with long streaks of black down my face every day, all day. Or perhaps, I’d be able to clean the streaks and keep an appearance of normalcy for an hour or two before the next incident threw me into a fit of rage and despair. Momma never said it would be easy, but she never, ever prepared me for this.

Deep Thoughts During the Spin Cycle

I thought that I had served my time in Costa Rica, and that I could apply the lessons learned there to make the transition in Spain much easier. At this point, I would say I was wrong, but I still have a lingering shred of hope that this is just a passing phase and that soon (VERY soon, I hope), things will start to click, just like they did before, and everything won’t seem so insurmountably difficult.

I realize that this is really a luxury problem, as I have nothing to do but decide how to spend my day each day. Perhaps I choose to continually punish myself by having unrealistic goals and expectations. However, it seems like even the simplest of tasks ends up with at least nuances of this underlying confusion, anger and hopelessness. PLEASE HELP ME TO JUST FEEL NORMAL FOR AN ENTIRE DAY!!!

THE PERFECT POST SCRIPT: Yesterday, I checked at the local laundromat to make sure that they would be open late enough for me to dry the wet jeans that were waiting for me (I hoped) at home. It turns out that the place is actually a dry cleaners, and that the only places with self-service washers and dryers are in the city center, 2 metro lines away. I ran out of clothespins while hanging the laundry outside of my window last night, so I have socks and underwear hanging from every possible place in my room. Now I understand why men live at home until they get married here... free laundry service. I know it sounds chauvanistic, but I honestly think that's how it works.

Aforementioned Bluejeans (Guest Starring Many Underwear)