There`s not much to write about, because like I said a few posts back, I`m now in the grind. Basically my mornings start the same. I wake up at an ungodly hour, listen to pop and reggaeton on the radio (my music is gone from my life til I get back to NY) drink coffee or mate and eat some bread that I`d bought at La Juanita, the bakery that I partially work at. While I`m doing this, I look over my Spanish notes from the week of classes I took with Juliana, the drug crazed, spitting professor I had, and get over my morning self. I can`t remember if I wrote about Juliana, but she was a really special lady. I guess she`s on some serious shit, maybe dealing with some inside-the-head problems, so she always said really funny things, and frequently with a sexual undertone to them. She taught me a lot of sweet-little-nothing words, which I certainly appreciated, but sounded a little funny coming from this drug crazed middle aged woman. I loved her. But she also spit a lot. The custom is a kiss on the cheek, hello and goodbye, always. And I would always have a nice puddle on my face before and after class. You can still see the spots on my papers from class where her saliva had dried.

Anyway I hate mornings usually, but the cooking area (doesn`t qualify as a kitchen) in my apartment is so tiny that I`m always knocking things over with my pre-awake girations. My body knows I shouldn`t be up and moving, so it rebels. I used to have this really cool beer mug. I saw it when I first moved in, got excited, washed it and was anticipating drinking some icey cold beer out of it. Just looking at it, I could almost taste the freshness, and then I smashed it on the floor as I was making toast the next morning. Everything that I`ve been doing in Buenos Aires is like a sign telling me that I should never have anything nice, ever again. If someone doesn`t steal it, I`ll destroy it. Things, things. Only thing that still actually sucks about getting robbed is that I have this persisting headache, and I`m almost positive it`s because the overbite that characterized my pre-teen years (before the orthodontist blessed me with a head gear, of which there are no pictures) is coming back now that I don`t have my retainer. All the movement is messing with me. All of my vanity has been stripped from me!!! I`ll come back fat, with bucked teeth, ugly shoes, and probably back hair creeping up my neck and growths on my forehead.. or something like that.

I was working on the farm today, killing myself actually, tilling rows of soil with a shovel. I don`t know anything about farming, but I have seen plenty of movies, and that kind of stuff is usually done with tractors in Hollywood. Not here, but I like working in the sun because I`m keeping my tan and hanging out with college kids, which has plenty of perks. One guy who`s really nice, Diego, asked me if I had any friends. I laughed because of the way he asked it, then he invited me to go to Palermo Saturday for his friend`s birthday party. Very exciting, an invitation from Diego...

Now I have to go back to the laundromat to get my clothes. The ladies there this time don`t speak English to me. My thing now is, either people know I`m struggling and speak English, or they laugh at me and wait until I say things right. At least they`re laughing, because I`m laughing too. Learning this way is crazy, because it`s like being a baby. I understand, but can only speak certain things, and then other words I say wrong. The kids that run this kiosk I`m at always laugh at me too, and tell me what things are really called. Then also, you can`t think about what things would be in English because the manner of speaking is different enough that it puts you at a disadvantage if you try to think of what things literally mean. It`s all about the ideas-we all communicate the same ideas, the way in doing so is the only thing that`s different. But I`m getting there, little by little, and everyone is laughing me through it.