Someday Syndrome

Worries & Whines

Worry One: Apartment Hunting
Apartments in San Sebastian are EXPENSIVE. Plus, landlords want to know that their tenants are solvent, which means proving that you have a stable job. Raul can do that. I can't. Will that screw up our chances of finding a place?

Worry Two: Finding a Job
If finding an apartment means finding a job first, then maybe I should be looking for December and get something that is in the afternoons so that I can continue classes in the mornings. It will mean little sleep for a bit and no time for myself, but earning a living is kinda important. But will anyone hire me?

Whine One: The New Flat
UGH! It's a 70s affair, with heat in only the bathroom and kitchen. There's also: a fridge that doesn't really chill things, a shower that is so weak it doesn't rinse the soap from my hair, and a mattress so soft I'm going to have to do like 1000 crunches a day just to keep my back from going out. And what am I paying for this lovely arrangement? The equivalent of abut $600 CDN a month. Lovely.

Whine Two: Ruining the Food Regime
This weekend I ate and drank, and ate and drank. I ate plenty of things that cause me pain (wheat/sugar) and drank beer and wine (which are also pain inducing). So this morning I'm achy, cranky and really not wanting to go to school (or do anything really).

At least things are good with Raul and I'm doing really well with my Spanish.

Someday Lessons:

• Life sucks for everyone sometimes. Today is my turn.
• A good wallow is a lot of fun.

Shutting Up

I´m a talker. Yes, I know, big surprise. Everyone knows this about me. Even one of my French (well English, but living in France) cousins, when I said that I learn to speak languages quickly, said that it was because I liked to talk and HAD to learn quickly.

I´d also say that I´m a good listener, but really, I prefer to talk.

So imagine my chagrin right now when I find myself in the situation of having to shut up and listen. I speak Spanish so slowly people get bored quickly. Plus since understanding is weak spot with languages, NOT talking and really paying attention to what others say is kinda important.

It doesn´t mean I have to like it though...

Someday Lessons:

• Sometimes to achieve future happiness, you need to deny a current pleasure.
• Applying willpower to improving a weakness will make you a more rounded person.

Mr. Cranky Pants

I am in a FOUL mood today. There's a Spanish phrase that I really like: un humor de perros – a mood of the dogs. Of course, most dogs I know are super happy creatures, but when a dog in a foul mood it's really foul and scary.

And why do I feel this way? Did something happen with Raúl? Am I not enjoying classes? Perhaps I miss living in an English environment. Nope. It's purely chemical. And I don't mean coming down off a drug trip.

I'm now day three into having eliminated wheat and sugar from my diet. The yeast that feeds off wheat and sugar is now dying off. And it's making me feel like shit as it does so.

I have such a craving for a dozen donuts right now, it's almost unbearable.

Actually the craving isn't unbearable, I am.

But of course, I'm a nice polite white-boy Canadian, so no one will actually know how cranky I am today.

Someday Lessons:

• Emotions are often at the mercy of body chemicals
• Just because you feel like crap, it doesn't mean you can make others feel the same way.

Rediscovering Cooking

I grew up with salted butter. I didn't like butter last year. The French prefer their butter unsalted, which I find too bland and sweet. But the Spain sells its butter salted, making me happy. Salted butter is so good in soup. I cut the Spanish butter into three pieces and drop it on top of a pot of watery squash, potato and onion.

Plugging in the hand whisk, I lower the blade directly over one of the slices of butter. I turn on the mixer just as the blade touches the butter. I lower the blade farther and it cuts into the softened squash and potato. A paint company would a name for the resulting colour, but to me it's just pale buttery orange.

I pump the whisk up and down many times, smoothing out the lumps and emulsifying the butter. I come close to adding a drop of drool as I picture tasting the soup.

Impatient to eat, I drop the power-whisk in the sink. I'll clean it later. I pour half the soup into a large mug, grab a spoon and sit down at the table. I let the aroma of the soup tease me, while I open Nigel Slater's Appetite, one of my favourite books. It's a cookbook, but it doesn't read like one. He reminds me that cooking is simple and need only contain a few flavours. Like this soup: squash, butter and a hint of salt.

I open the book to a random page and start reading. I lift the spoon and taste the soup. Mmmm...

Someday Lessons:

• Savour those activities you really enjoy, appreciating each moment of them.
• The return of simple pleasures, like cooking, mean so much more when you haven't been able to pursue them.

P.S. Yes, the Someday Lessons are back. I missed them.

Resisting the Easy Out

Yesterday I got thrown into the fire of Spanish culture - a Spanish wedding. And I survived!

Actually, I did better than survive. I managed to maintain full (well semi-full) conversations! The fire (with a few glasses of wine) stewed my brain sufficiently to cook up a communication stew (okay enough with the metaphor).

There were a few guests at the wedding who could speak English, but I didn´t take advantage of them. I stayed in Spanish-mode despite being overwhelmed a few times (once nearly to point of tears).

If I´m going to live here, I need to start thinking in Spanish, and that´s not going to happen if I speak English every chance I get.

That doesn´t stop me, of course, from getting Raúl to speak to me in English. Without at least some time in my native tongue, I´d have a total breakdown.

Willingly Self-Destructive

What do you do that's self-destructive? I know there is something. None of us is perfect.

My self-destructiveness centres around food. I don't mean weight-gaining food; I mean pain inducing food. I spent ten years misdiagnosed with fibromyalgia and lived in severe pain. It turned out to be a yeast overgrowth called Candidiasis caused by too many years of processed food, antibiotics (for acne) and too much wheat, sugar, dairy, alcohol, vinegar and mushrooms.

I don't consume much of the last four, but wheat and sugar? Recently, I couldn't get enough of them, even though they cause me pain. I could have pushed myself into a relapse and ended up living in constant pain again. But did I pay any attention to that? Ha!

It's time to kick myself in the butt and kick the wheat/sugar habit before I do myself some serious damage.

You?

Swallowing Frustration

I hate not knowing things and I hate not being able to involve myself in conversations. Imagine, therefore, my frustration as I begin to integrate myself into my new life in San Sebastian.

Classes are going well, very well in fact. I know more Spanish than I thought I did, but I still don't know enough for day to day life. I speak very slowly and understanding takes many repetitions. People will often  turn to the person beside them and start a new conversation once I've finished my first thought, but haven't finished the conversation. I don't get angry with them, however. I'd likely do the same. It's tiring for them to converse with me. So, I swallow my ego and try to understand whatever I can from the new conversation.

Of course being impatient doesn't help either. I want to know it all now. I want to be fluent now. I end up wanting to cry about half the time from the frustration.

No wonder most people don't pursue happiness.

Controlling the Control Freak

Today I pick up the keys to the apartment my Spanish school has given me. All morning I´ve just wanted to get it done.

However, I´m not alone anymore. I´m with Raúl. He wants to help - which is awesome - but I´m not so good at accepting help. I feel like I´m cheating, like I´ve looked at someone else´s paper during an exam.

So, while Raúl makes me lunch, organizes a cell phone for me and figures out the best route between his house, the school and my place, I want to run away, get everything done, then call him, all relaxed and in control.

But I won´t. Instead I´ll accept his help with gratitude. I´ll also tell my control freak to chill out, man.

A Bad Parent

Moving back to Europe this week meant abandoning my cats, again.

I first left them last August, then I abandoned them again while still in France. My sister had bought my car. After she drove it off, one of my cats, Killy (the calico) sat in the driveway for hours waiting for the car (and therefore me) to return.

Then on Wednesday I left once more. My other cat, Baron (the black and white) punished me by disappearing so that I couldn't say goodbye. Killy, however, let me smother her with affection.

I spent the last ten days of my Canadian visit at my parents' place. This included lots of time with my cats, but especially lots of Killy-time. She has a more monogamous nature, while Baron is more free with his affections. The day I arrived at my parents' in August, my mother remarked that it was the first time she'd seen Killy so happy.

I'm such a selfish man for leaving.

At least they're with their grandparents and I can still visit them.

It makes me slightly less bad, or so I keep telling myself.

Family, Money, Ego

Over the past year, I've enjoyed destroying my ego. I don't mean tearing away my sense of self; I mean excising that selfish, self-indulgent part of myself that is all caught up with honour, pride and “that's not fair!”

Recently I've been faced with two opportunities to destroy my ego further. In one situation, it was easy to do so. And the other... well, let's just say I intellectually understand it but still feel that world is a bit unfair.

First issue: in planning for my writing career, I considered what might I expect to receive from my parents. The answer is nothing. My parents could liquidate all their assets and go on a huge spending spree. Or (less fun for them) they could get sick and have to spend everything on medical bills.

If I were full of ego, I would demand that my parents think of us kids and that they ensure they leave us as much as possible. But that's never been my attitude, so there wasn't much ego to destroy there.

Next issue: when parents spend on their children, conflicts can arise and sometimes families are torn apart. Fortunately, barring the occasional whine, my brother, sister and I have managed quite well with what my parents spend on each of us. But recently I saw the issue from a different point of view. Spending on the next generation favours those who are married and have kids. Combine birthdays, Christmases and other gifts, and the family with the longest running spouse and the most kids always comes out ahead.

My ego tells me that if I had chosen to remain in a relationship, or had adopted (or stayed closeted, married and had kids), I'd have gotten more from my parents. Of course, that would have meant sublimating my happiness purely for financial gain, which is something I could never do. But because I chose to be single (and happier), I've somehow lost out.

My parents (like most) do their best to be fair. Unfortunately everyone sees “fair” differently. My parents make their choices and live with them, just as I've made my choices and my siblings have made theirs.

I have decided, however, that I will never question how my parents spend their money. It's theirs. They can do what they want with it, spending it on themselves or any of their children.