Somewhere during the course of yesterday evening I slipped into a foul, foul mood. Not exactly sure when, not exactly sure why. Just kind of edged its way in. Unusual for me, and not my idea of a good time. Woke up this morning in the same dark humor, then heard the sound of the swifts for the first time this year -- one of the local signs that spring has truly arrived. Usually an occasion guaranteed to lift whatever mood I'm in. Not today, though. Grumble, grumble.
Yesterday I received a call from the clinic whose E.R. I visited twice this last week. On both occasions, they'd put a deposit of 100 euros on my charge card -- they phoned to say the charges had been totaled up, they wanted to give me back 50 euros. (Two E.R. visits, including stitches, removing stitches, and an x-ray: 150 euros. Amazing.)
I had to go over there for the refund, decided to do it this a.m. Stuck my camera into a jacket pocket, stepped out into yet another beautiful morning: sun pouring down, sky blue and cloudless, air holding just the slightest chill.
At the clinic, they slipped me 50 euros in bills, I scribbled my signature on a release form then stepped back outside, feeling absurdly wealthy, a silly smile on my face. Decided to skip the Metro trip home, did it in a long, leisurely stroll instead, taking pix wherever anything caught my eye. Halfway along I realized that somewhere between a nice woman slapping 50 euros in my hand and a long meander on a spring day, the foul mood had evaporated.
Much better.
Along the way home:
This week has not only been a week of regular life reasserting itself after the long, long Spanish Easter season, it's also the week the new government here takes over, el Partido Popular making way for the new Socialist administration. The transition has been reasonably low-profile, meaning blessedly low-key for most of us outside the wacky world of politics. Within that perverse universe, however, there's been a fair amount of complicated maneuvering in advance of today's investiture vote in the Parliament, setting a tone for what's to come. Today's parliamentary session featured lots of speeches and the first wrangling of the political season as Rajoy, the PP's defeated presidential candidate of the recent elections and now point-person, tried to become the noisy, annoying pebble in Zapatero's shoe. As a Spanish friend of mine, a news anchorperson on one of the local stations, put it: this was just foreplay, the real politics have yet to begin.
The local brilliant nightly fix of political satire, las Noticias del Guiñol, depicted Zapatero as a figure in a white robe, halo affixed to head, frustrating the hell out of Rajoy with a stream of hyper-positive spewings in the face of repeated provocations. (Zapatero, heaving a happy sigh after annoying Rajoy to the point of bolting: "Politics -- such an innocent game!")
Tomorrow morning I get on a train and head to Barcelona for a couple of days. Expect to hear about it.
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Received via email today:
"By the way, I had another dream about you last night. You were in a film with Bette Davis and you looked just like Richard Gere. I went up to you and said you were great, and you told me to fuck off. I was so angry I slapped your face. Then [a mutual friend] told me off. Everyone was against me."
Madrid, te quiero.
rws 9:29 AM [+]