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Monday, February 28, 2005 Found myself awake and up early this morning, after falling asleep early last night -- early enough last night that I saw none of the Academy Awards broadcast, early enough this morning that the sky remained dark, the moon shining blurrily through hazy clouds. Me not watching the Academy Awards hooha: not so unusual. Too long, too bloated for my taste. Yes, each year there are moments of fun, drama, emotion. But when I try to sit through it, I get bored, unhappy, feel like I've been gorging on the video equivalent of empty calories. So I tend to read the following day's rundowns of the event and leave it at that. (Yo, Clint, Hilary and Morgan -- way to go! Ditto to Alejandro Amenábar, Javier Bardem, and Belén Rueda of 'The Sea Inside.') I'll admit the Chris-Rock-as-host thing caught my attention. Got me thinking I might sit through some of the ceremony, see how he did. Came 8 o'clock, though -- after a day of gearing up for tomorrow's return to Madrid, my little brain in constant activity, trying to nail down all the details that need nailing down, my little feet taking me all over the place as I carried out brain's instructions -- I found myself nodding off in my chair, finally dragged myself toward the bedroom and lay my bod down. (8 o'clock. Me, nodding off. Next stop: a room at The Golden Twilight rest home.) Next thing I know, it's the wee hours, my bladder's giving me the elbow in hopes I'll make the hike to the bathroom. Got up in stoic fashion, made the hike. Stayed up, got the stove going. Did trip prep. Ate, hoovered down caffeinated fluids. Drove into Montplier, took care of far too many things that needed taking care of. Stopped in to say a fast see-ya to my downhill neighbor, Mo, on the way back. Did further trip prep., wrapping up just about everything that needed wrapping up. By 4:30 my bags were packed, a show of efficiency that still has me feeling a bit stunned. Nothing major remains to be done, apart from small, piddling details. Damn, I'm good. Meanwhile, people on this side of the Atlantic have realized I'm about to disappear for a while, suddenly the phone's ringing, I'm in demand. A few others call or write to mumble au revoir. And the passing hours continue accelerating. When I do these transatlantic hops, I have two experiences: there's the part of me that moves through the the trip a step at a time, doing what needs to be done as far as transit, customs, dragging baggage around and waiting, waiting, waiting (reading, writing, watching people) until the long haul is finally over. And then there's the part of me that's screaming Aaaaaiiiieeeee!!!! through it all, wondering why in hell I'm uprooting my existence yet another time, why I'm putting myself through yet another migration. Then I get to Madrid (or Vermont), I acclimate, I'm happy again. It's a strange, schizy lifestyle, featuring a huge amount of things I love, punctuated by the occasional transatlantic jolt. Not a way I would have imagined myself living in earlier years of this lifetime. I have no idea how much longer I'll continue doing this or where I'll end up. I'll probably be back in Vermont in the second half of May -- that's as much as I know. I'm off. Back online sometime Wednesday, from Madrid. Madrid, te hecho de menos. rws 6:48 PM [+]
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