Got to bed last night at an excessively reasonable hour (before midnight). Found myself awake in the wee hours, feeling restless, too warm. Drifted in and out shallow sleep until daylight. When I finally dragged my adorable bod out from the under the covers, my system worked sluggishly, half-conscious at best.
A short time later I stood in one of the local morning joints, working on espresso and a croissant. An in-house radio played in the background, the opening bars of ‘Walk of Life' by Dire Straits started up, someone immediately began whistling along. I found myself thinking of a time several years ago when I stood at a cashier's station in a Madrid store, ‘Mrs. Robinson' playing quietly on the p.a. system. Someone nearby sang softly along in heavily-accented English, the strangeness of hearing that song, those lyrics in that context making me smile. Coo coo ca-joob.
Lately, for some reason, many of my most vivid moments happen during my long a.m. wake-up process, when I'm minimally conscious. Could be the morning fog keeps the wheels from spinning as wildly as they do during much of the day, so that I get to absorb images, sounds, smells without so much mental static. On the other hand, it means that I'm often lost in the fog, blearily dog-paddling toward what might laughingly be called high-functioning, managing to focus on nothing more than what's right in front of me. Café con leche, croissant, newspaper, morning tv weather report.
The morning paper: filled, as always, with blasts of bad news, ads, and hot air in the form of opinions. Lately the news has focused on several nasty ongoing stories, including the growing furor over CIA flights through European airports for the purpose of illegal kidnappings, the growing furor over the revelation that the previous Spanish government (that of the right-wing el Partido Popular, the PP) sent numerous police agents to interrogate prisoners in Guantanamo, ongoing revelations of massive, widespread corruption in local governments headed by the PP, and the major trial that just started here in Madrid of the alleged perpetrators of the bombings that left 191 dead three years ago. All of those stories are, in one way or another, part of the ongoing brawl between Spain's two biggest political parties, the PP -- tossed out of power after the bombings -- and the Socialist Party, currently in power. It's strange to see the ongoing display of ill will and ugly behavior, and it gets me thinking wistfully about a world where political parties do not act like thugs, chronic liars, and/or bad-humored children.
I try not to delve too deeply into all that because it really does nothing for my mental health. I'm far happier if I skim the front half of the paper and devote most of my reading time to the sports and arts sections. And enjoy the morning waking-up ritual.
Early in the week, I stood in the same joint at the same bar, mentally fogged in, in exactly the same way. The TV was on that morning, news programs blabbering about the previous day's weather -- sunny, balmy, the mercury floating up into the mid-70's along Spain's southern coast. The same images cycled by as news voices commented in amazed tones -- people at beaches, one intrepid older woman out in the waves, a bank clock reading 24°C. As I walked out in neighborhood streets a short time ago, low dark clouds drifted overhead, a warm wind raced through the streets, driving scraps of paper before it, whipping up grit and dust. Distant thunder mumbled. And the streets boiled with people out heading home from work, going in and out of shops, gearing up for Friday evening.
We're living in interesting times, this planet of ours swirling with life and strange happenings. It's good to be in the middle of it all, alive and stumbling forward, even if at times less than fully conscious.
España, te quiero.
rws 6:24 AM [+]
Comments:
I rarely analyze my dreams anymore. I know that I'm just sleeping (and a little bit nuts). But, the other night, I had a dream that was so weird that I had to call my dad to see what it all meant. Dad wants to retire to interpret dreams. In the dream, my scalp was getting paler and paler until it was transparent. He sleepily mumbled an apology for my entire childhood or something and went back to bed.
I plan on calling him tonight and telling him your dream just to mess him up. Thanks.
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I plan on calling him tonight and telling him your dream just to mess him up. Thanks.
