It was getting pretty bad. I was going to have to go work in El Muerte serving copas with the cadaver. My hands were regularly turning blue as death, what with laying here on my bed and reading, and no dancing for over a weak.
Today I went for a run and regained some sanity I didn't realise I'd lost.
It was beautiful out and I wore a skirt over my tights because I don't want to look indecent here. I also wasn't sure if I should be running alone by the river. I am never afraid of that anywhere else I've ever lived including the backwaters of China. Anyways, there were only a couple of construction workers taking a break way down the river who whistled hesitantly at me. I went over the Puente Almallo or something like that, and saw grass. Randomly growing weeds too. That side of the river had something that felt like true naturaleza. At least something approximating it. I didn't say buenos dias to a lone man exiting a little pier thing, and felt rude. He didn't say anything to me either but it could have been because I was looking straight ahead like a cold Anglo Saxon and walking quickly. I am still trying to understand what is normal here, and I think it would have been more normal to say hello, quite unlike if I were walking on the dyke in Richmond!
I lay there (a little concerned about my comportamiento) and stared at the clouds and listened to birds. It was very slightly secluded from the path by some willows, and there were not many people around so I think comportment wouldn't have mattered as much. Anyways I saw some people including women rowing or kayaking on the river, which is a popular thing to do. It doesn't seem like Sevillan women would do outdoor sports, if they do any at all. I know that is a really dorky thing to think or say, but they are just always looking so lovely and wearing heels and stuff, and seem very un-sporting. Perhaps riding horses. I've seen women at least 3 times in the city wearing jodphurs. I wasn't sure if it was a fashion thing or if they actually had gotten off a horse, as the rest of their clothing was polished and nice looking.
It was 4:00 when I finished my run and I needed some bread before the stores closed, so I went directly to the Abaceria and felt like I was breaking all the rules standing there with a sweatshirt tied around my waist, disheveled hair, my shirt sticking to me, and God forbid, ugly running shoes. I just about walked away but at the last moment decided to go look for the server, who was in the process of carrying a gorgeous looking dish of goat cheese to a table of decently attired people. The place was packed with families with grandfathers with little girls in wool dresses on their knees and couples more casually dressed but not in running shoes.
Marta is playing some unbelievably beautiful piece of viola music that is familiar. I am about to cry. Alicia ducked her head out the door and said, "vamos a volverte loca" she is going to start practicing too.
If I keep listening to Marta I will have to go down to Calle Baños to the luthier and spend my last euro on a violin. Perhaps I should have brought it with me.
I think I could dance in running shoes. I will perhaps start to do that. I might have to traer them along in a bag to the studio though. They are just kind of ugly to wear around the city.
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