bells just rang for 9:00, there is no more light coming from the skylight. canned seafood is bad; including tuna sometimes. I got my stuff from Alicia and Marta's place. the two most important things were olive oil and laundry soap. I laundered the bedcover and the lump of kitchen towels that kept getting shifted from chair to chair. I was sure the bedcover hadn't been washed for a while cause nothing else in this place has. I have to be careful not to burn the frying peppers. I got home from practicing (and immediately before that, from Alicia and Marta's, with my emptied out suitcase now full of food goods and random items that had been left there during August), and put stuff in the laundry, handwashed my silk scarf that I threw around my neck during practice cause i only had on a tank top (you learn dancing to wear lots of clothes even in the heat), and a top that got thrown back on after dancing, after wiping myself with a stinky cloth from which I cleaned my feet from dirty shoes soaked by rain. the top already stunk from walking around with too many clothes put on for the rain, and then suddenly sun, while carrying a suitcase - a cat suddenly ran past me. the peppers are now charred, how they are supposed to be, but one side is left to be done.
downstairs in the bar they are listening to a futbol game, obviously. I should be out but i needed to eat.
I have not yet paid Jose, who seems like a very nice person, but whose apartments are like main and hastings slum apartments. I didn't quite realise it when I took a quick look. They have a cuteness about them... it is for flamenco dancers only. Yesterday I posted this on facebook and Michael commented that it was a flamenco ghetto - romantic but smelly. He was right on on both counts.
Though the smell is the mold in the bathroom.
The cat smelled my tuna and got in from a window at the side that's connected to some random space in the apartment beside. All the roof tops are so close, and the balcony could also be reached from parts of other buildings.
Oh yeah... fried peppers. What I need now is lomo and jamon and bread. Which would be a certain kind of sandwich I forget the name of. (roast pork, ham and charred pepper).
An Italian surgeon that lives in Paris just left today. She was here for two weeks studying at Taller, the touristy flamenco place that some other friends have been to. There is a very sweet but very focussed seeming Japanese girl upstairs, as well as Jose's mother, Rosa. On my floor now there is only Sheri, who speaks English because she's from San Fransisco but is Persian and has spent 10 years in Italy so speaks Italian too.
Unfortunately I can't open the bottle of wine Sachiko gave me for my birthday the night before we all left to go other places, because there is no corkscrew in this apartment, in the kitchen on my floor or the one upstairs. There are countless (dirty) refrigerators and at least three clothes washing machines, only one of which works.
Today I realised that I am extremely dysfunctional. I am obsessive. About following my intuition in hopes that it will lead me somewhere better than where I am. In hopes that it will magically change my life, will rescue me from what I don't like about my life.
Overall, things are good because Sheri is really cool. I will go pay Jose for the rent (2 days late) and we are going to scrub the bathroom mold. Oh, and Rosa is really sweet. But it's a bit sad for me because she lives on the 3rd floor with really steep steps. Both days now she's said in an extremely cheery voice that she's going to go out for a "vueltacita" (a turn around the neighborhood - she is diminutizing the word vuelta) around 8:00 in the evening, so I've helped her down the stairs. She must be about 80, and has sciatica.
I've suddenly found out I am in the right place.
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