Apparently I have a problem with my mente (mind) for which I should go see a doctor, because I am too fastidious. That is what Mercedes told me this morning. She is very perceptive. Not about that, but that I was not happy. I woke up this morning knowing that I could not continue living there, that I need to leave as soon as possible but thinking I'd probably have to somehow survive till the end of the month. She asked me what was wrong. How do you tell a nice lady your mom's age, in another language, in a different culture (in which you call someone "you" in a different way, in order to show more respect) that you are not comfortable in their home because they pee on the seat always (and do a little bit of number two as well), and don't flush the toilet and their kitchen stinks and their dishrags are always dirty (and of course that the cat was the straw that broke the camel's back)?
I have learned two important things: 1. Your gut reactions are not always going to lead you in the right direction, especially when you are in an unstable state. 2. Some people (probably a lot of people) do not understand how what they do could be seen as uncomfortable or unbearable for others: most people think they way they live or do things is normal. (I am one of those probably few people who thinks practically everything I do might be seen as unwelcome or disliked by others!) In this case it probably was necessary to actually say what was bothering me, in order to have us both understand that we would look for another place/another renter ASAP. Otherwise, it does no use at all to tell people what the real problem is, if you are not going to continue an important relationship with them.
I am also not right in the head because I am nervous or scared of so many things. I am abnormal because it bothers me to watch reporters yacking on and on, questioning elderly people about the trauma they experienced when their home was broken into and they were hit; the cameras gratuitously showing the poor crying old lady over and over. I am not normal because I don't want to see blood smeared all over a car from a death, on TV. I have something wrong with me because I cried when they were broadcasting Steve Jobs' speech to the graduates the other day. That is not normal.
On the other hand, last night Maria's suggestion that I see a therapist included a "no pasa nada". She kept insisting that it is normal to be not in a very stable state after some of the things that have happened to me, and that it is very important to take care of one's mind.
I have had it with motherly Andalucian ladies. I should not judge them all by the two that I have lived with. Maria is awesome. Her friends are probably great. Concha is cool. My friend Adela is cool. But it is the ones who are not very educated, but extremely confident and never ever question themselves, but like to tell younger women how to cook, how to wash clothes etc. Those exact same ones I believe I could learn a lot from, about how to believe in myself and carry myself as if I were a queen, and how dare anyone question me. But from a distance, thank you very much. Without their cats, their pee, and their cooking advice. I am way too North American to be absorbed into the household of an un-worldly-wise woman from this culture. I need my own space, even if it is small.
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