The Afternoon

After my mid-afternoon woe-is-me, I sat on the balcony and read Garcia Marquez, drank wine in the shade over Uspallata street, ate chocolate cake, watched some TV when the sun started to go down. WTF.

When I'm bitching about my life, all the bitching feels true as it's being bitched.  But the one thing that is true---truer than anything else I wrote earlier, anyway---is that, here at the end, we're back to the beginning.  On November 5, the day after we moved into this house, I wrote "I have never had so many rollercoaster days as I've had here.  In a foreign country, it seems, any setback can send you spiraling toward despair and even the slightest victory can give you a cloud-9 high."  The cloud-9s aren't exactly as rewarding as they were three months ago---more of a mellow high than manic---but they're still here.  

Today's victory was enjoying the rest of the day & not sniveling in self-pity all afternoon. It was a good one.