Warning: Immature Content; not suitable for, well, mature people.

What a f*cked up night.

Today was supposed to be my day off. After putting in nine hours of manual labor yesterday, there was nothing more I wanted to do than just rest. But no; I had some grown-up errands to do (read: taxes, to be discussed in another post). I did wake up late, though, so that’s the bright side of today.

By the time I got home late afternoon, I was already tired again. It’s not fun living where everything is so distant from one another. The post office was one side of town, Walmart (¨Shopping Center¨) was on the other, and where I live is not close to either, so it made quite a triangle. And with traffic, I spent about an hour alone driving.

All I had eaten today was a late brunch, consisting of some cake and chips…Talk about making healthy choices. I did have some coffee in the afternoon…with cereal. And that’s that.

Normally I put a great deal of care into what I eat. It’s always in the back of my mind how much vegetable I had for the day or how much sugar I’ve consumed (always too much in this country). But not today. Not lately.

When I got home, I ran into a blog by a fellow female compatriot**. She was actually contracted to teach English in Spain, which I found to be inspiring and also hard to believe. Sure, she had experience working for a foreign company, but damn, if she could land an English-teaching job, why couldn’t I do it? Ten years of education and living ¨experience¨ in the States should count for something. Please, the hard-earned diploma with cum laude needs to count for something.

I fell asleep with the laptop on. Next thing I know is waking up at midnight anxious from the worst dream. The dream took me back to the end of my undergraduate career. For some reason, I was back to that awful time right before turning in one of my thesis. It was for my Spanish Bilingualism research class, the one that two of my project members never attended. I got stuck doing most of the work by myself. In the dream, which was really a reality, I was back unnecessarily explaining the BASICS of the project to my clueless team members again. It was towards the end of the semester when we had to write a conclusion and present our work. In the dream, I was helping one person create and edit the presentation while helping the other write a conclusion – like in real life. Hell, they just popped up in the end of semester (after getting several warnings from the professor) – after I had built everything up from ground zero, from turning in the proposal to making the survey online to finding participants.

Then I woke up, startled, but remember that all of that struggle was over. We (I) gave the presentation, and I was surprised at the fluid pace of Spanish that came out of me. We (I) got an A. Two of us graduated. The last team member probably graduated in the summer, because he didn’t realize that we had to take this required Humanity class freshman year. Ha, it didn’t surprised me. Dude was always out of it.

Realizing that I had made it, I was relieved but not back to sleep. I opened my eyes in the near-complete darkness. The street lights outside crept in through the blinds, making it bright enough in my room, just bright enough like on the flight…and it took me back to that place almost a year ago where I was laying down with my feet in the lap of some hot-blooded 20-year-old Brazilian.

And hello insomnia.

It’s not like he was the first and only guy I had been ¨intimate¨ with, but he stood out from all the others.

Maybe it would help if I had been seeing some other guys here, but hell, I’ve been here almost ten years and NO ONE had me interested enough. It also wouldn’t be incorrect to say that I had them interested enough. Yay for abstinence.

(On a side note, can you call it abstinence if you were a virgin? I know it means ¨refraining from an indulgence¨, but how could you refrain from something that you have never had from the first place? Anyway.)

It’s been almost a year and I need to get over it.

Can I just also say that it’s not a coincidence that I choose this year’s flight to be on the same date as last year’s return flight…

I wonder what he’s doing right about now.

I’m just here, awake at 2am, being an idiot, and, most likely unrequitedly, missing him.

~Brisa

**Fifteen minutes after posting this, I went back to the lady’s blog and found that she is indeed married to a Spaniard. Argh.

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