I'm learning to make sushi.


After Spanish class and an okay lunch (I didn't prepare it myself), I was in the mood for a siesta. I've been feeling those long, afternoon naps for a while, now--maybe it's being in Spanish class and enjoying all the professor's stories about her life in Colombia and her sister's life in Spain that makes me crave a little bit of that culture. Or not. I guess I've been researching Spain for a while, now. I'm hoping to take a semester abroad to really hone my Spanish-speaking skills, but then Spain speaks Catalan, which I hear is sort of like French and Spanish mixed together.

--Hey! I speak Spanish AND French! What a coincidence!

Either way, I'd like to study there very much. It sounds like a good way to start looking at where I would like to grow some roots.

That isn't the point, though. I've stopped having the baby dreams, other than an occasional visit from her, so I've stopped thinking about the future, so much.

The point is that, during today's siesta, I had my first Spanish dream. Perhaps I just didn't know it was possible; we talked about it in class, and I'm thinking maybe that gave my subconscious the golden pass.

It was interesting, though. I don't remember the dream, but I woke up speaking Spanish.



Usually, by now, I'd be onto Greek, or Japanese, or Arabic... I just feel better knowing one thing really well, rather than knowing several things passably. I'll learn everything more slowly, one at a time, and risk not knowing something, if it means this type of satisfaction. First test. Points possible: 100. Points earned: 101.

Kickass.



Just, it makes me wonder if languages aren't so different from romantic interests.

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I once knew this person who didn't cut people out of his life when they tried to bring him down or act sarcastically towards him. He would respond coldly and unapologetically, not defending his actions or questioning them, but rather letting that cold, unmoving response say everything: "Your opinion has no effect on me. Who are you to make me feel bad."

And, of course he would never say just that, because he's far too bright and self-directed. But that's what it really means. The only time it ever happened to me, I straightened up and looked at my life from a different perspective. I actually started being NICER to people and keeping my lips zipped.

I blush even talking about this, because he's a part of my past, and I don't especially like to think about people who have fallen behind in my life, especially those who have changed me so noticeably. I remember that, when I first started hiking and playing sports, I did it because I was interested in a guy, and HE liked hiking (the exercising sort of just came along for the ride). I actually saw him, tonight, for the first time in years, and I felt embarrassed, in my Vibram Five Fingers, standing in front of a grocery store conveyor belt filled with fruits and veggies. Mostly because I know he's a huge part of the reason it wasn't filled with fattier foods, part of the reason I wasn't wearing flip flops. I know some of it is just filling in parts of my interests I haven't explored--part of why I always take something different in my college studies, whether it be Biology (next semester) or Microeconomics (I rather like economics classes, now)--but...it still makes me feel rather odd, when I can point at someone and say, you know, "This person made my life significantly better, and then we abruptly stopped speaking."

Somehow I lost the balance between modesty and knowing my own worth, though. That's my point, I suppose; the first person I mentioned was kind of a ham, but somehow always still modest, while never forgetting his worth. I remember myself back in ninth grade as the girl who--quite smoothly--made a guy remove his hand from her shoulder once or twice, who wasn't afraid to make people feel like scum for trying to put her down, who was brave enough to tell someone she liked them without any sort of inclination that the feeling was mutual.

Essentially, I remember myself simply refusing to settle, within reason, for anything less than exactly what I wanted.

Perhaps that refusal needs to be reawakened.


EDIT

This should explain the honest and emotional nature of my public post:

Me: Precisely.
Me: And I nap regularly.
Me: I hate napping, but I do.
Me: I need an ankle massage.
Me: Don't make fun of me.
Me: I'M EMOTIONAL.

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"And can you please NOT count down? I hate the countdown. Just punch it through."

The guy in front of me glanced up and laughed. There I was, a nineteen-year-old young woman, sitting beside a teddybear on the piercing chair at Claire's. The one hole is visibly lower than it's supposed to be (and it wasn't marked there, I don't know why she pierced so low), but otherwise I'm liking holes four and five.

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Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

If you know it, enter it; or, ask me for it.

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