A Happy Day (last Sunday March 4th)

Today is the first day since I've been in Madrid that the weather has been lovely. I mean, - sitting outdoors in a cafe eating tapas and not worrying about anything - lovely. Almost makes 2 months of settling in, losing electricity, losing door keys, having my purse stolen, having my post lost (and expensive and rather important post at that), frantically learning the lingo and regularly suffering misunderstandings varying in significance (2 sandwiches rather than 1 to getting on a bus going to a town in Spain that had nothing to do with me or where I was going) worth the while. Almost. Well, another couple of days like this and all will be forgiven. Living abroad has its pros and cons. Mostly, this is a great experience.I came to Spain to escape an English January/February, getting set up in Barcelona and moving to the Capital in January. But to be honest, Madrid is just as rubbish during winter (though there's less rain and more light which I can't grumble about) so I will re-think the strategy for next year (Australia sounds good). For me, getting through February is rather like Magellan and his straights. I brace myself and expect bruising if not minor injury at best, whilst always facing the prospect that this could be the end. Nevertheless, there is now the Panama Canal. I need to find my Panama Canal through winter. I could happily devote the rest of my life to finding somewhere untouched by the gloom, the damp, the dark, the cold, the pain of anniversaries and the salt in the wound that is Valentine's Day (won't SOMEONE, just for once, humour me and buy me a cuddly bear or a red rose??? Just for once!!) The Canary Islands have the perfect climate, but not the creative distraction. Madrid is like London but far sillier and extreme. So as I move through this apparently unending process of elimination, am I forgetting to actually live? No. Not forgetting. I just haven't worked out what it means yet. Going out. What does that mean? Loud music, smoky bars, obnoxious music... no thanks. Am I allowed to like opera when I'm under 30? Expectations....I generally go around the side of them when no-one's looking. So now I'm faced with a problem in England - my flat has 'gone wrong'. The electric's bust, there's damp, there's hysteria from tenants. But I'm over here (and by the way why do these things always happen at weekends when you cannot efficiently contact the necessary people?) and I've done as much as I can. That feeling of helplessness I hate so much is becoming an art form. So OK, I admit, my chest felt tight, I cried a little (after 3 Martini's though, the drink pushed me over the edge into being a girl for a bit) but now, I've learnt how to 'compartmentalise the shit'. Spain is good for that. There's no urgency. You learn the art of patience. Everything has its time. There must be a balance though - I don't want to become completely immune to anxiety as sometimes it is necessary! So you go to a cafe, head held high amidst the crisis, order something you can't understand, hope it won't be an animal carcass, and put your faith in God, the Tao, or the waiter at least. Relinquishing control. For there is none to be had. Not here anyway! But the weather is good. It makes everything ok. Because there will always be something, so perhaps it's important to celebrate despite the disasters. Maybe I'll go to a smoky bar and listen to some obnoxious music. Or, allow myself to read a book (I don't think that qualifies as living but it's tough, I like to read) and have an early night. What a funky monkey! My god I'm looking forward to retirement when I'm allowed to be like this, and I can write and read and shuffle about in my own way to my heart's content.