I had very bizarre dreams last night. One was a nightmare that I ended up with this tall lanky guy who was a bad dresser and had the hots for me. He had a house like the one on Hallow Lane but it was decorated in 1960s style orange and dull yellow. He was living off some of his hedge funds and a little snobby and dorky. But I was so close to going with him and then the thought of P popped into my head and I wanted to vomit thinking that I almost went with this other guy.
The second dream was just as bizarre. It was the Fourth of July and I had the kids out in front of some guy’s house. I was waiting for P to get done talking to the guy and while I was there on the lawn, there were these completely bizarre fireworks that swirled around in the sky like those swallows you see everywhere here in Spain only these swallows change from birds to fish to popping colored lights.
Yesterday was a bit of a strange voyage in the afternoon. The boys went to play soccer with Tio to a place called Alvar—a school for boys run by or started by Opus Dei, in which Tio still keeps close ties. It’s a rather bland looking collegiate property, built in the 50’s in that typical brown brick façade so prevalent in buildings in the outskirts of Madrid. Probably the coolest thing about this place is the hall of photographs. There are a gazillion framed black-and-white photos of each graduating class since 1958, when it first opened, all to through the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90s and today. And even though Spain was cut off from the rest of the world during that time, during Franco’s dictatorship, it amazed me to see that the style of dress and hair and fashion was the same as in the United States and elsewhere in Europe. Heck, Spain wasn’t even part of World War II, and yet, Spain’s youth still found ways to express themselves and find fashion.
Other than that we didn’t do much yesterday. Rested after Segovia. I put a whole bunch of door photos up on Facebook for my mom, and P wrote me three emails! He misses me! He misses my lips! Oh! Joy!
I tried to change my flight home. But it would cost $800 to do so. I guess I’ll stick it out.