I Am Not A Toaster

Unfortunately. The other night, I had two dreams.  The first, I was going down a tunnel slide, the plastic kind for kids, usually orange or yellow.  Except, I simply could not slide down.  I was using my palms to push my way and not really going anywhere. The slide is broken, it needs to be more slippery.  Yet, there was some other person sliding down with ease.  I woke up at the foot of the bed, with the dutifully tucked-in sheets preventing me from falling off.

I quickly fell back asleep, only to dream again.  This time, I was in the ocean.  A huge wave comes over me and I crouch in the curl.  Lower and lower.  The dream is moving very slowly and I’m half realizing it’s a dream.  I’m aware that the position of my body in the wave mirrors my sleeping body in bed…also similar to my position in the tunnel slide.  I just keep going flatter and flatter in the hopes that I can remain in the small space the wave is leaving as it folds in on itself.

Needless to say, I wake up a little freaked.  Am I that stressed?

And this is where I make a quick digression to question what this blog IS.  (I mean, c’mon, I just detailed two dreams that signify loss of control and overwhelming emotion.)  Yes, this blog is about my move to Madrid and all the awesome things that I come across.  It is not a diary.  The very word diary gives me a little case of the creeps anyway.  But if I am going to be honest here, on this Internet page, about what it’s like for me to move from Boston to Madrid, I’m going to have to relay a few things about the “Incident.”

It was bound to happen sooner or later.  It’s not like I hadn’t been warned…even threatened by a few people.  “You’re going to go into culture shock.  You’re going to come to me after two months and you are going to be crying.”  I know that person meant well, but that was weird.

Anyway.  Three months in, and I finally cracked.

It happened in front of people, as embarrassing things usually do; and when they were nice to me, it only got worse.  It seemed I could not keep it together anymore.  Didn’t help that I was exhausted and had just gotten over some Spanish variation of the flu.  Or that it had slowly been dawning on me (a little too slowly obviously, because emotion gushed forth ahead of my brain) that I couldn’t possibly continue with the lifestyle I was attempting.  Work and Learn Spanish.  Work and Learn Spanish.  Make dinner and sleep.  That’s all I’d made room for.  Literally.  So, of course the incident happened.  And once I had caught my breath – after a few days of walking around slightly bruised – I was forced to admit that, as one kind friend pointed out, I am not a toaster.

I wish there was a lesson I could [insert here] other than: the breakdown happens.  It’s not always because the food is different than what you’re accustomed to or because you live six hours in advance of everyone you know (except for these people who live just one hour behind me.)  I wish I could say that acknowledging that a breakdown will happen keeps it from happening.  But that’s apparently not the case.

As for me, I have no words of wisdom about how to live two days in one.  I’ve simply taken a break from one of them; but in reality, I have no other choice than to jump back in (soon) and hope that the slide is a bit more slippery.  That’s no fix, and I admit it.  I think, though, that it’s the best I can do at this point.  Take a break and then jump back in.  Take a break and then jump back in.