wednesday february 7 2001    |    around 4 pm

small late-afternoon entry.

and talk about decadence. (not that i was.) i slept through my 1 pm class today. and spent all day in bed reading vanity fair. all of it. i'm still in my pajamas resenting the fact that in a few minutes i'm going to have to get up shower eat go to evening class.

right now i'm nostalgic. i just read a great article about pedro almodóvar (spanish director of, most recently, all about my mother) and i got this urge to call my mom. but she's at work, so instead i'm listening to joaquín sabina and antonio vega alternately and wondering what this spanish girl is doing looking for work in nueva york. and staying away from her country for so many years. i need to go back. i need to go back soon.

i think all my life i'll be looking for a compromise. but i don't know if there'll ever be a place called home. beside the place i find myself at that given moment.

i've been trying to write about this for a long time. and given up for long periods of time. i wrote a short story last fall in which the main character ended up floating, literally and figuratively, in the sea at the beach in mallorca. feeling at home. and i think that was the problem. she should not be feeling at all at home. she should be feeling torn in thirty different directions. all i can offer is a lack of understanding. and a willingness to keep trying.

no estamos locos
que sabemos lo que queremos
vive la vida
igual que si fuera un sueño
pero que nunca termina
que se pierde con el tiempo
y buscaré
oye pero buscaré

-ketama