Feeling Perezosa

The last time I wrote a tome in Spanish, I was sitting at the bar of the Flying Pig Amsterdam, solo, with my ibook, in the land of bongs, bowls, and blunts. It was Christmas Eve Eve and I had successfully extended the deadline for my art history final paper. In Spain, all I had to do was ask. But then there I was in Amsterdam, on my own for the first time, getting a contact high, writing (appropriately) about Gaudí, wanting just to forget the paper, remembering the last four months. And now here I am, wishing I were maybe a little high, writing a paper (appropriately) about the effect of memory, stopping for a second to focus on my own.