Dry Well No More

A week is through and the bounce is back.

No easy start to the first week of work in almost three months. As can be imagined, one slips with comfort and ease into a routine consisting of leisurely activity, contemplation, and reflection. Eating well and visiting every city, town, and country fitting the dual-pronged bill of accessibility and affordability does much to relieve the mind of the burdensom memory of work. Complete monopoly over intellectual property. And so the first few days of classes and their preparations went along like a rusted locomotive.
By the evenings, the well of mental production was parched and replaced by a lingering melancholy. Blank pages and screens, impotence and ineptitude. At bars and on streets, nothing doing but to listen. I fear I may have weirded out a few friends throughout the malaise.

And the nights were no better. Rough sleep if any 'neath light undersized blanket on hard couch in silent room. Dreams, when dreamt, of far off people places and scenes gave onto despondent pre-dawn risings and dark room stumblings. This morning felt no better, with leaden eyes and heavy head. But a change for certain. A brisk step in the morning twilight; all tasks remembered and prepared for. Not long after, pacing about the classroom with a command of speech, pose, and attention. A smooth lesson ending with satisfaction and praise. Quick ride to the office where planning was accomplished with time to spare. Long-ish lunch of my election and tea to go with it. Two new groups to follow, 90 minutes each. But the lessons were succinct, concise, and well-balanced. Students seemed happy to have begun just such a year. And then the walk back, bouncing quickly on the stones. Disrobe and exercise. Late lunch with coffee finish. And the rehydration of the well.

Thursday afternoon in the second Spanish year. Friends to reconvene, old haunts to re-inflame. A trip to La Rioja where sun meets earth and man meets grape. Madrid to be reconquered.

What a time to quench that thirst.