My first time socially experimenting my love for running through the city here was months ago…After over a half an hour of seeing the painfully scrunched eyebrows of passerbys, those little black inchworms staggering on their foreheads… I began to wonder if this wasn’t culturally appropriate. My goodness! i thought. I can’t even exercise, the one thing that could give me the endorphins I’ve been dying for in this country, and their eyes have burned the rubber of my shoes right off. So I stopped to find myself walking barefoot and thereafter condemned to yoga and crunches within the comfort of my own 4 walls.

No! No. Yesterday, no. Last week, no! I’m tired of imagining that there are Madrid lazers hoovering over my body. When I went for a run yesterday, my feverish mind was screaming for them to try and target me as I dashed about down the road. This time, they’d have to burn my legs right off of my body to stop me from doing anything. Even then I’d still be hopping around clenching my fists in the air, shouting, Conyo madriz! Has robado todo lo que tengo! Mi dinero, mis moviles, mi carnet y ya mis piernas para que me pierdas y me calles en esta ciudad… pero sabes algo madrid?… mi voz, nunca la tendrás! Nunca bb Nunca!

Needless to say, it was another revolutionary practice I’ve been having in the past few weeks. And not one person even attempted to melt the soles of my shoes… the soul of my shoes…

How many tonterias have I really let myself succumb to in this country?

Scattering out the door to go chat with Diego about the past perfect. I have many more thoughts to share.

(La Latina)