Estoy Cansada

I have less than a month left to go in my internship, and I’m tired.

I’m tired of trying to understand a language that I still don’t speak very well, of mosquitoes that bite me in the night, of jokes that I don’t get because they don’t have the right influx, of working and having the work that I do ripped apart. I’ve gotten used to the metro, I’ve gotten used to going to the local supermarkets, I’ve even gotten used to managing on just minimal food because – I admit it – can’t cook very well over here. I’m sick of feeling useless and superfluous. I hate feeling like I’m stupid, which is what this internship does to me a lot – however, it’s teaching me to have a tough skin in a way that school can’t teach.

I bought more stamps earlier today, and I went to my English bookstore yesterday. I’m happy with the three new books I have – Cymbeline, St. Mawr and the Man Who Died, and World Fall – but I’m not as excited as I was when I got the Colour of Magic (which I finished today) and The Book of Lost Things. You won’t be seeing any pictures of me peering over the tops of these books, although I’m really interested in the D.H. Lawrence St. Mawr and the Man Who Died.

I suppose that I can’t be happy and satisfied all the time, or energized and ready to take on all of my tasks. However, I can be optimistic – I can get a good night’s rest tonight, not stay up way too late perusing other blogs or working on this blog, and perusing the internet for good recipes I want to make. (I don't want to have another salami-ham-cheese sandwich for dinner, although they are quite heavenly on any other day.)

Being self-sufficient makes me feel good about myself. Doesn’t it?

"I Just Told You My Dreams" - Eddi

Housekeeping

I have gotten feedback about the Mirror Experiment Arc from several of my friends. When I started the experiment, I did not think I was ugly. If I have any opinion on how I look, it leans towards thinking I’m pretty. I think I have a pretty cute nose - I even say it on the March 13th post! Goodness, I was on a run/stroll this morning at 6:45 am, gave the time to a passing stranger, was wrangled into a conversation about a coming-soon cheese and deli store (I have to tell Tiger Lilly about this), and in the course of that conversation was told I was pretty. I don’t have low self-esteem or poor body image! I don’t think I’m ugly! My purpose was to investigate the body, the spirit-self, and how other people see my spirit-self based on my physical interface.

If anything, I also liked the idea of watching. Without a mirror to remind me that other people could see me, it's almost like I was invisible. (Think of Morrison's image of Pecola wishing to dissolve into nothing but a pair of floating eyes. In the irrelevant vein of disembodied ocular organs, think of Emerson's floating eye, too. Er, maybe it was Thoreau's.) Not so, and the fact that other people see us, too, can be a dangerous thing to forget.

In my theory class, I have been getting frustrated because structuralists, feminists, and postmodernists we have discussed have been using complicated and roundabout language. Now I think I am beginning to understand just how difficult theoretical writing can be, and just how difficult it is to write quick blog posts without sending readers the wrong message about my self-esteem. Or anything else, for that matter.