in the shuttle no. 01

in the shuttle no. 01

I feel well, I feel fine.

I feel like I'm finally adapting, starting to fit in in this enormous monsters that eats students alive called The University of Texas at Austin.

This week I studied, yes, but I also worked out 3 times, had lunch with a friend, talked to my love for hours and hours, cleaned the house and did some laundry.

It might seem that I had a rather normal week, with no big difference from what a normal week should be, and that is true. But I haven't had a normal week since I started to attend classes at UT. I studied so much I somewhat convinced myself that I didn't had time to do anything else. All other things I love to do where forgotten and some days I even though I was loosing precious hours of sleep and study (the only two things I thought worthy of my time) by taking a long shower in order to watch my hair. 

Needless to say, I had many days of gross hair, of sadness, foul mood, hunger and stress. Always stress.

But this week was refreshingly normal, perfectly normal (although I still had to adjust my workout routine so I could sleep a little bit more than what I have been usually sleeping). I woke up early, I went to the gym and I didn't cried in the shower, or in the library or at all.

I feel happy, I feel good about myself and now I am even writing again.

I have so many stories going on in my head. Reading the New York Times has been helping my creativity. Seriously, no writer can imagine anything more absurd than what people actually do. Specially if they work for the government. I shall write about Shakespeare quotations being censured in China (yes, I know. crazy, right?), Robocot statues in Detroit and Americans doing crazy stuff in others' countries.

Because if the German are squared in their own country, and go so amazingly crazy when they visit abroad, imagine how apeshit can an American be abroad, being that they are already pretty crazy at home?

For example, here in the shuttle, going back home, two white guys are analysing the drawing of their veins in their arms. I guess they really don't have anything better to do, do they?

The shuttle just turned at Riverside. Soon I will be home, take a shower and study American politics and Chemistry.

In the meanwhile, the newspaper thief attacked again twice this week. I left home before 7 (when it is supposed to arrive) and when Miros left the apartment a couple of hours later, the was no newspaper by the door.

I don't think it is a coincidence because it only disappears when I don't wake up early enough to get it.

ok. I got home.

Roger.