Dying of embarrassment
I had to go through my blog and correct some rather simple mistakes that I have made. For instance, the plural of Argentine is Argentines. But I keep spelling it with an apostrophe before the ‘s’. Fatal faux pas. Can you believe that I used to be an editor? Also sometimes I randomly use quotation marks, for no apparent reason.
Oh well, call me human.
It’s raining in Buenos Aires today. After my classes I went to International House and my supervisor informed me that she has been receiving positive feedback about me from my students. She said that one of them couldn’t stop raving about me. I’m happy to hear this because I’ve worked tirelessly to make my lesson plans fun and relevant to their individual needs. On top of that good news, I FINALLY GOT PAID! Yes, my first pay-day was today — in cash. We get paid monthly here in Argentina, something I’m going to have to get used to.
I had many dreams about Maude last night; I miss her terribly. It’s difficult to describe to people how powerful animal interaction is to me. I love animals, more than I can put into words. They are so honest, so pure of soul and loyal. I miss my beautiful bulldog so much. Keith said she had a lovely time at the cottage this weekend, and that she is tired. I love how excited she gets at the cottage, and how exhausted she is when she returns to Toronto. She will literally sleep for four days straight. I love her so much.
Despite my unconditional love for my dog I think I’m settling in to Argentina more. I was experiencing profound culture shock for a few weeks, reminiscent of the mood swings I experience when I quit smoking four years ago, and now that I’m becoming more comfortable and less afraid to do everyday tasks by myself, I feel better. That last sentence was the longest one I’ve ever written.
I purchased the selected works of Virginia Woolf a few weeks back and was reading Mrs. Dalloway when I discovered that I had already read it. I thought something was amiss because I was having this odd feeling of deja vu and then some passages were extremely difficult for me to get into because they seemed so familiar, and then it donned on me, I’ve already read the freakin’ thing. There’s that huge junk of pages where she vividly examines Septimus Smith’s depression and I couldn’t help but feel he was going to kill himself, and then I thought, “Wait, how do I know that?” Because I had already read the damn thing, back in 2001 when I was reading Michael Cunningham’s The Hours which was inspired by Mrs. Dalloway.
Silly, but not unlike me, wouldn’t you agree?
If I had any doubts about coming to Argentina they were erased when I discovered Gauchito. That was simply the best thing I have learned since coming here. Pure gold. I was trying to be respectful of their crazy primitive imaginative beliefs but seriously, it was just too weird. It’s the equivalent of me building a shrine to Big Bird. The best part about it was how cavalier they treated the whole thing when I asked, “What’s that?” and they responded, “Gauchito”, like I was just going to know who he was. “Oh Gauchito, how’s he doing these days? Any new faux miracles?”