So Madrid is that really cool mysterious club that you’ve heard about and never been to, you really want to go but you can’t get in. And after a long 5 weeks I think I can sceptically say; I got in. Or at least, I think I can say I have somewhat settled after my world wind few weeks, now that the mountains and mountains of paperwork the Spanish bureaucracy require are complete.
I got the job teaching English, which despite all the travelling and lesson planning, is a pretty nice change of pace. I got the cute little studio flat in the centre, which may be the same size as my old bedroom in its entirety, but its home. I did the Ikea shop, got the pillows, the candles, the wine glasses (very important) and then I went plant shopping – essential.
So now this teeny tiny flat has become my safe space and I rarely want to leave it. When out shopping I dream of putting all my new things away in neat little nooks and crannies, when teaching English I long for a cup of tea under my soft duvet and even when in the pub, I just want to hook some Netflix up to my chrome cast and relax. I guess buying a chrome cast was the final nail in the coffin of my social life, I mean I’m making it far too easy to hibernate.
So it appears that in the absence of late nights and copious amounts of alcohol, I seem to be living a healthy lifestyle. I drink the green tea, get the full 8 hours sleep (actually beginning around 11pm) and I spend all my money on lush products and read up on good facial care regimes. I eat healthy home cooked meals, I watch television, I read books annnnndddd I’m even eyeing up gym memberships. Is it normal that at the ripe age of 23 I enjoy this? am I ending the good years too soon or is this simply a comfort reaction to the colossal change in my life I have made over the last 2 months? Leaving my friends behind, my home away from home, and changing my career path. Part of me hopes its temporary and the other part of me feels rather happy and settled.
But I can’t help but continuously wonder, am I content or am I just plain boring? followed by, can it be classed as boring if I enjoy it? Who ultimately defines what is or isn’t boring, anyways?
Well, it will take many more cups of tea and books before I am ready to face that question.