Twenty-six days in Buenos Aires to go. I wish I could say the way I phrased that is misleading, but it’s not. Slashing the calendar with fat sharpie X’s isn’t what I actually do, but there is something like that going on in my head. During the sweaty, humid hours of the afternoon, I can often be found mentally packing my suitcases, deciding which books to sell to the local English bookstore, which clothes I cannot possibly bear to wear for another summer and will leave in a bag on the curb for the cartoneros to discover, with more dueling excitement and fear than I can handle about restarting my life yet again.
Almost out of money, I think that while I hang out in Milwaukee for a month or two before moving to Portland, I inevitably need a job. Maybe I’ll find a job serving somewhere in the suburbs, or delivering pizza for six weeks. Is it worth the hassle of training and finding a job for such a short period of time? Yes. Aside from money, I’m also bored out of my mind. There is only so much reading and writing a person can do in a day, every day. I don’t think I can take it anymore. The life that I want to lead outside of writing, full of hanging out with friends and thrift shopping and whatever I want to do at any given time requires not only a respectable bank account, but some contrast. My life as all play and no work has kind of dulled my edges. I want to work seven days a week eight hours a day at some shitty job for awhile until I can fully appreciate time off again. Sheesh. Buenos Aires has done me right on several accounts (great tan, a little self-discovery, writing time, inspiration, good old overall life experience)but now I’m ready to move on. More than ready.
As it turns out, I’m sick of restarting my life. I just want to live in a place and stay there. I want some stability, a car, a dog park for Luna to chase squirrels, a comfortable bed, maybe an internship at a local literary journal on top of the job I plan to have, be it teaching for 13 weeks at a summer reading institute or serving at a posh sushi restaurant.
En route to all that, I even get some more quality time with my family, which I felt was cut off right when I started to get to know all of them again. I know I shouldn’t be counting down the days left in South America, because who knows when I will be back. I’m not counting them down, exactly, but I can’t wait to go home.
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