This post was difficult to write because I had to really think about how to articulate my feelings into words and I had to take a lot of pauses after becoming emotional.  It’s uncomfortable for me to discuss negative feelings.  But this is what real life is – a myriad of emotions.  The purpose of my blog isn’t solely to present happiness.  It’s about a journey, discovery, interests and it would be unauthentic of me to exclude certain sentiments of my experiences.

Lately, I’ve been feeling extremely exhausted and having more down in the dumps sort of days.  I’m burned out from being here and I nearly want to compare it to the last 12 months of living in Houston where I felt unsatisfied with too many aspects of my daily life. 

First and foremost, the shittiest thing I am unhappy to report is that I have found myself in a similar predicament as back in Houston that I’m rather tired of: doing things alone.
I am tired of eating by myself. 
I am tired of visiting places by myself. 
I am tired of making plans with myself.  (Where is the Spanish boyfriend I so desperately need?!  …I am definitely my father’s daughter trying to interject jokes into serious conversations.)

Alone time is valuable when it’s a choice, not when it isn’t.

The problem isn’t that I haven’t made any meaningful connections this whole time.  It’s more like, for every meal I share with someone, I have 20 more by myself.  And I can count on both hands how many times someone was able to accompany me or invited me to accompany them to do something that didn’t revolve around late night drinking. 
My needs for sharing activities, socializing and empathy are not being met here.

Part of that may have to do with the language. 
There isn’t a fault, it is what it is, but it isn’t from a lack of trying.  3 months of studying the same subject daily e v e r y d a y and really trying to apply it e v e r y d a y has become daunting.  It has been more difficult than I expected for me to pick up the language, to hear it and express myself (although, I may be doing better than I think) and I feel the stress and frustration of it consuming me sometimes.  So much so, that I dragged myself to my first ever Meetup event a couple of weeks ago solely for conversing in English.  Yes, I willingly went to a social function full of strangers to mingle (ew) because I miss feeling understood when I speak to people.
It was surprisingly fun and I even met a fellow Texan.  And, as you may have guessed, that’s where I also met the Englishman with the unquenchable thirst. 

Because I thought the event successful, I went back last weekend.  I talked to a couple of people I met at the first one and then some new ones.  But there’s a tolerance level for things I don’t like to do and it maxed out after an hour at the second event.  I don’t like mingling and realized how little I wanted to keep reintroducing myself or talk about why I’m here. 
Excuse me, I know we don’t know each other, but can’t we skip all this bullshit and go see a movie?

None of this helps the fact that I miss tangible things that are not here with me (like my sweet cat).  But despite my feeling somewhat stifled and stagnant, I am trying to make the most of the time I have left here.  I took up some oil painting classes, got a tattoo, I am making one last European excursion that was on my list next to Buñol and Munich, and I am very much looking forward to a visit from my sister (and I guess my brother-in-law, too).

Don’t do it. He’ll drink you under the bar. 
I spent the other day nursing a terrible hangover after a night out with my new acquaintance.  How we met will be revealed in the next entry which is currently in progress.  I wanted to sneak in these latest shenanigans because they amuse me. 
I don’t usually drink in excess, so una resaca is a rarity for me. Yet I still feel like I have had a handful too many in this lifetime.  I’m ranking this one as my third worst and I graded it based on longevity, vomiting and memory loss. 
 
The Englishman and I were at bar number 2 when I realized I was quite lit. I made all the usual whoopsies such as mixing beer and wine, not eating beforehand and not drinking any water at all. However, I think the biggest whoops was drinking with an Englishman with an unquenchable thirst for beer. I could not match him, though, he sure made me try. Eventually, I needed food. Bar number 2 had some burger options and he let me pick the Khaleesi for us to share. I truly do not know if I chose it because I’m funny or if it really sounded like the best burger or if reading is hard when you’re drunk.
About this time is where the recollection of the evening kind of blurs together.

So, I remember a lot of talking, we definitely weren’t sitting in silence. Vaguely recall discussing music, but that’s about it. I remember leaving bar number 2, but I don’t remember walking to bar number 3. I do remember making a mess with a beer at bar number 3 and attempting to mop it up with those little bar napkins. I do not know if it was my beer. I do not remember drinking anymore. I remember leaving bar number 3 and arriving at my bnb, but not the time between the two destinations. I’m glad he insisted walking with me because I just reread my last sentence. Also, having an escort ensured I didn’t trip over a bus stop or something equally ridiculous. I generally have a good sense of direction, but bad feet.
I remember we said our goodbyes and I walked through the lobby to the elevator.  I do not remember getting on the elevator or walking into the apartment.  The next memory picks up with me brushing my teeth.  I awoke the next morning with a pounding headache when questions started racing through my inebriated brain.

So, in my opinion, this is all leading to the bestest parts. There is only one other time in my life when I blacked out from drinking and, funny enough, I remember telling some of that story to my new acquaintance. I am very sad I have no real memory of it other than what my friends recounted because it’s fucking hilarious.
Obviously, no one else was here to tell me what happened when I got back to the apartment, but I managed to piece it together.  And I can just see all of you on the edge of your seats wondering what sort of crazy occurred.

The truth is absolutely nothing. 
And it is a marked compliment to my character compared to 18-year-old blackout drunk me accidentally pissing on my friend’s clothes.

I laid in bed groggily trying to recount things like if the door was locked or where was my purse or how am I wearing pajamas. I finally got up and used the bathroom and checked that the door was locked. I saw my purse and keys on a nearby table. I went back to sleep. I awoke a short time later to shower and vomit.  I laid back in bed.  After my second round of purging, I felt the tiniest measurement possible of better and pieced together what I had done. 
I was a goddamn adult. 
I had neatly placed my boots with my other shoes, my coat over a rack.  I left my dirty clothes with the rest of my laundry and pulled my pajamas from the closet without leaving any sort of mess.  I took out my contact lenses and correctly placed them in the case.  I undid my hair and left the pins neatly on a table.  I set my phone alarm to wake me up at 10:30 so it didn’t go off at the usual time of 8:30.  I cleaned off the bed that had random things on it (since just hours before I moved from Prosperidad to La Latina and was unpacking) and neatly placed them all elsewhere.  I retrieved my earplugs from my purse and correctly fit them in my ears.  I did all the things I usually do before bed – perhaps even better – without injuring myself or breaking anything. 
I almost can’t believe it either.  I wondered how it was possible to function so phenomenally when I know how stupid people get from drinking and found this enlightening article. 

I later picked up my phone to thank my English acquaintance for the booze and to tell him about how terrible I felt. I found something odd but smiled at myself as I read. I had sent him messages throughout the evening that I do not remember sending.
I dug deep in my brain while trying to recover from the hangover and sort of recalled we listened to songs on my phone at some point and he asked me to send him the YouTube links. I also found a glimpse of a memory talking about tacos, but I don’t remember if I was recommending them or requesting them. Por favor disfruta: