Dearest Bella,
You're right to think I'm a wench for not even writing you when I got to this amazing period of my mood. But you mustn't imagine it was just laziness on my part, because when I realized I had a pile of things to arrange in my room. Which was absolutely filthy and in a mess. This time my bad mood lasted more than two weeks, when Phil made me feel comfortable again with his marvelous patience and gave me his songs I began to like Gringolandia again. He's with me when I say Gringolandia sometimes drives me insane. For the simple reason that there are more stupid and malleable, and here everyone goes around picking fights/ except when they're not. Than it's marvelous. On the other hand, lately, it has been different, even in the case of the Rockefellers one could struggle against them without back-stabbing. That would disillusion anyone, as you can well understand. I also have been not able to go back home, to you, to my parents, to all for all their qualities and defects, which they also have plenty of, their Catholic homilies, their boundless pretension, and disgusting puritanism, the fact that one has to be "very decent" and "very proper" for everything. Especially my family. And then I can't bear their way of life, at least they know how to live with good taste. And I think my dad is running again...political life is not for me.
When I first told you about Gringolandia I taught the most important thing for everyone is to be "somebody", and frankly these people are everywhere, I'm damn lucky with what I've met. So now the situation is completely different and I'm going to explain why. I'm not trying to compare anything or anyone, but it's fact that where we are from my dear they wanted to take care of my life in a way I never allowed them to. I spoke to my parents about, and they can't completely understand, I wish they could, but I just want them to think of me.
I spent a couple of extremely beautiful days this weekend, and I'm ready for more this week and determined to go through with Dame de chez as well, until the middle of October, when I leave to go home visit you and my "remarried parents", at their 25th anniversary. I miss our portuguese language. I hate speaking English sometimes. So I rather stare at people and stand wherever I am like a "russian doll". I miss speaking good/bad/dirty portuguese words. I miss everything about our language. So, when I can;t find someone portuguese speaking I go to Pedro and shout some spanish "Papacito, hablas com tua amiga pelo amor di dios". It calms me down. I even miss our history, and making fun of Portugal.
I often feel sympathy for carpenters and shoemakers.
Search for love dear.
Goodbye now, I promiss to write you a long letter (longer than this? yesss) telling you about my hoof, if that happens to interest you, and other little-tattle related to Gringolandia and its inhabitants and hope you're happy.
lov.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment