arg: heaven’s dead when you get sad

Dumesnil, Argentina — July 2008.

arg: week 8, days 4-7

Week 8, Day 4: Thursday, July 24, 2008.

 

12:05 p.m. — Last night, had a homecooked meal with Kate, Ali, Michelle and Talia. Probably the last one. Had delicious dinner, talked upstairs in my old room. Returned to main house to find Sylvia, Diego, the E.U. and Nico begging me to go out. Headed to a bar near the canal – Local Ella. Had a few beers and returned – far too tired to hang on. “I’m still Wikki from the block.” (Sylvia.)

 

1:05 a.m. — Post-Carmen. Ballet. Dvorak and Barber also. Evaluating the character of the house.

 

Week 8, Day 5: Friday, July 25, 2008.

 

7:35 p.m. — What a day for revelations. Two-faced people. I am alone. Every fucking time, I get fucked over. Sylvia: “You look sad. Don’t think anymore about stupid people”; “Once you start thinking about them, you can’t stop.” Went to lunch with her. Tiny café on Colon. Cheap empanadas. Cheering Coke: “Stupid people, che culiado.” Indeed. Went to Manos Solidarios today – Sylvia’s last day. I’m glad I went with her. We both cried. She for her departure and I for her. She knows me best. My nature. “Voy a volver en un ano,” she told her kiddies. Espero que si. And I. Well, I need to talk to Veronica now. Now, maybe for the first time, things are becoming clear. What I have to do. What a glorious, beautiful day for revelations good and ill. I’m lucky to have at least one genuine friend, one true companion. Fuck it all, fuck the rest. Andate a la mierda. Puta madres. I’m sick of playing. Go home now, fuckers. I’m thankful they’re leaving. I won’t continue this anymore. Nunca mas.

 

Week 8, Day 6: Saturday, July 26, 2008.

 

4:56 p.m. — Sylvia has left. With tears. Ali and Michelle left a few hours later at 3. Last night, cried as I walked out of Sylvia’s house. Profe had to lead me home. Went to Voodoo, a club near our house. It sucked. Talia, Ali, Michelle, Kate, Profe. Of all that have come and gone – Sylvia.

 

11:10 pm.m — Dull afternoon. Hung around the house with the Euros. Then went with Kate to Talia’s house for dinner. Healthy healthy. Trying to get into castellano music. I’m tired, but I’ve done nothing really. Quiet weekend considering how many people are gone. I am here with the Euros. I’m glad they are here, generally speaking. I wouldn’t be able to endure the house without them.

 

Week 8, Day 7: Sunday, July 27, 2008.

 

8:30 p.m. — Woke up late today. Spent the afternoon with Kate and Talia, walking through Nueva Cordoba and the Sarmiento park. Feeling more alone than ever. After Kate leaves, I will have no one. Such is life. We are all alone – but some are more so than others. I’m unsure of which group I’m a part.

 

11:34 p.m. — Talked to Michael a few times since. It’s been familiar and strange. Strange but without the awkwardness, which is good. It’s like talking to Kim. Familiar but strange because of the past and the present. I need to get out of here next weekend. The dullness of my weekends is killing me, en serio. Chile, here I come. The Cristo Redentor pass is open, last I heard. Hopefully I can make it across and back. Ahora, tengo ganas. Ahora, estoy lista para mas. Argentine TV: I haven’t watched much of it, but the primetime entertainment is amusing. Low, low quality like in Hong Kong. Talent shows, dance competitions, the sort. Obnoxious at times. Che culiado. The same. Judges, etc. This is what we are. Let’s sit with our families and watch it in the living room after/during dinner. Sin embargo, no quiero gastar mi tiempo y gastar mi tinta. I haven’t been writing much lately. Essay form nor story form. No tengo ganas. Que triste. Maybe I’ll try again. But for now – learning castellano. Thankfully I’m still extremely enthusiastic about that. I have converted – now I listen to horrible, horrible Latin pop/ funk/ hiphop para aprender mas castellano. Es horrible. Pero cualquiera manera para mejorar mi castellano. No tengo verguenza para eso. I want to describir la vida cotidiana aca pero no puedo hacerlo. It would diminish it completely to a few sentences on a journal page, and that would just not do. I refuse to do that. The street graffiti is a sight. There is not a lot of it, but last night, I saw one that said: “Evita, mira a los traidores.” Some just say: “Evita esta mirando.” Others are more harsh. Still others are simply a way into the consciencia de la gente. They wear a lot of purple here. Purple, striped sweaters. The girls. This afternoon at the park, we counted at least fifteen purple, striped sweaters. Los dos. Not to, por supuesto, mention just purple and just striped. Heard Talia tell a story about poisoned pigeons. Ursula came across two pigeons that just fell from seemingly the sky. They were spastic, legs cocked out, tongues out, mouths foaming. Profe picked them up and laid them together on the side of the street. Talia: “Ursula, queen of the animal kingdom.” Mala gente. No puedo entenderles. Pero no me importa. Dejame en paz. Oh, mierda, manana es lunes. Week 9. Che culiado.

arg: week 8, days 1-3

Week 8, Day 1: Monday, July 21, 2008.

 

1:17 a.m. — Asian people crack me up.

 

Week 8, Day 2: Tuesday, July 22, 2008.

 

12:45 p.m. — Last night, after tango, had Chinese moments with Michelle, Lillian, and Diana. Fucking gracioso. Then spent the rest of the evening talking about classical music. Fell asleep with the laptop still playing Rimsky-Korsakov.

 

8:05 p.m. — Frustration. Maybe I need a change of pace and direction. I am not needed here. Truly. I think I have done everything I can possibly do here – at the projects – and maybe now, it’s just time to move on. I’m not doing anyone any good by staying and feeling shitty. No good can come of it – and no good will come of it.

 

9:00 p.m. — It’s just a pattern. Sitting in the hall with Kate, who is is also writing in her journal – about nothing. Nothing happens anymore. Life has come to a standstill. Days pass – nothing. Highlights of life – cosas cotidianas. And not even. Projects aren’t even worth writing about. How sad. How disconcerting to watch attitudes change, to see motivation errode. “Our thoughts are clay; they are molded with the changes of the days.” Human contact, communication. So important now that our days are so empty. I have also lost some motivation to read. It frustrates me. I am severe with myself. Yet, nothing happens. Nothingness is becoming another pattern of my life. Daily life intrigued me – and now, less. This aggravates me – especially since I can actually chart the fall of my momentum through the weeks. Clearly, these days I write less. Trying to analyze this dramatic fall angers me, saddens me. I wonder how the others are dealing with this. Maybe it’s best not to wonder too much.

 

Week 8, Day 3: Wednesday, July 23, 2008.

 

3:45 p.m. — Went to centro this morning. No class today. Roamed around Plaza San Martin for awhile, then sat scared shitless eating choripan with Kate and Michelle, pigeons flocking around us. Trying to figure out my final weeks here. I still have time, but my friends are running low. Might have to figure shit out on my own. The new group seems less willing to endure the projects. They’ve complained the whole way and they’ve only been doing this for a couple weeks. It’s hard to judge especially since we the older lot have been so quickly becoming unmotivated and bored. But what to do when there is nothing to be done. It’s difficult. For me, it’s becoming difficult. I feel myself giving up. I am giving up. I am giving in.

 

6:55 p.m. — Went and bought tickets for Carmen. This morning/ afternoon, Kate said, as we walked through the centro streets: “This city is starting to grow on me, and I have to leave.” She’s off to Peru Tuesday. I am left alone to my thoughts. No thoughts. No tengo pensamientos. A ver.

arg: week 7, days 5-7

 

  

Week 7, Day 5: Friday, July 18, 2008.

 

10:00 a.m. — Still sick. My motivation is failing me. The only motivation I have left is for learning castellano. My lack of momentum is making me bitter, jaded. Such is the routinized life. Manos Solidarios, the other comedor project, is failing. For almost three weeks now, it has been on and off. Open and shut. Problems with money, motivation, etc. Change? No existe cambio. Cada dia, lo mismo. Que podemos hacer? Que debemos hacer? No hay repuestas simples. Nunca. No obstante, vamos. No obstante, viven. Vidas felices? Mas o menos. Como van a estar? Tambien, mas o menos. Y al fin, nadie puede cambiar nada. Es la verdad. Necesitamos aceptarlo.

 

Week 7, Day 6: Saturday, July 19, 2008.

 

3:20 p.m. — Elissa has just left. Our house is now one fewer. The old group – my group – is erroding away. Last night, watched The Dark Knight at the Gran Rex, General Paz. Quite excellent. Lazy day. Will probably head over to Sylvia’s for dinner and etc. How will it be when I am the last one standing? Actually, truly, the last one standing will be Talia – but she no longer lives in this house.

 

5:50 p.m. — Post-nap. Finding myself feeling better it slightly. Good news always. I don’t know what I’m writing exactly. Che, culiado. Pajero. Thanks for everything, Profe. Not having an end goal is making me antsy. “Ah, my flexibility!” (Kate.) The house is feeling especially empty because a few others have gone away on weekend trips. Tomorrow, more new volunteers will arrive. From the most recent group, four will have gone after tonight. How odd our house is becoming. The wave I arrived on is leaving me behind in the coming week and a half. Their journey is over, yet I still have weeks to go. To be left behind, to be confronted with the challenge of making new friends again. Where to begin. We all just need a point in the midst of things, a point to begin. Point A. Spent the morning before Elissa’s departure lounging on the cama-sofa with my oldest friends here. We have replaced Talia, Sylvia, Liz. The recently arrived have replaced us. The cycle of the house. It stands. Flipping through this journal is strange. I barely remember everything. Ha.

 

1:45 a.m. — Went to Sylvia’s for a short while after enjoying some wine with Ali and Kate on the patio/balcony/terrace. Ate dinner, headed out to see Sylvia. I’ve missed her but I’m far too exhausted to stay out tonight.

 

Week 7, Day 7: Sunday, July 20, 2008.

 

6:47 p.m. — Crazy day – as in I slept through most of it. Didn’t sleep well last night. Diego was having a party. And my cough was killing my throat. Woke up to a mess this morning around 11:30. Went back to sleep at 3:00ish. Woke up again at 6. How terrible. And nice.

 

arg: week 7, days 1-4

Week 7, Day 1: Monday, July 14, 2008.

 

4:10 p.m. — Great class today with Profe – discussed literature, theory, philosophy – Derrida and Saussure – everything. I needed that boost of intellectualism. This morning, went to a puppet show with the biblioteca kids. Taking the afternoon off.

 

12:50 a.m. — After tango, headed over to Talia’s house for dinner. Back. Sick, tired, my foot is in pain still. Swollen, aggravated.

 

Week 7, Day 2: Tuesday, July 15, 2008.

 

1:55 p.m. — Was going to go on a tour of Cordoba today, but expensive and wrong time. Went to a café instead, then returned. Read my Cortazar homework. My life gets more boring every day. Project is becoming a task. Que terrible. Pero no puedo controlarlo porque todas estan aburridos sobre los proyectos. My days are shaped by nothing. I do nothing. I say nothing. I have no new thoughts about anything. Que lastima. What would it be like at home? Same? Maybe worse. Here: Argentina.

 

Week 7, Day 3: Wednesday, July 16, 2008.

 

4:48 a.m. — “Puedo bailar con vos toda la vida.” – Profe Pablo.

 

Week 7, Day 4: Thursday, July 17, 2008.

 

12:05 p.m. — Stayed up until 4:30 a.m. dancing salsa at the club with Pablo. After tango class, had a mini salsa class. Then dinner. Ate and drank, conversed. Headed out around 1:30 a.m. to La Previa. Yesterday, before project, also went to the tenedor libre with Profe and las chicas. The whole house is sick. Sylvia’s culpa. Profe thinks I am ready for my posgradua. I’m not sure. Tengo miedo. Mi mente esta degrandose, esta corroyendose, esta herrumbrandose. Y que puedo hacer? Nada. No estoy lista para posgradua, me parece.

 

9:30 p.m. — Listening to music and watching Elissa pack her equipaje. How things come to pass; I will never understand. Depressing conversation with Profe this afternoon – about my future. The question hangs. Already, it stinks of conformity and failure. Forget it.