The rain in Spain

falls mainly when I'm ill and/or don't have my umbrella.

I didn't go to three of my four classes on Wednesday--literatura or baile or "cultural realities"--but don't worry, it wasn't voluntary skipping. My body refused to let my brain attend class. I've been sick on and off for two weeks now, and since Saturday, I've felt pretty poorly. If being sick in the States isn't fun, I leave it up to your imagination to try and guess what it's like to be here: stuck in bed, with an unreliable internet connection and no one around to talk to. Well, enough of that pity fiesta. I try to avoid the depths of despair, at least.

I got up planning to attend class, but my tired body, sore throat, aching head and congested nasal passages hollered at me to rethink that decision. I'm starting to wonder if I caused this illness myself: I certainly contributed to it, at least. I just remembered earlier today, that last week I made two wonderful decisions--both Wednesday and Friday nights I stayed out 'til four and five, respectively. Why? Oh, I don't know. I do a lot in the name of cultural experiments. But now that I see the toll it takes on my immune system, those days are (mostly) over. I guess I must be a proud student at the School of Hard Knocks--and apparently I refuse to graduate.

Something I didn't learn in my "Cultural Realities" class, but at the SHK: if you're feeling even the least bit poorly, forego salsa dancing, especially when you live a forty-minute walk away and it's a cool, rainy night. Consider that lesson learned. Some current thoughts, soon to be revealed in a self-appointed essay assignment (read: blog), involve the lack of respect for women here (yes, it's a sweeping generalization, but not unfounded). More to come on that.

The little time I left my bed Wednesday was spent seeking a cure for my illness. A few days previous, Leo had given me some medicine to take every three hours, and despite her great faith in it, it didn't seem to help. So yesterday, I was thrilled to become one of the morning Sevillians walking around between the hours of nine and eleven, carrying a few nondescript white plastic bags. If you come here, please observe this phenomenon. I don't know whence the people come with these purchases: perhaps the wonderful little mercados full of fresh fruit and veggies, entire pig legs or aromatic fish, or like me, from a tienda china and the farmacia; but each morning, everyone seems to have a special little bundle or two in a white plastic bag, bringing some good back to their homes. I went to a magical little place we call a Chinese store (literally translated). They're everywhere, they're run by Chinese people and they have about any knick-knack you'll need to find. They're often called "Bazaar" something-or-other and it's such fun to explore the shelves of cheap, necessary stuff. I bought orange juice and peach nectar (2 litros por 2 €!)--so delicious and full of vitamins for my poor overwrought immune system. Then, I went across the street to the pharmacy to get something else medicinal, in hopes of healing myself once and for all. I had to ring the doorbell to enter, then described to the pharmacist how I felt and she produced a box of packets of powder meant to make me feel better. I am not entirely sure what I'm taking (sorry Dr. Dad) but I'll tell myself it will work. It's just a mini-adventure and it's pretty normal here--I do what I'm told by the pharmacist without necessarily knowing what it is myself. No big deal. In general, trust your elders (unless they're force-feeding you) and your pharmacists.

I hear the rain is supposed to let up on Sunday and then the good weather will begin. I eagerly await warmth and sunshine.