I Want a Cash Machine

“I want a cash machine!” He yelled at me from across the cafeteria. (Where the above photo was taken.)

I looked over my shoulder to a young psychiatrist who twenty minutes earlier had asked me if I had seen Showtime’s breakout drama the “L Word.” She laughed. The whole room laughed. Everyone is laughing.

And this is life in Buenos Aires.

Life is life. Just like in Cambridge, life is life. I mean, life certainly does have a way of continuing. Everywhere you go, there is life.

And life is good and whimsical and deeply alive.

The days wrap themselves up in themselves.

On Wednesdays and Fridays, I usually go to Álvarez, and the day is made of this journey. There and then back again. On Tuesday mornings, I go to watch the music workshops at El Borda. My day is made of this journey, too. On Tuesdays I also play soccer and also Thursdays and sometimes Sundays.

Sometimes I will meet new people, like my new friend Joaquín. Other days I will get hugs and kisses on the cheek from people I already know.

Every day I drink coffee. And learn more Spanish.

And every day I write or research or read. (If I am lucky, sometimes I do all three. [Ahre.])

The days are made up of days and suddenly here I am in August horribly excited for the Springtime and awaiting the World Cup and two big trips. One to Tucumán and the other to São Paulo, Brazil. To do fieldwork.

And, gradually, the weeks are made of weeks, and they wrap themselves up in themselves.

And I am still drinking coffee.  

It’s all very beautiful and boring.

There is no drama or stress or volatility, really. Only me living my life in my life. I am busy when I make myself busy. I am here, being here, and looking ahead—crafting a future so that they days can continuously wrap themselves up in themselves until they don’t.

I want a cash machine, too.

Sami

[recordar que se puede tomar mate hasta las 18hs]