Epilogue of My Summer Vacation
I have been accused — quite correctly, I think — of being overly analytical. That’s definitely a big part of who I am, but I recognize more and more that it’s not completely innate. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to “get off” on gratuitous sentimentality — the kind that’s the fodder of reality TV shows like Home Improvement. Hallmark sweetness will probably always make me want to wretch, and I have next to no patience for emotional impulses in the professional realm. And as for me settling down with someone, I’ve long ago stopped believing that “The One” is out there, just waiting to be found, after which domestic bliss will follow. It just hasn’t been a preoccupation for me. Plus, I still have a great big cyncial streak that says when thinking of coupledom, “Great! That way we’ll get to spit toothpaste down the same drain each morning.”
When I set aside that cynicism, though, I recognize that I’ve changed on so many fronts in recent years that it’s ridiculous to believe that I haven’t changed in that respect as well. I can’t bring myself to commit to writing some of the thoughts that are crossing my mind at this very moment because they would come across as pompous or braggy. I might one day be able to say these things in person to a select few of you, but not in writing. But I will say that my decision to move to Montréal, followed by my recent trip there and the chance meeting of El Poema, have finally made crystal clear in the last day or two the lesson I was meant to learn through Indiana Jones.
I don’t believe in horoscopes, especially those in the Coffee News, a free advertising rag distributed in coffeeshops around town. But this did cause me to pause a little.
(July 24 – Aug. 23)
Unexpected trips could be exciting this week. Follow your instinct if romance appears from a distant locale. This could be it.
Lucky number: 4, 12, 26, 33, 38, 42
How cute is that? I saw this the day after I booked plane tickets, accommodations and a car for Labour Day weekend in Montréal. While some of you might tee-hee at the “This could be it” part, I’m more struck by what’s not written but has been a big theme for me lately: not accumulating regrets.
I do know the difference between Spanish and Portuguese, by the way. But I’ve long loved fado, which means “fate” or “destiny” in Portuguese. And “Chuva,” meaning rain, is one of my favorites. Fado just seems perfect right about now…