We have an expression in Puerto Rico I am not sure is local or old-country Castillian: 'Al que no quiera caldo, que le den tres tazas'-- which may be translated as, 'whoever wants no soup, gets three bowls full'.
After six years of resisting flying-- or postponing & cancelling already booked flights-- across the Atlantic; after I finally make it into Lisbon by sea; after I finally start feeling better & have my first day of three full meals enjoyed & digested, after a month exhausted by recurrent bouts of anxious colics & diarrhea, sometimes waking me from predawn sleep: I'm flying back to Puerto Rico for medical testing while holding on to a return flight back to Madrid by end of July, with feelings as mixed as a shaken, not stirred, dry Martini.
It all came to a head after calling home from my Lisbon hotel cubicle, at the worst possible time, during yet another spasm. Of course I pushed everybody's worry buttons, besides my own. Not my best idea. Now that I feel as if I could've held the course to Barcelona & tasted some outstanding small-producer natural & BioD wines at Slow Vitis (link to event program in Spanish) --tomorrow!!-- I half-regret my decision, but the whole mysterious workings of my emotional & physical health have been foregrounded so dramatically it feels like I'm getting an intense, in-my-face lesson in accepting & letting go. Trust. It's a bitch.
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