Three weeks

It's not a lot of time.

I am going to Barcelona this weekend. I've spent most of the day planning out the trip, and now am working on homework. I wrote a sweet poem yesterday, but the book is currently stagnated because I have been so busy every single day that I haven't had a chance to internalize my experiences and so I can't keep writing stuff that needs that sort of internal sense of composure like a novel does. Everything is poetry. Sporadic, random, knee-jerk poetry.

I am actually more or less going to Barcelona alone, though I know people who will be in the city when I am there. I will definitely coordinate with them, and I am staying in the same hostel with one of them, so if I don't come home it shouldn't be the end of the world. Meaning someone will notice. But I'm honestly not too worried about that, since I don't plan on being out after dark. I'm going to be tired.

I get to Barcelona by plane, and then I have to trade in my bus tour voucher immediately, then take a bullet train to the metro stop, where I have to take the metro to the last stop on the line, which is where my hostel is. I will check in, and hopefully get an idea of the area, then hop on a bus and ride around the city. The bus, once I get on it, goes to all the major tourist attractions, so my transportation will be therefore taken care of. At some point I'll get lunch. The bus will likely stop running around 6 pm or so, at which point I will have time to do some more scouting, rest and find dinner before bed. Past that point I'm not 100% sure what will happen. You'll know Sunday I guess. Since it's my first time planning a trip, I am not sure to what extent I want to plan and to what extent I want to leave myself room to improvise. It's actually been a somewhat eye-opening and exciting experience. Hopefully the trip itself will be too.

Back to translating Neruda.