The second part of my summer is over. It’s been one month since my last camps finished and I’ve been on holidays. Wait. No, I haven’t.
Some days before the camps finished, I received a phone call. It was an answer to a CV I had sent to a Catalan-language-related company. They wanted me to be part of a team for a not-so-new project that had been waiting for funds to start. And there I was, passing — not doing — a selection test in Barcelona the day after I went back home. Two days later we had a team meeting and I’m supposed to be working four hours a day on that since then and until Christmas.
On my second week of unholidays I got a call from the school where I was teaching English asking for my availability for the next year — meaning next month — and making some new plans; something else to worry about. And don’t forget I still have a master’s project to write. Well, I wish. At the moment I only have a project to research on; I won’t be able to write before December, that’s for sure.
Someone, give me my life back, please! That’s why I’ve done absolutely nothing this last week. I went to Huesca, a city in Aragon [nothing to do with The Lord of the Rings]. It was its city festival, based on people throwing wine to each other and not sleeping for a week and dancing and drinking instead. I love it. And last Monday I went to Salou, next to Tarragona, to spend my day with the dark-haired French boy and four friends of him on the beach.
Holidays, because I’m worth it.