To be.

Tired, but not hungover. Many many strange dreams which woke me with a start throughout the night. Here I am at the Churrería around eight thirty and there is a dubbed Game of Thrones playing in the corner. The voices just sound wrong, aka funny. There are a few late night locals heading home in here and a handful of hunters about to head on another morning of killing.

From a distance I heard the ricochet and the barking as I, finally, left the asphalt and farm track behind. It was still a well worn track, with bicycle treads everywhere, but finally I was alone and happy. Without a hangover. The last five kilometres to this short day was on another road, but as I saw brambles and juniper I was transported to northern climes, looking everywhere for nettles, and a reminder of Lola and home.

My tiredness becomes frustration at what I misperceive which blinds me to what is really outside - like a child who moans when they fight sleep I did so again yesterday and found it necessary to attack those around me with cruel meaningless thoughts...

... After a long day on the Way I simply forget everything that went before and, as the host hates Ingles in this café/bar, it is ok - today was short and I remembered my manners saying all the correct words. I've never had to force someone(el boss) to provide a tapas, in Spain, before. Usually it is instantly after the purchase of vino: I was somewhat desperate for olives. My offense isn't being English because I don't know what my actual offense is, but his scowl seems real. As I'm only here a night it's fine - his misery is everywhere and persists as he makes a fortune from all comers - bloody grocers: petit-bourgeois and their use of others to enhance themselves. Not so long ago I was in a PCP establishment in Portugal and didn't feel an outsider there as the locals were all part of the unit.

It happens a lot. No matter how internally exhausted I feel there seems no compassion for what I am enduring within or without, except I get flames thrown at me because my Spanish is awful when I can't construct a sentence in my native tongue... But at all times I'm really being cheered on for what I feel it necessary to do: I just ignore this fact. Whether it's raining, snowing or shining down on me the entirety of existence is within and without... This is the existential paradox I'm caught by. If only I could scrape away the doubts and just enthuse ad infinitum?

It's not intentional and I'm having dreams in a gabbled misunderstood Spanish - which means I'm more confused than ever!