That's my existence for the next 11 months.
The idea of being in Spain for up to six months, without having to work, without having to speak English, without being in my home country with all my numerable comforts, excites me probably more than I could put into words. Regardless, in order to get to that point, this year's going to prove a pretty big test as to how frugal I can be perpetually. What this means is a lot of discipline on my part, lots of sacrificing--though, let's be honest here, the past 3 and a half years have been a how-to book on the grounds of sacrifice and sleeplessness. I can do it. There's no doubt in my mind. But I'm simultaneously anxious, not just about leaving the country or taking upper division Spanish courses, or any of the things I'll soon be doing that I've never really done before. What makes me anxious is the fact that the tables have been turned, the tides shifted. I don't really know how to react to my beautifully awkward status as a 21 year old re-admitted college graduate (who will no longer be taking any English-related class whatsoever). It's not really depressing so much as it is odd. And I'm excited and anxious to see how this plays out. 12 hours . . . shouldn't be that bad.
But at the end of the day, Spain is the goal. And even if I have to suck it up and work at Starbucks again, full time this summer, then that's what I'll have to do.