Why did you throw a clock out to the window?

Fortunately, after my brief run in with violence, my life has gone back to normal; well as normal as it could possibly be in Spain.

My stay here is coming to an end. This seems like a rather bizarre comment to make before I even reach the seven month mark, but this is how I see it. I have one and a half weeks of school until Spring Break, when my family comes to visit. After my ten day vacation, I will have less then three weeks until my school year comes to an end, which is no time at all. Then my summer begins. A month and a half of God-knows-what; I suppose some well deserved fun under the Spanish sun will do.

But that's not the only reason why time seems to be flying by: I have adjusted myself to the my own schedule. After the fight, there really isn't too much that surprises me, or catches me off guard. School is school, homework is homework. My language skills have reached a point where I understand about everything, and hence I can communicate about things much more important and much less basic. This has naturally lead to the development of some real friends, not just people listening to my stories of the U.S. and making small talk, but people who really know me.

I have fallen in with a group of really great people via my friend Alberto. He is one of the guitaristas in a band called Dharma, and I have been going out with them almost every Friday night for about 2 months now. Not to mention, I've started going to their band practices to sing. We meet up in the basement of a warehouse, normally every Thursday and Saturday. Its just incredible how easy it is to lose track of time in that concrete dungeon. We all get along really well, and just last week, the other Guitarista, Andrés, and I were talking about renting an apartment together next year in Madrid.

Time flies when you're having fun.

But its not just fun that is propelling my time, its also my lack of down time. My schedule has been pretty packed lately. School, and homework is normal, but now I have Catalan classes three nights a week. In going to these night classes, which are as far from my house as humanly possible on this island, I have officially become the cowboy of Mallorquin mass transit. I sort of herd the buses and trains together, and then use them as necessary. Bus. Train. Train. Bus. I ride the bus between Palmanyola and Palma almost fifteen times a week, I know the bus drivers by name, and as of yesterday, I even sleep in the bus station.

To everyone who understands: There is a countdown to San Lucas.