Decade two, day one

How fast does ten years go? Pretty fucking fast!
I had punctuality beaten into me as a child. (Not actually beaten. I'm not accusing you of anything, mom.) So engrained in me is it that after all this time in Spain, a country where even Christmas is celebrated two weeks late, I cannot help but show up on time for things, knowing that I will inevitably be waiting for others. I always explain to the chronically late that time inexorably goes by at the rate of one minute per minute, but now I'm not so sure.
I mean, it doesn't seem that long ago that I stepped off the airplane, suitcase in hand, into a city I had never visited where I knew nobody and barely spoke the language with the vague idea of checking it out. I blinked and a decade had passed.
I woke up yesterday well rested for the first time in a week. I had spent a long weekend eating and drinking my way across southern Spain, getting up early to catch various modes of transportation or to visit some culturally relevant building (the latter to justify all the eating and drinking.) Prior to that, I had suffered a four night bout of insomnia that kept me staring at the walls and dreading the innocuous melody of my alarm. But yesterday I opened my eyes after a full eight hours of blissful sleep to begin my day, which consisted of classes with adults and children in companies and homes around Barcelona. One student, a 40 year old engineer, is leaving for Qatar next week, so we concluded our class with a relaxing cup of cafe con leche in the restaurant across the street from his office. After a year and a half of classes together, we have something approaching a friendship, or at least a cordial professional relationship, sharing personal anecdotes (and the twenty-first century equivalent thereof - funny youtube clips.)(Speaking of which, everybody on Facebook posted the Jimmy Fallon/Justin Timberlake hashtag skit, so I watched it and chuckled. #insertobvioushashtagjokehere)
In the evening, I dropped by a friend's house to borrow an amp, so that I may annoy my neighbours as I experiment with my keyboard. Les Fat Jones continues to be the most productive, best kept secret, as we jam regularly, write songs frequently and play shows hardly ever. We keep promising ourselves that will change. I also keep promising myself to get back to running in the mornings, and you will notice that wasn't included in this super fascinating glimpse into my schedule.
For dinner I had some curry and wine, and went to bed.
That was my day, the first day of my second decade here.
Despite myself, I have become a settled, semi-responsible adult. It wasn't really the plan. When I left New York, people said moving here was brave. To me, it felt like the opposite. I was running away from the end of my twenties, from the end of life as a rock star, from the reality of finding a job or going back to school, of living a normal life, something I had studiously avoided up to then. Yet here I am, with a job, living with my girlfriend in a nice apartment in a cool neighbourhood around the corner from my family and friends with whom I get together, drink too much and laugh about bullshit. It's awesome. Let's see what happens in the next ten years.
Just don't blink.