Comprende?

I still dream in Spanish. Not every night, and some weeks more than others, but I'll have these dreams where I'm talking to people and the Spanish will come out. Sometimes I'll be introduced to a Spanish-speaker who barely speaks English and I'll tell them that Spanish is fine and we'll converse that way. Sometimes they'll start of saying something in English, but just run out of words.

Sometimes I'll describe what I did in Chicago. I'll tell them that most of my Spanish sucks, but if they want to talk about eligibility for foodstamps, I've got all sorts of vocabulary for conversation. They usually think that's pretty funny. It is my experience in real life that when you speak to someone in their native language, they are mighty forgiving of mistakes and limitations. Of course, this doesn't really hold true for Americans because we seem to think that everyone on Earth should be able to speak perfect English, but we're not talking about us, are we?

Last night in my dream, I was talking with this lady who only spoke Spanish, and while I could understand everything she said (and she used much better grammar than I typically do), I just couldn't get my own Spanish up and going so well. In my dream, I thought, "This is it. Six months away from Spanish speakers, and there goes my language ability."

I know the words are in my head. The grammar is in my head. The fact that my dream characters speak so well is proof of that. Years ago when we went to Guatemala, I thought I could barely speak Spanish at all-- right up until it turned out I was one of the best Spanish-speakers on the trip. I became one of the translators, and I found myself saying things that I hadn't realized I knew how to say until the words were coming out of my mouth. They say necessity is the mother of invention. Well, she's also the mother of language memory, it turns out.

Last time I lost my fluency (my easy-to-access-non-necessity fluency), my dreams in Spanish stopped almost as soon as I stopped speaking it on a daily basis. It surprises me that they continue still this time around. Unless maybe the language is now wired in my brain as part of that feeling of home, and Spanish dreams are a manifestation of homesickness. After all, I still dream of Memphis even though I've not lived there in... god, ten years now.

In other news, I have a job interview this afternoon, and Cliff has submitted my CV to another potential employer. I'll talk about that more when there's more to talk about. My GA-ship for this year runs out in a couple months, and I'll need to get paid again after that's done. Working on that.

I think I have finished the "reading" portion of this next paper I'm working on, which means all I have left is the "writing" part. Piece of cake, yeah?

Novel editing is coming along slowly, now that I'm so concerned with making it "good."

I intend to interview business leaders in Honolulu next week in order to find out what they really think of the now defeated plastic bag ban. Hopefully by the time I've finished all that, I'll have finished my current paper and will be ready to start writing a new one.

I have made a vow to go on a long walk on days in which I would otherwise not have left my desk. "Vow" is perhaps a strong word. It is perhaps, even, a lie. But I do mean to start taking walks, because some days I just don't leave my living room. And that, my friends, is no way to live.