An e-mail I received

Dear Z,

Now that I have seen the madre patria I have a different and deeper understanding of you. I have much to recount, but I am distracted by the beauty of this place.

— and I have spent a truly glorious day after the interview in — and later in —. We stopped for drinks in the middle of the afternoon and had sparkling conversations with anyone sat to the left and right of us, then we walked down a hill and, without changing streets, up a hill and then finally stopped for a fantastic meal that took place entirely in Italian (Roman Italian, without any provocation at all) then walked to the water, then up a hill then down another hill.  It’s only 8:30 PM and I feel like I’ve done more living than I have in the past eight years.  Before we crossed over the bridge to return to —, we visited two different beaches and drove through what had to be the most exquisite forest I’ve ever seen–and I’ve seen many!

Naturally, this is not wise advice, but you should know that packing up and moving without a job is what I would call healthy.  Not moving is folly.  How could you do anything else?  I pray I didn’t blow the interview though I fear I was overly enthused and not cool at all.  According to me, I was charming as hell.  As I mentioned, I had the feeling that I was shortlisted because of —.  When asked about what languages I felt comfortable teaching (by the lone —ist) and at what levels, what I wanted to say was “…all levels of — but, with some re-training, also —.”  What I did say instead, out of my control and against my will,  was that I was perfectly competent in both.

Sounder judgement kicked in when I resisted saying I was great at —, — and —, too, though I was on the verge.  I understand the comparisons with — though this city bigger, hillier and more stylish than I remember how to be.  It’s its own creature and a thing of wonder.  Z, I may just move here myself without a job.  It’s true, it’s crazy-expensive but I feel it’s worth so much more.  I love being viewed without suspicion or overt scrutiny, as if I were not worthy of trust, deserving of free-will and as if others had better things to do than to give a shit. 

Prolonged investigation of Mother Teresa would inevitably reveal flaws and I’m sick of being viewed as a fucking Martian with plans of overtaking all Earthlings.  Anyway, I’m off to sleep so I can get as much of a fix as possible before my return to Maringouin on Sunday.  When I move here, I’ll work on a nice cozy home for you, me, — and one or more of his various ladies so that we can all live happily after in this place that, for God’s sake, we deserve.

I have bolded the most relevant sentences.


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