So I’m moving to Barcelona.
No you’re not.
No really. I am. I’m moving to Barcelona Spain.
I have to keep rotating between pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming and screaming, “Heffa! Have you lost your mind?” No, it’s not a dream. Yes, I have lost my mind. I can’t even speak Spanish, y’all! For real. I learned the basics in middle and high school, but then I took French. Everything got mixed up in my head. So, technically, I’m bilingual. I speak Spanench. Or Frenish. Whatever. I’m bilingual.
I didn’t tell anyone about this leap of faith (or leap of crazy. Pick one.) until I booked my flight and found a place to stay, and paid for it. I did it that way for two reasons. One, no one could say anything that would get me a full refund. And two, I couldn’t talk myself out of it and miss out on my dream. Nope. Wasn’t going to happen. My spouse knew and my BFF. That’s it. I wasn’t enlisting any other opinions and even my BFF’s got kicked out.
The way I told everyone else (that needed to know) was via FB messenger. Can I use FB messenger in Spain? Hmm. I’ll add that to my list of one million and one things to figure out over the next few weeks. Anyway. I told my mom, then my Sun, and then my friends. Aside from a few of them, I sent a message saying I was looking at an apartment and wanted to get their opinion. Everyone I told was already aware that I would be moving to a new place because my lease would be ending soon because Monster Mama and Monster Baby (my upstairs neighbors) enjoyed running through their apartment and jumping off of the bed and laughing disrespectfully loud at 1:30 in the morning. So yeah. Um. Renewing my lease was not going to happen. Back on track. I was soliciting opinions from each of them individually and here’s what happened when I sent the the pictures of the apartment to my Mom and my Sun:
My Mom: This is a really nice apartment. I like it. It’s beautiful. But do you know it’s in Spain.
Me: Yes. I do.
Her: Are you going to visit Spain. That’s so nice.
Me: I’m going to move there.
Her: What? Live. Like go and don’t come back.
Me: I don’t know how long. I’m taking this in 90 day increments.
Her: Oh this is great. You’ve been wanting to do this since you were a kid. Just travel and write. I’m so proud of you.
Me: (cue “I’m still a big baby” tears.) Yep. Me too.
And then the conversation with my Sun went a little something like this:
My Sun: This is cool. But I thought you were going to move into the other place you found.
Me: I decided it really wasn’t in the area I wanted to live.
Him: Oh okay. This place is nice, Mom, but it’s in Spain.
Me: Yeah. I know.
Him: Wait a minute. Are you moving to Spain?
Him: But what is their WiFi like?
Me: I would assume it’s pretty good. It’s not a third-world country, Sun.
Him: Oh okay. But mom?
Him: I’ve heard you try to speak Spanish. This might not be the best thing for you.
Me: (cue eye-roll) Whatever. I’m going.
And I am. Spanish be damned. I’m going. I’ll figure my craziness out over the next 5 weeks I have left to pack up my apartment for storage, take a quick trip to Charlotte to see my family, and Google map the nearest nail shop, fruit stand, and laundry mat. I think they have those. I don’t know. The lady (the property manager who has been helping with sooooo much planning, Bless her Spanish heart, y’all) informed me that my apartment has a washing machine and a drying rack. Listen y’all. Where am I gonna hang my bra to dry?
I’ll figure that out when I get there. I’m going anyway.