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I just wrote for a little while. At first I thought that I was going to write something good about this one thing, and then it ended up being bad and about another thing. I kept it, but it was too boring to re-read myself.

I'm in one of the bedrooms of an apartment in San Sebastian. The city is comfortable and active, and last night we watched the sun set over islands and ocean. I stood at the foot of a monumental statue of Christ, which is on top of a small mountain, and debated the practice of carving Aryan-Christian-deities--awe inspiring, set atop a hill with His sun on the back of His Son...and also stone carved and shaped life gold, into a calf that looks like a man. Anyway, I grew weary of thinking and realized how much hope there is. And even though i may have thought of hope because of the statue, or because The Day (Easter), calls for it, I was aware of it. And I am hopeful.

It's rained upon our beach-town every day that we've been here. I sold my only jacket and I'm going to Ireland. I understand that it'll probably rain there as well, but that through the use of shabby pubs, the Irish have conquered the gloom of grey and wet. Cheers.