The suite life

Regular readers of this blog will recall a certain amount of gloating a couple of weeks ago, occasioned by my having moved into the fancy suite here at Calle Valverde 32 (4º, izq). Gloating is, of course, always unattractive. More to the point, it is also highly unwise. I realize that now. Because, while the Greek gods may have fallen out of fashion, they are hardly out of work. Eternally s(c)ouring the globe (I personally imagine Hermes as a UPS man) for evidence of hubris, a gloating human somewhere, needing to be taken down a peg or two.

Ot to make my point using a different cliché, be careful what you wish for. Recall, that when I was waxing rhapsodic about the virtues of the suite, one photograph adduced as supporting evidence was the following:



Yes, the delightful "view from the suite, onto the street below". Aye, gentle readers, there's the rub. Let's try adding a few appropriate adjectival phrases to that previous sentence.
"onto the incredibly noisy street, populated by loud, drunken pedestrians and garbage trucks that would raise the dead that pass by at all hours of the morning".

So there's that. A little bit of a noise problem. Which can be addressed, at least in part, by shutting the windows ( a reasonably tight seal) and the heavy wooden shutters. Except that this strategy leads to a little bit of a heat problem at night. Causing the kind of sweaty tossing and turning that is wholly unconducive to getting a good night's sleep.

God, I barely remember what a good night's sleep feels like.

But tonight I have a plan. I have my specially purchased earplugs from the Farmácia, and intend to use them. So that instead of tossing and turning, worrying about balancing the heat and the noise, I can instead toss and turn, obsessing about being unable to get the earplugs out of my ears ever again. Because you know I will. Obsess, that is.

I wonder if Spanish sign language is very different from American sign language?

Good night, gentle readers. Sleep tight.