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I'd like to thank everybody who so kindly commented--I feel better now. Ebulliance has not quite triumphed, but it's got the bastard cornered, so we're on the right track. The nap helped. (I had this very...Mary Sueish dream. Which is only sensible, since I AM actually the main character, but nevertheless, it was very strange and appeared to be very tortured plot about a bratty princess and a troop of dragon-riding mercenaries, and I woke up going "I don't need to worry about my art--my subconscious is the hack!")

But anyway, you guys all rock. I felt better for having read the encouragement (and yes, the notion of someone screaming "VEERRRNOONNN!" in the snow still makes me grin. 'Course, I'm the voice screaming "CHRISTIAAAANSEEENNNN!" from down the block, so who'm I to talk?) Anyway, I promise not to whine again for a good long time. Well, not about feeling insecure. I retain the right to whine about other things.

Like bunnies. I think my bunny whining quotient for the year is still wide open.

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Good gracious, a heartfelt thank-you AND a history lesson! Your posts are the greatest, Ursula! XD

Really, though, this gives me yet another reason to love my adopted long-distance home (if that makes any sense at all). The Spanish culture is always so rich with vibrance and ironicism and, uh, spicy food...but moreover the ironicism. I mean, these are the people who turned out Cervantes, Goya, Dali (the latter probably an absinthe habitist himself)...the contributions to modern satiric thought there are astounding.

That "dumb and deserve it" policy seemed pretty clear on my visit there last summer, especially on a particularly trendy street in Madrid, a city where prostitution is completely acceptable unless the storeowners on the crowded streets place bold notices, apparently on banners in meter-high bold text, reading no prostitutión en la calle, in which case they have to move about five feet to the right or left where the next crowded shop owner doesn't even care anymore. This should have been our first hint, and I probably could have avoided being chased after by an angry hooker at 9:30 at night (...not as long a story as you'd think, and not at all dirty) but I've never been a good one at reading signs.

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