there comes a time. . .

when we get sick. Starting in the back of your throat, with a scratch that you just can't itch, and growing into a raw fleshy abrasion that burns when you drink orange juice. It started on Monday afternoon, and today, Wednesday, sent me home from school early. Maybe I should have stayed home from the Morcheeba concert last night. I went becasue I thought I would be upset with myself for not going, but over all it was pretty lousy music. And today, I lie in bed, advil pumping through my body, but not really reducing the pain.

I tried to go to class, and I made it through for 4 hours. Luckily before the break we were going over the different instances for using muy or mucho, and I already knew that. However, after the break, learning irregular verbs was a bit more difficult.

Tomorrow and Friday are my last 2 days at International house because I'm heading off to Amsterdam and Germany on Tuesday. I may return to the International house when I get back to Madrid in November, but I'm going to look at another school tomorrow afternoon. I'm sick of going to class and not knowing who will teach me, or what I will learn, until the moment that it happens. If Don Quiote, (the name of the other school) says that they produce syllabi or agendas, I'll take my business there.