Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro: 28oC, hot, sunny and slightly overcast.
It is Monday, and I have been blogging for two days now. I have posted three times, and I’m still on a roll – it’s been about a month, and I don’t intend to stop now.
I wake up early and head to the bakery, waiting for it to open at 6:00 am. I exchange good morning greetings with the girls who work there. One of the young and beautiful girls serves me a large black coffee.
I thank her by name and start writing in my notebook while I enjoy my coffee. I don’t have much time to socialise, but sometimes I see familiar faces from when I lived in Flamingo or people who recognise me from being there every day. However, I usually don’t have time to talk about politics or football because my first class is generally at 7:00 am. I manage to make a journal entry, which usually spans 3 to 5 pages, before heading to my class.
Sometimes, I stop to take a sip of my coffee. But then I’m back to writing. I only stop when I have finished one complete journal entry, usually when I’m 3/4 of the way through. I ask for another coffee, usually 10 or 15 minutes before leaving.
After finishing my journal entry, I check to see if everything is okay, put my notebook away, and then go on to my cell phone to check my emails, messages, etc. Sometimes, I check social media, but more and more, I find myself avoiding these distractions. And then? I get up, pay, and go.
If it is the weekend or a bank holiday, I go to the back of the bakery to buy bread, ham, and cheese. I might also pass by the fridges to get some small bottles of sparkling mineral water, which Yasmin likes so much. I prefer to pay in cash to leave a tip for the staff. It’s important to show appreciation for their work.
It is usually around 6:45 when I arrive home. Nalva is up and dressed, preparing to leave, sometimes with Yasmin. Nine times out of 10, Yasmin is in the bathroom, and when she leaves, there is no smile, happiness, positivity, or gratitude in waking up and being alive for one more day. It is as if being alive is torture. Why has God given me one more day of life? Why do I have to endure this torture every day?
I prepare my small workstation by opening my laptop and organising everything around it. I write down all the classes I must teach for the day. On Mondays, after the first class, I sometimes try to work out in the park between 8:00 AM and 10 or 11. Today, I took Perola with me, and she loved it.
It is good for her as it breaks her routine because neither Nalva nor Yasmin usually takes Perola out in the mornings. The park is beautiful in any season of the year and weather. It is a little, green-treed oasis in the middle of an enormous, grey urban metropolis.
Perola and I stayed at the park for about an hour. I exercised while she did what dogs do – checked the area for anything. She was never far from me. Anyone who passed by would complement her politely, others not so much. I think she’s more friendly than me at times. Nowadays, I don’t use a dog to meet people, but it was very possible in the past.
My two boxers, especially Bruce, a very beautiful dog, called a lot of attention. It was easy for people to stop and ask questions, especially if they wanted to pet or talk to them. Bruce was a very, very, very charismatic dog. He drew attention, and I made friends everywhere he went.
My second class was at 11, so there was no rush to get back. I had a shower, changed my clothes, and quickly tidied up the flat, with everything more or less in its place. For the rest of the day, I’m giving classes and preparing another blog post for “The Long Gringo”.
I rechecked my first posts and made some changes. Time flies when you’re having fun; 10 minutes becomes 3 hours of productivity.
My last class was at 7:00 pm.
In bed by 9.30 pm.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
