Tut, tut.

Last night I went to bed at 11PM and woke up ten hours later to the gentle dripping of rain.

My exact thought: “That was the best night’s sleep I’ve had since being here.”

Until I realized that “drip of rain” was dropping from a giant bubble in the ceiling about .3 seconds away from drenching me in a Spanish rainstorm. Through hazy morning eyes, I began to notice that the exact “sleep machine-like” sounds that had coaxed me into deep stages of REM sleep were just false forms of comfort wooing me into a scheme to float me into another piso. The rain now created small pools of water along the perimeter of my room, slowly transforming into puddles that would be difficult to navigate without raingear.

Thinking quick - I grabbed my umbrella, located my movil, and phoned the Dueno, lacing my words with urgency as if I believed the Spanish cared about hurrying.

“Manana, manana, manana…” was the best I could do.

So tonight… I have a Spanish waterbed. It could be worse, I suppose.