Agotado

Speaking and listening to Spanish is exhausting for me. Obviously I have to pay much closer attention to Spanish than I pay to English because if I miss a word — bam — the entire story someone was telling no longer has any chance of making sense. The only days which I don't come home exhausted are the days when I don't do a good job paying attention and am therefore not tired from the normally-exhausting processing I'm doing while listening.

I imagine myself to be like a video game character when I'm attempting to endure hours upon hours of Spanish. I start out with a certain amount of life in the beginning. When people speak Spanish to me, I gradually lose life. At the end of the day, I don't have any life left. Little things can restore some life — lunch, naps — but son pocos.

I'm convinced that the bilingual center of my brain, located somewhere between Wernicke's and Broca's areas, is underdeveloped. The constant insult of Spanish has been sending massive amounts of blood to this area, which is clearly accustomed to minimal blood flow. Yes, that is what's happening.