I am a terrible, terrible person.

I've given up my so-called 'internship' in Soma Records after finally realizing I am not musically talented in any way whatsoever, which even in this forgotten and underrated branch of music, that is, recording, is necessary. At least a bit, sometimes.

By the way have I mentioned the fact that I 'silently' gave it up? Yes, the coward that is me hasn't told them back at the studio that I've stopped showing up. They shouldn't be too surprised, I rarely even went anyway, they must be missing the little treats I used to bring them over. Hey whatever happened to the muffin girl? Oh, she just-- stopped showing.

I am a terrible, terrible person.

And whatever, as I decided that the life inside a recording studio wasn't for me, I once again began wondering what to do with my waste of a life.

The solution came in the shape of B, no, not the letter 'B' (the shape of a pregnant lady with massive boobs), in the shape of my roommate most commonly known as 'B'. Her suggestion consisted in getting some sort of internship in a magazine or any other kind of publication where I could learn... whatever it is they do.

I thought it was a mighty good idea at the moment, though I should probably add, I had 3 cocktails in me already, as I was visiting B at work (ahh, the benefits of your roommate being a bartender), and making a bet with her about it was something I certainly didn't think through.

The bet consists in me writing 6 stories in 2 weeks, stories about a clash between Latinamerican and Chinese cultures. That is, retell, in the third person, interesting anecdotes that have happened to me and B in our four years in Shanghai, once completed I would give them to B to read, criticize and correct, and eventually send to a Hispanic magazine called 'Hola China' for what would hopefully be my (yay) first published thingie.

Ah it sounded like so much fun when proposed. Two weeks for 6 stories, and if I fail to complete the task, I will be forced to buy B dinner in the restaurant of her choice. Mind you, she's got some sudden expensive taste, this one. Remember the good old days when a trip to the neighborhood bakery was pure gluttony glee? Now, I'm expected to cough up around 600 yuan for what's most likely going to be two salads, two cocktails and one shared main course of chicken...

And yes, that's all quite fine, if only I had written anything by now. It's almost one week into the challenge and I haven't gotten past: 'This is the story of...'. And look at me rambling on and on in English. I'm in despair here, I CAN'T seem to find any sort of inspiration to write in Spanish. I blame it on all the reading in English I've been doing in the last months O Brothers.

Today I went into B's room to jew out some books in Spanish that I knew she had, to search for some let's call it inspiration again, shall we? I got out Julio Cortazar and Carlos Fuentes.

Nothing.

I am a terrible terrible person.