The digits in the upper right hand corner of the computer screen are climbing towards 1:00 am. I started to write, "the clock is turning towards 1 am," but where is the clock, exactly? There are also some numbers on my cell phone that represent the time in peninsular Spain, although they run over a minute behind the computer. Sometimes, getting up from my chair to go to bed, I say to myself "I am not my computer." The predictable formula for book titles resounds in my brain as I turn the corner from Calle Pintores towards my apartment: "My Computer, Myself," to which could be added something to the effect of: "a memoir".

Or, "a blog".

I'm planning my trip to Madrid, if you could call anything I do "planning". My roommate says to me, "Tú das mucha vuelta."

"You think too much."

Sometimes, it's genuinely exciting to read music. Today, I listened to one of Mozart's Haydn Quartets, and read along. Can you guess which one?

Last night, I slept in the other room, where I could plug in a small heater. At 11:30, I dragged myself out of bed. I opened the curtain, and was momentarily stunned by the brightness of day.

The sky was completely clear: an incredibly intense blue, and not a cloud in sight all day. Cáceres began to resemble its promise. The city seemed to have built for this sort of sky. Still, it was too cold.

Several people have reiterated to me the customary saying about Extremadura: "Es muy extrema y muy dura." (It's very extreme and very hard.) My assumption was that on arrival, this saying would prove misleading. Nobody who says that has actually been to Extremadura, I thought. Now, I'm certain that there's some truth to the saying.

The name Extremadura is the Spanish word that translates to "extremity," which I thought was more of a reference to its location on the Portuguese border than anything else. Nevertheless, there always seem to be many reasons for particular names. Or once named, does something begin to resemble its name? A rose by any other name, yes, but...

I wandered up to the Plaza de Italia, where, in the furthest distance, I could see the Sierra de Gredos: a band of pale white hovering above the plains, the contours of the mountains barely legible against the sky.