So this is it.

Woke up to the gentle swaying of the apartment building today. And after questioning whether it was an earthquake or if my heart was beating abnormally fast, the gentle swaying of the apartment building rocked me back to sleep. It's hard to stay sleeping for long, however, when the sun is already up and anxious to get things started at 6:36 in the morning. The days are long in Chile in December.

As long as they are (25 hours, in the southern-most parts of the country), I catch the sand in my hourglass streaming faster and faster every day. According to my records, I have exactly 72 hours to:

-avoid being plastered by earthquakes
-say goodbye to dear friends, dog friends, friendly acquaintances, and nod once more at the familiar faces that faithfully guard doorways and observe activities in the barrio
-learn Spanish
-convince people to pay me, now
-take one last promenade through the book shops
-confirm an elusive airline reservation
-hail a taxi to the airport

It's the press of time that makes my heart beat faster and faster and makes the apartment rattle its bones. And what happens when the sand runs out? If all goes as planned, I turn it over in English and it all starts again, north of here, where the days are shorter but the sand runs more slowly.