Muros y ventanas

So far the language barrier has seemed just that: a wall: a nonporous obstruction.  Activities like ordering food or asking directions often turn into disappointments and embarrasments. More complicated tasks like articulating complex philosophical thoughts in a bar or processing paperwork with the police have ended in near heartbreak.  I won´t lie; I miss the verbal flexibility I had in the states.  I long for the subtleties of a sense of humor which friends who speak in the same idiom develop over time.  However, while waiting for the bus just the other day I realized something: I´m far less annoyed here in public than I ever was at home.  Why? Because I get to tune everything out - not even that I get to but that I don´t have a choice.  A garrulous crone shouting into her mobile on the bus?  I wouldn´t know.  Sounds like music to me.  The uninspired dribble of a poetaster at the bar or a pundit on TV?  No clue.  As far as I´m concerned, everyone here knows exactly what they´re talking about and no one´s any better at wording it than anyone else.  A blessing in disguise, I guess.  So until I vault I´ll relish my ignorance, which, though I wouldn´t call it blissful, is, at least, sort of peaceful.