Mexico. It has a way of washing away things that seemed so serious back in San Francisco. Like having a job. Or not having one.
Things move more slowly here. You take the long way without calculating all the minutes you are losing, because...where are you going anyway? You are going somewhere, it will be beautiful; it is beautiful here, so what is the rush? You are on a dusty dirt road that is also very bumpy and maybe going faster would not be a good thing.
What's even better is not going anywhere. Because it is so spectacular right here looking out at the blue Pacific, then walking right into it without a wetsuit. It's scours your lungs and your soul and you feel baptized.
I am eating like the Queen of Baja Sur. My chef friend Carolen and her husband Wind feed me things they grow in their organic garden...massaged kale or papaya and avocado salads, and bouillabaisse with shrimp and yellowtail from local fisherpeople (?). I order food when I am hungry. I make myself one margarita per day. A big one, with fresh limes and oranges. I eat an avocado custard thing with pomegranate molasses for dessert. Yeah.
I take long walks along the empty beach and swim in the perfectly cool ocean to work up an appetite for the next incredible meal.
The season is over. Gringos are mostly gone or somberly packing up to head north for the summer. It's very quiet, but now I hear a lonesome voice over an electric guitar echoing in the distance. The night is black and the stars are outrageous.
I've finished Wild by Cheryl Strayed (recommend), and am deep into a What Maisie Knew by Henry James (don't recommend; see the movie instead on Opening Night of the SFIFF April 25 at the Castro). I'm so worn out from all this that I'm sleeping 10 hours a night. Or am I worn out from year upon endless year of working for nonprofits?
It's been a long time since I've slept without earplugs to block out meth freaks or otherwise deranged and damaged souls talking to themselves outside my window in SF. It's been so long since I've done exactly what I want to do for days on end.
I feel my mind emptying out, and it is good.
Tomorrow I will refill my mind with how to upload pictures for you from my f-ing Chromebook that stores nothing. It is like my mind. In the cloud.
Things move more slowly here. You take the long way without calculating all the minutes you are losing, because...where are you going anyway? You are going somewhere, it will be beautiful; it is beautiful here, so what is the rush? You are on a dusty dirt road that is also very bumpy and maybe going faster would not be a good thing.
What's even better is not going anywhere. Because it is so spectacular right here looking out at the blue Pacific, then walking right into it without a wetsuit. It's scours your lungs and your soul and you feel baptized.
I am eating like the Queen of Baja Sur. My chef friend Carolen and her husband Wind feed me things they grow in their organic garden...massaged kale or papaya and avocado salads, and bouillabaisse with shrimp and yellowtail from local fisherpeople (?). I order food when I am hungry. I make myself one margarita per day. A big one, with fresh limes and oranges. I eat an avocado custard thing with pomegranate molasses for dessert. Yeah.
I take long walks along the empty beach and swim in the perfectly cool ocean to work up an appetite for the next incredible meal.
The season is over. Gringos are mostly gone or somberly packing up to head north for the summer. It's very quiet, but now I hear a lonesome voice over an electric guitar echoing in the distance. The night is black and the stars are outrageous.
I've finished Wild by Cheryl Strayed (recommend), and am deep into a What Maisie Knew by Henry James (don't recommend; see the movie instead on Opening Night of the SFIFF April 25 at the Castro). I'm so worn out from all this that I'm sleeping 10 hours a night. Or am I worn out from year upon endless year of working for nonprofits?
It's been a long time since I've slept without earplugs to block out meth freaks or otherwise deranged and damaged souls talking to themselves outside my window in SF. It's been so long since I've done exactly what I want to do for days on end.
I feel my mind emptying out, and it is good.
Tomorrow I will refill my mind with how to upload pictures for you from my f-ing Chromebook that stores nothing. It is like my mind. In the cloud.
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