I'm missing Mexico this morning, I miss the ranch and the way the village woke up slowly. I miss walking down the road towards the bridge, the fog rising off the mango fields. I miss speaking Spanish and cooking with my grandmother. All of those details I knew mattered. I can go back, I know, but I have things to do here and I really did miss my solitude. I think next time I go down I'll drive my truck down there so I can escape when I need to. Though last time I drove my truck down there my uncles gave me a world of shit because I, a woman, was driving a truck across Mexico.
The poetry is coming, blissfully. I have several short stories that are playing themselves out in my head. Yesterday C told me he could imagine me living down there. I would need to build my own house but according to one of my uncles, I could build a little place for $5000. I couldn't even buy a porta-potty for that up here.
Getting ready for Literary Death Match next week. I don't really get it but I'm sure it will be fun. I'm preparing a short story. It has teeth.