So, Valentine’s Day. I had a friend to meet and was miserable already. But what a party. We had lunch, walked to the downtown campus, saw a free play, a concert of reggae, ate gorditas and went to a floor show with his alcoholic friends. But first I said I was a bit sad, he too.
In the morning I cleaned, packed, researched at home. Walked the route to the Soriana that daunted me at the start.
Talked to my parents on Skype and thought that my grandma is gone for them, and they are at home.
Met my friend who had finished a bottle of wine with her work friend.
Woke up and we ate by the pool. Packed and cleaned. Went to run around the lake, in the frigidly cold dusk and night. It was not easy or very pleasant, but after all, possible.
Went downtown for a double rendezvous. I mostly just listened to the, which allows me very well the comfort that things are very fine, if they are just ok. This is a kind of possession.
Took bus to D.F. airport, and the plane to T—. I hate to leave the earth, I know then how much I love it. The American ladies next to me both closed their eyes and put down their pulp fiction for take off.
I took a taxi to the town, and I think this far south is a little different. The ground looks dry but the trees are green. Rested and walked as the sun was setting. I could see the mountains at the end of the streets, many fruit shops with greens and radishes and mangoes. A lot of the shop roller doors were down. Ate two quesadillas, nopales and flower of squash.
Looked online. Asked for water but they said the drinking water won’t be replaced until tomorrow, you can buy…
On her blog Gretchen Ruben quotes Emily White from her book Loneliness: A Memoir: What I wanted was the quiet presence of another person. Is that all and is it even enough? Too much thinking. The first night out is always strange in some way.