I am not in Mexico right now, can you tell? I feel uninspired, unimaginative, robot-like. I am going through the motions to get done what I came here to do, but my spirit has taken a lengthy siesta. I eat, I work, I sleep, and the next day I wake up to do it all over again. How fun! (not).
I know there is beauty all around me, if I only went out to look. But my time here is spent going from airport to rental car to hotel to rental car to work-site to rental car to restaurant to rental car to hotel to rental car to work-site to rental car to hotel to rental car to airport.
I sit, eat, and sleep in borrowed space. The only things I have here that are mine are dragging along behind me. My suitcase - it contains things I don't wear in Mexico.
My feet are swollen. My shoes hurt. I'm wearing make-up. My bra hurts. I'm dressed like a professional. I just want to be wrapped in a sarong with flip-flops on my feet. I want to hang my laundry on the line.
I am a girl of the tropics. I am not sure how that gene got into my blood, but I suspect my grandmothers, given a life in a different generation, might have stretched their roots as well. They had spunk, and I think it takes spunk to live in Mexico.
Tomorrow afternoon I will recover my spirit. I will be back on my rickety golf cart, with Miguel driving into every pothole that he is really trying to avoid, and Loco leading the way with his paws on the front and his ears flapped out from the wind (he looks like a jet plane).
I will eat something delicious. I will lie in my hammock. I will be greeted by my neighbors. I will be home.