We both woke up real late again. It’s noon. But it feels like early morning.
It’s cloudy and shitty outside. Like it was supposed to be the whole week. But it’s finally that five days later.
I woke up first at around 7 am. After some very intense dreams. Some really dumb dreams. That included Catholic girls that go camping and the nicotine vampires that rule supreme.
That’s a song by Giraffes? Giraffes!
…
But the dream was really weird and stupid. Vivid. I’ve been having very vivid dreams.
I’m not sure if it’s Mazunte. If it’s the weather. If it’s just because I’m not home… But most likely, is the mezcal. I’ve been drinking some mezcal every night. I think that’s what has been causing intense dreams.
And in parts of the dream, I threw hissy fits.
I remember in this one my girlfriend broke up with me. And I got angry that I flipped a table at a restaurant breaking everything, cursing at everyone, and punching stuff and anyone on my way. Then, because I knew I was in trouble, so I just laid on my stomach with my hands on my back ready to get arrested.
The cops came.
I didn’t get arrested.
And yeah. The dream switched to weird horny vampires. And many other random shit that I remember as soon as I wake up. But instead of writing about it I say to myself “fuck it, go to bed, you’ll remember later.” I do not.
So instead of waking up early and carpe diem… it’s noon and again we have no idea what we are going to do today.
Yesterday was great.
I spent hours in the ocean. I love swimming in the ocean. The waves were more tranquil. I did some shitty body surfing.
My girlfriend doesn’t know how to swim. I enjoyed pushing her to the limit and taking her a bit deeper (again, ocean was really calm). But she got scared and decided no more ocean for her. I stayed in for a couple more hours while she hung out on the beach with family and friends.
And I swam with my little nephew. Gripping him tightly to not let him go. It was tough. And I got tired. But as soon as I told him no more playing in the waves… he would start crying and throwing a hissy fit…
He cries about everything. Thus is a life of a three year old.
After all the beach fun, we went to a Chinese restaurant by the beach named Lon Tou. It is probably the best food we have found in the area. And weird. I don’t even like Chinese food that much. This place is great though. It has great character. A great menu. Steamed pork buns for only $1 that are fucking good. We got Cantonese veggies and shrimp and some spicy octopus. Octopus was not good compared to Tijuana octopus, but it was really well seasoned and spicy (for me, my girlfriend didn’t think so).
Speaking of Tijuana. I just saw a one bedroom apartment in Cacho for $300. It’s small and in a great location, but no cats and … well… I still prefer my apartment.
The great Chad Deal, the roommate, the writing sensei, the master of words. A person that actually knows how to write and not fucking word vomit for the sake of word vomiting. He. He wrote a great obituary to the apartment. To Tijuana. To the end of times. To moving out. This is what he wrote:
You don’t realize until you’re doing it how much moving out of a room you love is exactly like eating your own intestines. It’s a mess.
Not at first, of course. No, it begins as casual as a crew cut, tossing out unbreakable combs and half-used motel shampoo samples. You designate a garbage pile in one corner and watch it fill.
“This’ll be a cinch,” you grin as a toothbrush you never much cared for finds its fate in a pile of spent razorblades. Goodbye, Calimax receipts of yesteryear. So long, signed and deposited paycheck. Moving on is a natural and necessary process. This is true.
But then the affable trim breaks skin. You unearth old love notes you don’t remember reading, but you know in the exposed firmware of your brain that you did. The cognitive dissonance of so many closeted memories works its way through the tightness in your throat and, with the shuddering intensity of a dental drill, bores deep and long into the heart meats.
Where were you while your room was busy hoarding your love into broken boxes and blown-out ankle socks?
Next comes the linens, all billowy and paisley and Rorschach with transgressions. You breathe them in and cough them out. You never did much like airing dirty laundry. So you collapse into the divit that your ass has dug over the years in your boxless, secondhand mattress and daydream about all the benevolent depravity this town has shared. Your liver does the jitterbug.
The cabinets now, bilious with tattered tax forms and lost notebooks. You chew them up and taste their ancient fecundity. Chew. You’re free. Chew. You’re doomed. Chew. You’re in love, or at least, you think so. You can feel it in your guts.
We’d all be choking on our own shit if it weren’t for our furniture – our closets and credenzas and drawers. It’s too much to digest all at once like that. We can’t live without our compartments.
Every move makes a little room to love.
Sorry Chad. I plagiarized your Facebook text to go public on my blog.
I have no idea what is going to happen when I get back to Tijuana.
I know I have a bunch of jobs to do in San Diego. So that’s good. I’ll make some money and I’ll find stories to write. And of course, I’ll write a travel story about Oaxaca (but those barely pay). And I met someone in the wedding that is getting married in San Diego and wants to hire me as the wedding photographer. I’ll be adding that to my portfolio and hopefully I can do more weddings for more $$$.
Weather is shitty. No idea how today will pan out. All I know is I can’t post this right now because the WiFi is shitty when the weather is like this. And this post needs a picture.
A picture of a picture will have to suffice since I didn’t take any iPhone pictures yesterday.
Just long exposures at night. My brother’s hotel room is insanely awesome. It is on a hill overlooking the beach hidden amongst the tropical trees. We had a mini-party there with beers and mezcal. It rained a lot last night. It rained a lot in the morning. It seems like it will rain a lot again today.
I want to capture lightning bolt in the ocean. I didn’t. I tried for a while and got mixed results, but no lightning bolt. I only have 9 pictures left in the three CF cards I brought. I need a cable to dump all the pictures in USB drives so I can format and keep on taking pictures…
Mosquitoes will feast on my blood again. As soon as I get out of the mosquito net protecting our bed… they go for my legs. I spray toxic shit on it… and they move to my arms and neck.
I’m getting used to it now though. And the ocean water feels great so I don’t have to itch.
Dengue fever or Zika virus… HERE I GO!
Matingas 