I slept on the couch once more.
I got home at around 3 am.
I haven’t done a long night in Tijuana like that in a long long time.
I’m waiting for my girlfriend to call me, so I’m not sure if I should start word vomiting.
Well. Nevermind. She is restarting her phone and now it’s taking forever for her to call again.
This is not something I wanted…
There’s half a torta in the fridge. I don’t want that either, but that will be breakfast soon.
The torta is gigantic. It has chorizo, milanesa, eggs, sausages, and more stuff. It was a mistake to buy it. Sort of.
I got it yesterday afternoon through Uber eats from Javier’s Tortas. I got the special big torta for 95 pesos + 35 Uber eats delivery (it was still $6.10 on my debit card).
My torta rode on the passenger seat of a car to come to me. I find that hilarious.
One minute into the call and it got cut…
I hate this. But I’m sort of in a pickle.
Here’s the thing.
I don’t want to break-up with her. Why would I? She’s the best woman I’ve ever met in my life. She loves me. I love her. She’s great. My friends like her. My family likes her. I’m so used to her.
And now. This. This just feels like we broke up already. This is not what I wanted.
It feels wrong to go out without her.
I went out with my Instagram boyfriend yesterday and two of his friends from Pennsylvania (a couple). I got to Norte by myself around 10 pm and met them there a few minutes after.
The music was ridiculously loud. So I insisted that we should drink the beers outside. I hate not being able to talk. Especially when you just met people.
From there we went to Mamut. On the way there, I saw so many familiar faces and said hi to several friends. And some asked the question, “hey, where’s your girlfriend?”
Just like when I’m in San Diego and they ask that question and it’s like… “she can’t cross the border.”
And it’s not her fault. It’s obviously not her fault.
And that’s where we are at.
It’s a Benjamin Button relationship.
There. She called again.
30 seconds into the call and it got cut again.
We haven’t been able to say anything but “hi what are you doing!?”
And she just texted me “this is frustrating.”
I fucking know.
It hasn’t even been a week. And that stranger comment might have been right. This is not what I bargained for. And I have been talking to people about long distance relationships.
The first reaction of many is the “ooooooo!” as if they just ate a chile or something. The danger “oooooo!”
Then there are the ones that are in a long distance relationship and somehow make it work.
I asked friends about that too.
I have heard good advice and horrible advice.
And having a blog about my life where I just talk about my feelings while in a long distance relationship makes it even harder.
Great. Now she just texted me that “we’ll talk later.”
Back to last night. From Mamut, we walked to Mous Tache bar. And shit. Yeah. I knew everyone there too.
Angel Peralta was playing with new members. I prefer his old members better. And by old members, I meant his previous bandmates that were his age. Now he plays with actually old people. “The jazz players in town.” The handful of them.
This could be a great city for jazz. Alas, it is not.
Charles Mingus. Herbert Alpert. Both did great things for jazz in Tijuana. And I don’t think the handful of jazz players here acknowledge their existence.
Jazz rant over.
This is not what I wanted to talk about.
What I wanted to say is. This feels wrong.
This by my bed and by the door of my room.
By my computer, there’s a doll that she got me and a plastic ice cream cone that she insists is a muffin. The closet still has her clothes. The flowers I got for her birthday are in glass bottles all over the apartment. The plants that I got her are in the kitchen. My basil plant is doing way better. But my mint seems to have died and is barely holding on (but maybe it’s one). The seedlings for catnip and more basil seem to be going alright.
And the apartment has a bunch of shit that are not only hers or mine… but ours. There are so many things that are ours. Separation sucks.
Thinking about removing them breaks my heart. I just got teary-eyed.
I feel abandoned.
And that the fantasy of working a long distance is that. A fantasy.
I don’t want to break up with her. I’m used to her.
This seemed so much easier when the idea was that she was coming back.
I feel in a weird way, deceived. And that we are deceiving each other.
Nothing is copacetic.
Nothing ever is.
I just wanted to use the word copacetic because I just learned it. That wasn’t the right context for it.
From Mous Tache we went to Mezcalera/La Mija. The Gringos ate the crickets like nothing. No cricket challenge for them. They thoroughly enjoyed them.
And in that bar. Yep! Even more people I know!
A girl that I used to date WAY long ago. A girl that I was talking to before dating my girlfriend.
And just saying hi to them feels wrong.
Just saying hi to anyone. But what am I supposed to do? Not go out? It gets depressing in here. It gets depressing that we’re not going to see each other.
I don’t know what to do.
From La Mija we went to Dandy del Sur for even more beer and two bowls of Doritos. Yep.
I introduced Tacos las Amigas to my IG boyfriend. I should have eaten there but I was full of beer and Doritos and crickets.
That was the last stop and I said goodbye to them by the arch near the border.
Nelson was closed but I poked my head in.
The bartender saw me and let me go to the bathroom. When I came out, she grabbed me a beer and told me she had a dream about me and about the occurrence with Amy the medium. She was sort of tipsy. And of course, the owner of the bar came over to tell us our truths. He loves doing that.
Walked the scary walk back home. My cell phone ran out of data so no Uber. And fuck it. Walked it.
I opened the Habanero Sculpin. It was a really nice spicy kick and a dry hoppy finish. My girlfriend would like the beer a lot. I couldn’t finish it because I was tired.
I passed out on the couch.
I hate this.
I knew that after Oaxaca I had no idea what would happen and I didn’t like the idea of it.
I don’t like it. She doesn’t want to live here. I have nothing to do over there. I want to go see her soon. See her city. Meet her parents. Well, I don’t really want to meet her parents. Her sister seems more chill.
And then come back to what it used to be like.
From all our time together, I thought about marrying her a handful of times. I also thought about breaking up with her a handful of times.
There were great great great times. Where everything disappears and it’s just her. I love those moments. Those were more recurrent at the beginning. But it also happened the night before she left. That was a great night.
There were some really bad days. But we always ended up resolving it that at the end it felt better.
Now. Now it’s lonely.
It hasn’t even been a fucking week.
Friends are appreciated.
I don’t like hitting post when the word vomit is shitty.