Jessica woke up before me, and the shock of this was so total and complete that I was immediately woke. I was suspicious and wary of what was going on, […]
Little Chiffon came over for treats, and she was so wonderfully sweet. She hopped in my lap like it was last year and made herself comfortable as she coiled up. After a while she wanted to explore the apartment and she found Jessica absolutely fascinating. I couldn’t blame her, she did present an interesting spectacle, sprawled out on the couch, snoring so loudly that it was occasionally unsettling. Little Chiffon jumped on the couch and then jumped onto Jessica and then did her best to apparently wake my sister up. Jessica didn’t move or acknowledge Little Chiffon, who was not at all amused by this lack of attention. She decided she had better things to do than waste her time being ignored, so she headed out the door.
Monday: Why don’t you buy property in some obscure town and then create a new identity and live there during the summers and visit on holidays? Anybody with an Internet […]
I’ve never been able to eat pea soup without thinking of demonic possession. Do you know anybody who has ever been possessed by an unholy spirit? It happens so often in the movies and television that you’d think we’d all know of at least somebody. I’m in a coffeeshop right now back home, watching the rain fall — like in Mexico City, it won’t stop — and this idea has quite suddenly enraged me. Every week there’s some new show on the Travel Channel about some possessed child.
WE HAD BEEN POISONED!
Now, don’t get too excited, it wasn’t like we had been exposed to a toxic nerve agent by a Russian spy, though had that occurred I wouldn’t be terribly surprised. I have talked a lot of shit about Putin’s girlfriend, Donald.
She loves and worships gay men in a way that is equal parts worrying and hilarious. She wants everybody to be gay. So, imagine her complete and utter glee to see handsome Mexican men openly parading up and down one of the pedestrian streets hand-in-hand with their impossibly more handsome boyfriends. She sighed in complete contentment so often that it was worrying. I first thought she might be having trouble breathing because of the altitude, but it was just gay joy.
For reasons that should now be clear and obvious, Jessica wanted to see ancient ruins so that we could shout in unison, “THAT TRAIL THAT WE BLAZE” and then chortle like infants and run (read: walk slowly) through crumbling Mesoamerican pyramids.
Mexico City was just as wonderful as when I’d left it, and all my feline friends were with me. I honestly couldn’t have been happier. But I could not sleep to save my life. It turns out Jessica snores at about the same decimal level as a fighter jet taking off. I don’t know how she slept through the racket she was causing. I certainly couldn’t, and you might remember that I’m deaf in one ear. Just imagine how awful it would have been with two functioning auditory nerves.
Since I left the airport last year, my soul has been aching to return. And finally I’m back and I can’t even begin to tell you how wonderful it is. Nothing has changed, if anything, Mexico is better. But I’m jumping ahead. I need to start at the very beginning. Hopefully — and I just learned in one of my university courses that that’s not an acceptable word but I don’t give a hoot — you’ve missed my lengthy reminisces of travel. As one of my long-dead heroines, Lady Lucie Duff-Gordon, an Englishwomen who gave herself completely to Egypt and died in Luxor, once said, “I long to bore you with traveler’s tales.” Let’s get started.
I felt quite drunk on sunshine. It was intoxicating. I couldn’t stop smiling. The sounds (the half that I could hear since I’m deaf now) and colors and the breeze blowing through my hair was everything I have been needing. I have been so bleak lately, but this hour out in the countryside restored a great chunk of who I used to be. I sat decadently in a nearby cemetery and watched as the sun sank into barren fields. The heavens were a riot of color and it felt like I had been thrust into an impressionistic painting. I felt quite alive.