Aug. 1, 2008
I am, I think unreasonably thrilled to have discovered this cuban café near my apartment and across the street from my favorite park (where I often get cheered up by elder-salsa dancing or tai chi classes in the morning). I drink intensely strong cuban café out of a humorously tiny white vasito. Between the caffeine and the hand rolled cigarillo I was gifted by the owner, I feel my heart accelerates and rises to be reflected through my grateful eyes. Thank you. Building routine out of the new takes energy and optimism.
My project is stumbling along, ever quicker and more efficiently. I am nervous about my upcoming interviews, but as my new friend reminded me, that’s what I’m here for, “¡Animo!” I met him yesterday and felt invigorated by this open minded and kind human being. His thoughts and experience so different from mine, but somehow similar enough to add up to us drinking strong Americanos tucked in la condesa. Lucha libre and Surf Rock concert... Both new to me and I expect to be amused and glad to be slurping down some chela with other young people.
I’m reading the most beautiful love story, and right now believe my own is out there, if currently dormant. “Is there a logic, a rule to all this coming and going, all this dislocation? Is there a way to stay put, to embrace the present with every cell?” (ix The Time Travellers Wife) I read as the storm comes, caffeine and nicotine pounding through me, breeze and heavy clouds behind me. Then walk home, passing the newspaper stand where the woman greets me with genuine warmth at least four times a day, and the flower vendor who is scraping cactus every time I walk by, and who tied her grandson to a nearby cart as he napped, and I pass a splash of red. I realize its blood, and I try to tell myself its from one of the negligent dogs that roam these streets and that I wouldn’t be above kicking, but already I am shocked and composing this entry.
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