Carbon footprint

I have been sad and angry about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. I believe it was entirely preventable and that BP is shamefully culpable.

Ultimately, the potential for this kind of disaster exists the more we - all consumers of petroleum products - rely on oil.

If there's a big lesson here, it's: the way "things have always been done" is DONE.

Ways to make an immediate impact (from Al Gore's website):

• Use CFL lightbulbs
• Drive less
• Recycle more
• Keep tires properly inflated
• Use less hot water
• Avoid products with lots of packaging
• Adjust your thermostat
• Plant a tree
• Turn off / unplug electronic devices when not in use
  
• Go meatless (even one day a week)
  
• Unplug unused appliances / devices

And you can always boycott BP. Stop using BP gas stations, as well as ampm, Arco, and Aral stations. BP also owns Wild Bean Cafe and Castrol.

Hermit

Why didn't I see it before? In the process of writing this book, I've purposely put myself in situations that are isolating, all while feeling terribly lonely.

Maine in winter. Enough said. I lived in a coastal town that is basically closed from October through May. I hear they are still - still! - wearing sweaters there.

Puerto Vallarta in summer. I had visions of shaking off the dust and embracing life again. I'm realizing now that the weather here is conducive to staying inside. And as people keep telling me, it's not even begun to get hot yet: just wait til the rains start in June. As it gets hotter, I will spend more time in my apartment with the glorious view. People have also said that Vallarta really comes alive from November to March (and not now, when I am here). To be fair, as far as liveliness goes, Mexico is at the opposite end of the spectrum from Maine.

Fuck.

Am I just incredibly smart, creating spaces to force me to face myself and write...or what? I don't know how to feel.

MOMENTUM!

Suddenly there is great momentum with my writing. Sitting down to the laptop is the focal point, eclipsing the beach and the boys and the food and the fireworks. Of course those things can only enhance the writing.

But the point is: IT'S ALL ABOUT THE BOOK.

It always has been. All my life.

My book has now been granted an ... inevitability. Don't ask me to explain it. I now know that nothing else stands in my way.

muy rico, es muy muy rico, si.
delicious, it's very very delicious, yes.

Balance

My body is valiantly trying to find some sort of balance here in Puerto Vallarta. It seems elusive. Here is someone who is a master of balance:














It was fascinating to watch this wizard of rocks coax stones into impossible structures. These big rocks are balancing on just the slightest of surface. I could swear he was talking to them.

It took time. I suppose it will take time for me, as well.

Dark

Amongst all the cosmic bliss, there are dark days. Days where I have stood, clothing drenched with sweat, at the bottom of 10 flights of stairs up to my apartment and thought, when's the next plane out? Days where loneliness aches. Days worry rears its head. Days an evil voice hisses what do you think you're doing here?

Or nights where you wake up, your chest clenched and heart racing. I'd had a round of tropical respiratory voodoo and self-treated with antibiotics recommended by the pharmacist. Turns out they were the wrong ones, at the wrong dose. Sometimes traditional medicine - something I don't put much stock in - does help.

That night, I felt so dizzy and out of it, I thought I might be severely dehydrated. I called the only person I knew to call - Jose, the building manager - and asked him where I should go. He said he would come and take me to the doctor. As this was happening, my gringo neighbors came back from a late night of partying. They asked me what was wrong and when I told them, replied, "Well, there's a hospital right up the street. Try drinking water." Their door clanged shut.

Note to self: when you encounter a neighbor who is sick and disoriented, help the person!

The dark moment showed me what I've already seen here: that Mexicans embrace you as family, if you're willing to hold out your arms to them.

Shooting star

Last night I talked to a new friend from neon-pink sunset until the stars came out and beyond. We lay on the sand, looking up at the sky and out of nowhere this marvelous laughter. All night, this laughter cascading parading serenading out of me.

me encanta mexico
i love mexico

Excerpt

Nothing is better than the feeling of that zone, that writing zone that writers get into. No more thoughts, just the click of the keys as words spill.

An excerpt from my book:

"When we touch once more, it all begins. I need a few more nights of good sleep before it all begins. As he stood in my hotel room, expectant with heat, my eyes focused on a bracelet he wore of small brown shells. With the very tip of my finger I touched it and saw, in the matte surfaces, us lying body to body, arms wrapped around each other, him inside me. So it’s raw but tender and it’s fated and it’s confundido, confusing, and it’s fractured and it’s humid and I don’t think I’ll be able to do the summer, with its rains washing women down the street, without the immovable touch of a dark-eyed man to keep me from succumbing to the flood. Fractured: my insides broken by the thought of who I was supposed to be. Repaired: he creates out of the shards, the glitter, the heartbreak, the single time I felt the pulsing stab of desire to be pregnant, watching my mother almost die, watching my mother almost die, looking at my dad for the first time, aurora borealis, orgasms so good they make me laugh until l snort, death, miracle, prayer. With hands muscled from cutting meat, sure of touch and somehow not belonging to another, he rebuilds me into a collage."

The place where

The place where he touched my arm burned, melting into my body.