Beachified.

Here is a list of things that, after 12 days in Puerto Escondido, have become difficult for me:

1) Reading Complicated Books (I’ve been slogging through Thief’s Journal for 9 days).
2) Making Food (pura Maruchan).
3) Changing My Clothes (3 days and counting with the same outfit).
4) Writing Emails and Making Calls (haven’t; internet and cell towers were down for 24 hours yesterday).
5) Blogging.
6) Thinking.
7) All Decisions, however minor.

Hostels have a rotating cast of characters, and when you stay for a longer time, you forget to whom you told what and when it happened. The blazing sun and constant beer doesn’t help You can spend three days straight with someone before realizing you don’t know their name; you can also tell the same story to the same person within a 30 minute period. I get to the end of the day realizing I’ve drank five beers and three sodas, and that budgetarily I can’t eat. When I do eat, the options are so overwhelming for my sun-fried brain that it’s easier to smoke a cigarette.

Long story short? I need to get out of this town; not because I dislike it but because I like it far too much. Between the weather, the landscape, and all the fabulous peeps, I see no reason to leave. But the point of all this exploring of worlds isn’t to hang out in an isolated Western bubble being joyful and indulgent and happy (oh, but shouldn’t it be?). I don’t know what the point is, and that very well may be the point, but I can’t just sit here fused to a hammock, voluntarily getting emphysema and ODing on watermelon water (fucking amazing).

It’s cloudy today, so I’ll finish off Genet and start packing my bags, ’cause I’ve got a ticket to ride: Tapachula tomorrow, Guatemala on Thursday.

Peace.

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