I Moved To Oaxaca

Friday, August 13, 2004

The furniture is gone.

I came home yesterday to see Greg sitting on a little mattress on the floor, surrounded by a couple of small piles of our stuff.

We borrowed Jorge's Sam's Club card and picked out a mini-fridge. Not the hotel room mini-bar-sized fridge I was eyeing, but a big one -- about the size of a kitchen trashcan. It even has a little space for an abbreviated ice-tray.

Osvelia said she got her really nice mattress at Sam's, but we didn't see any really nice mattresses, only mattresses from unheard-of manufacturers, and of dubious quality. We detoured to the lawn furniture section to pick out some plastic chairs in order to give ourselves a chance to think. But next to a lovely selection of plastic tables and umbrellas we saw a display of air mattresses, and wouldn't you know it, being the cheap bastards we are, we are now the proud owners of a Wenzel queen-sized air mattress. No frame yet, so it's set up on the floor, with the little mattress as a headboard.
"Well, how did I get here?"

How did I get here, to a partially-enclosed house with intermittent running water, sleeping on an air mattress? Editing career in the toilet. Thirty-nine years old and still without a clue as to what I'm going to do for a living next year (if I make it that long), when I flee back to the States. Or even where I'll live when I get there? Would living out of my car be a step up or a step down? And instead of making me sad or depressed or angry, I'm just shrugging it off with a laugh at this point. I mean, if the last two years have taught me anything it's that there's no telling where I'm going to be -- where G and I are going to be -- in six months time. I'm just glad I have company.


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