where the writers are

20080809

20080809

I'm getting ready to leave here for two weeks, and I don't want to have to go.  I won't qualify for any kind of permanent residence for some time to come, so I am on a tourist visa, which expires mid-August.  I don't think I have much choice, I don't exactly blend into the native population; 189 cm., blue eyes, grey hair.  My natural instinct is to follow the rules, so even though there seems to be a relatively high level of laissez-faire about rules in Mexico, I have reservations to fly away.  It will be fun to see my friends, less fun to see my doctors, and great to eat sushi, one of the essential food-groups which is unavailable to me here.  I usually get excited about flying, because it means I will see somewhere else, have new adventures.  I'm not looking forward to the journey itself, because flying steerage means I have no leg room and will emerge at the other end unable to move.  Getting older is the pits, in case you haven't noticed.  What's exciting about this trip, and the only truly motivating factor,  is that my husband is at the other end, whom I haven't seen in six months.  Someone said:  'once you've eliminated the impossible, you're stuck with the necessary', or words to that effect, and that describes our situation admirably.  I have no choice but to be here alone, I have no choice but to renew my visa by leaving, and he has little to no choice about being there alone.  Sometimes being adult about things is a real pain in the ass.