Night comes in the late afternoon. When that happens, life changes. I am not a good nocturnal. I am not sure how good a diurnal I am either. Maybe the trick is to live in the twilight.
I have had an excellent weekend: a good meeting on Saturday, chores completed in record time, good moments with best friends. Today, life is good. The writing is going well too; 160 pages into it and I can see the new book's shape even if I can't quite yet tell you how things will be resolved. At this point, resolution-literary resolution, that is-doesn't seem particularly important. What I need is some sort of personal resolution to tell me what I'm doing here and where I'm going. I seem to have lost that particular focus.
Fore the past few weeks I've been thinking of San Miguel de Allende in the Mexican mountains. A writer friend who's been there several times raves. It's cheaper, quieter, and the morning traffic doesn't thunder past as noisily as it does here. There's a large expat community and my lispy, French-accented Castillian Spanish just might be acceptable. I've checked out websites. Flights are easy and direct, rents a quarter of what they are here. There are daily AA and Al Anon meetings.
But still, still. Moving is such a monumental decision. I may decide to drive there and stay a couple of weeks. It's about 3,000 miles, a good distance for head-clearing. My favorite car, an aging Porsche 944 Turbo, is running like a top and it's tempting to travel as I used to decades ago: a knapsack, two pairs of jeans, four t-shirts. Buy two six-packs of jockey shorts and you're good for a couple of weeks. And I have an advantage now--I can travel drug-and liquor-free and not worry that whatever concoction is to be found in whatever country may kill me (this is not an idle worry. I was in Nepal many years ago and bought a bottle of Nepalese 'scotch' which smelled suspiciously like dry-cleaning fluid and tasted like low-octane gasoline. I was desperately ill for three days but did manage to finish the bottle.)
In exactly a week my favorite date of the year--the vernal equinox--will pass and the days will begin to lengthen again. Then we'll cross into January, and by February I will be able to make sane decisions (I traditionally make incompetent ones the last two months of the year) and give more serious thought to Mexico. Adios.