Birth is a one-act play. Death is an epic poem in an ancient language that’s importance in the literary canon you only sort of understand and only really get a line on after studying the Byzantine Empire on your own for fun. Something like that…

More rare than an elective epistiotomy. No, probably nothing like that. Still, it was something to say.

Not only am I doing a water fast, well I’m drinking black coffee to distract myself, but I’m also in acute withdrawal from 20 years of taking an SSNRI, Effexor, for depression and anxiety. Dreaming of golden treacle and crackers. Anything. In my experience, the first few days are the hardest to adjust to, always thinking bout food and eating. Something to staunch that rumble of pain in my stomach. Not exactly great weather for hot coffee. It’s the rainy season down here and that also means there’s a great deal of humidity in the air, even when it’s not being dropped from the clouds.

Not sure if it’s the lack of anti-depressant in my brain but I’m very weak today. Sort of walking around slowly with a long but imaginary robe trailing behind me. I tend to try to romanticize low points in my life to make them tolerable. Or maybe to fool myself. Maybe that’s why I remember events as being better or worse than they actually were and rarely remember much very accurately.

I have about a half bag of coffee left, so that should hold me for a week, at least. The coffee here is very good, very fresh and so long as you stay away from any of the expat owned coffee bars or the tienditas near the tourist sector, it is incredibly cheap, much like the food here. I bought a half kilo, 1.1 pounds, of freshly made tortillas a few days ago from the Pitico for 5 pesos. That’s about 25 cents for a pound of, essentially, food. Or bread. All you need is a spoonful of anything, beans, rice, veggies and a bit of oil and you’ve got a pretty tasty meal. They don’t stay fresh for very long. You don’t even have time enough to fly them out of the country so people back home can enjoy real Mexican tortillas. Also, the salsa in the states is very weak. If it doesn’t draw out tears from my eyes, it’s crap.

Enough talking about food. I already feel like I’m wasting away. Surely, I have friends here who would gladly help me out. I even have a tlayuda stand owned by three women who would be angry if they knew I was hungry and  I didn’t come to them. I have unlimited credit with them. I think my credit is better here in Mexico than back in the states. I haven’t been back since 2014 so who knows though.

Most of the news I read from the states scares the fuck out of me. And that doesn’t even count the political crap. I’ve tried to watch some of the Olympics this week but my first thought upon seeing most of these contests is “When the hell did THIS become an Olympic sport?” Synchronized diving? Granted, I haven’t paid attention to the games since my parents were about to get divorced and we sat as a family for the last months of their marriage watching the winter games in Sarajevo, back when it was Yugoslavia. Back then I set up a  course on our driveway and fixed an old wooden sled with real metal rails to compete against myself. I literally had a Mickey Mouse watch with a second  hand that moved that I timed myself with. I had a friend in elementary school who showed up with a calculator watch one day and I was so jealous. I just had a dream I was taking a test in elementary school last night.  We were the first class to go through the newly created “magnet program.” But after fifth grade they dumped us all into the pit of middle school where the next three years I repeated the same levels of math and language I had done in elementary school. My grades went from As to Cs. I figured a C was enough to alert people that I wasn’t happy in school and also keep me off the honor roll. The only thing I enjoyed was Ms. Dolly’s English class where we were given empty notebooks and given 30 minutes to “free write” every Friday. I spent the term writing a farce on the Vietnam war, though I didn’t know what Apocalypse Now was. My mother didn’t believe in watching television. She took us to the library as kids and let us run loose. We were allowed to get as many books as we could carry, subject to the library’s limit minus one. She didn’t want us to appear greedy, I guess. She’d check out four or five huge novels and then set about to read every page, even the books that she openly hated. I think she’s read more books than anybody else I’ve ever met. Library books always had those really loud plastic-like dust jackets. I remember the first time I saw the librarian use an electronic bar code reader pen to check out the books. The same era as supermarkets started using  higher tech to open the doors for their shoppers. And the checkers went from manually punching in every UPC code to sliding the item over an electronic eye. My mom was very suspicious every time the grocer slid something over the scanner and  spent five minutes after a transaction reading the receipt to make sure she wasn’t double charged for anything. She preferred to go to a general store near us called Sycamore’s. They had barrels full of candy and wading boots sold in the same aisle. The place smelled like merchandise, even more than Woolworth. This was when Woolworth, a haven for shoplifters, still had lunch counters and still had people who would voluntarily sit down at a Woolworth lunch counter, be given a menu and actually agree to eat whatever was put in front of them. I thought it must be pretty hard to eat anything with the smell of new tires and poison plastic packaging overriding the rest of the senses.

Saturday meant cartoons and donuts, but Sunday meant the huge Washington Post and all of its awesome sections. I’d check the status of my mutual funds, the horse racing results, baseball league leaders, etc. I searched the classifieds for boats. I once inherited $20,000 which I ended up spending in college, but thought hard about buying an old sailboat and  just going around the seas learning to sail. It was either college or sailboat. I ended up deciding I’d spent enough time alone in my life and went to college instead.

I’m still hungry.