XC 1X2

 We hop the congested highway to the airport and after an eternity, we’re there. In the security line I ask for a hand check on my roll of photo film. They refuse. I ask for a manager. They tell me the roll goes through the scanner or doesn’t fly. I angrily chuck it in a bin and pass to the terminal.  Now I’m salty, I have two hours to kill, and I’m sitting in a room full of people who have warrants in Florida for punching swamp creatures and DUI. My parents and I chat to pass the time and soon enough, they’re called to their gate. My flight is coming soon enough so I migrate. I hear my name called and a massive line forms, apparently the airline didn’t jive with my passport check and needs to do it again. Normally this wouldn’t annoy me but I’ve got a tight land-side connection at LAX to hit. My flight lands at five and there’s a bus that can pick me up at five forty five. The next one isn’t for another two hours. I was hoping to stash my bag in a bin and breeze through custo...

 I’m starting to lose my mind a bit. I think if I came here stressed I’d be in heaven but right now I kind of want to be stressed. I’m sitting with my toes in the sand fantasizing about doing my taxes. After over thirty weeks on the road, the prospect of a consistent bed and being able to not constantly ask for the WiFi password holds novelty. I feel more than a little out of sync with the environment.  I spent most of the day inside watching TV. This is something I seldom do. In fact, I don’t own a TV and I don’t have any streaming accounts. About the more I’ll indulge in that is watching Columbo when I am sick. I stand by that show, one of the greats.

 My last full day here. I feel like I am overdosing on liminal space and exhausted from dissociating. It’s lovely here but I don’t want to relax, I’ve been doing that for months. This place is beautiful but I haven’t taken any photos, there just isn’t anything interesting going on. Fiona flew out. I found the spicy salsa. Sleep.

 Another slow day I filled primarily by watching documentaries. At the end of the day, someone brought up the idea of going into town. Into town we went. Cabo San Lucas is a weird place. A couple decades ago this was a tiny unheard of fishing village on the sand in Baja. In the late 80s the government decided to make it a designated tourist zone. Read: sacrificial lamb territory. Attract all the worst tourists to one particular place so they don’t come to Oaxaca demanding an English menu and a blended margarita. It’s working. After four decades of attracting every degenerate in Southern California that can figure out how to buy a plane ticket, Cabo San Lucas more closely resembles Newport’s Balboa Blvd than anywhere in Mexico. If you come here you won’t need to speak Spanish beyond whatever you think you’re supposed to say to ask for another beer (I’ve heard so much butchered Spanish) and you certainly won’t need to exchange any currency. The cheap parts feel like the worst parts o...

 I woke up and sauntered into the sun to find my family having lunch outside. The whole family. My sister Fiona had popped in from the bay while I was sleeping. I can’t remember the last time we were all sitting at one table. I take my seat and take it in. There isn’t much to catch up on, we stay in touch, but there’s always plenty to talk about. After lunch Fiona gets a tour of the area and we wind up at one of the pools. My plan was simple, read my book in the sun and drink beer. Unfortunately it was not going to be so simple, a very drunk American in the hot tub was loudly conducting a very important lecture at whomever was misfortune enough to be in earshot. I relocated myself to the swim up bar nearby. When his howlings made it that far, I closed my book. If you can’t beat em, join em. This fine sunburnt specimen of an American tourist came all the way from San Marcos (hate California. Newscum made the taxes too high) to haunt my life in Mexico. Joining him in the pool was a b...

 I have no circadian rhythms left. The word jet lag implies that I’m on another place’s time. That’s not true. I’m not lagged, just a mess. I went to bed shortly after dinner, whenever that was, woke up for a few hours in the night, and passed back out again. At one in the afternoon I got a knock on my door and my mother’s voice calling my name. I answered and then the knocking disappeared. A few minutes went by and the knocking was back followed by a question about a massage. Massage, massage, right! There was a massage today. I considered skipping it to stay in bed but the urgent pounding outside my bedchamber anxiously reminding me that I had a pressing requirement to relax NOW moved me. Waking up and landing on a massage table is an interesting sensation, I recommend it if you get the chance. After a disorienting relaxation experience, it was time to chill by the pool. Beer, view, do nothing. No thinking, just vibes. This continued until dinner which happened at a restaurant wi...