This here being away ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. For starters my brain has worked it’s way back onto British time over the weekend, which largely leaves me a bit screwed up. It’s one in the morning for you, but 6pm for me, and I’ll be back awake with you as I’ve spent most of the day talking to you.
For every good bit here, there’s a bad one. Like the homeless guy in Coyoacan, only metres from the bustle. Like the sunshine the other day, everything falls sideways.
There was some interesting stuff in the Mexican papers today, and you know how that sits against what I can’t talk about. It’s bothering me some, what with tomorrow’s event and all. The El Chapo hit on Trump bothers me somewhat too, because what I might say could be taken any way, and I’ve got a few days to Jason Bourne my ass around before home.
I’m paying a lot more attention now, noticing things I perhaps had written off before. There was a guy in the lobby who inexplicably got in the down lift with me a short while ago. He had one hand on his jacket. I was ready to make a mess.
I want you to know, I’ve never felt this way before. Like this morning, when I went to the Ihop and munched my way through a Sunday breakfast and pancakes, I jus wanted you opposite me. That’s how it is.
There’s a burden shift in this trip and the most of it has me wantin’ home.
I love you.