(Arbitrary Title Because There's No Actual Subject To Be Found Here)

Ay. (sounds like "eye") I've been saying that a lot lately. It can express tiredness, surprise, when someone almost falls down...pretty much applies for everything. It's not super-common in Mexican Spanish, mostly used by old women, but it seems to fit must places I put it. I keep trying to remember what sounds I made in English to express the same thing. No idea.

As November begins reaching full swing, I am being suddenly being pushed out of the nest of complacent Mexicanism that I've constructed over the past couple weeks. With a 10-day adventure beginning this evening and about 30 pages worth of "proyectos finales" to slog through, I feel like the strange, relaxed habits I've developed have to come to an indefinite end (habits such as clicking the "Random Article" button on Wikipedia for two hours...you learn a lot that way, believe me). But it's nice to have this last little sprint to the finish, that way I won't be terribly out of form when I get back to the buzzing academeopolis that is Chapel Hill (not making any claims to a beautiful "form" at school, but functionality as a scholar is helpful when you're doing scholarly things).

Sprint to the finish. Indeed, 40 more days. Feels like very few. For a while, I was kind of stuck between wanting a lot more time in Mexico and feeling the need to head back to Chapel Hill for, oh, maybe a year and a half. Now, however, I am more than certain that Mexico will be down here for a very long time and a lot of this will be the same whenever I get back. Things on the Hill are constantly in flux and, in my opinion, it's very much worth the effort to be there and catch your own little piece of the "college experience," which sounds cliche, but you know...

One thing I thought about as I wished to stay in Mexico is that here I don't have to look far to find new things, and I like that. My brain seems to get off on new things--words, cities, foods, smells. Walking the streets of Mexico I feel like a connoisseur of the entire world...from sounds of a mother scolding her son to the cracks in the sidewalk. It's hard to explain.

What I eventually realized was that I love things that are already familiar, too--the lopsided feel of my backpack when my water bottle is full, the one little puesto in the market where I always buy my produce, the ridiculous crack in my computer screen that gives the rest of the world an acute case of OCD. Again, hard to explain, but sufice it to say that no matter where I am, I'm usually tuned into this channel where life is like one of those hidden object puzzles, except all the hidden objects are higlighted in vivid colors. 

My friends from around the globe are always shocked to find out that I've never smoked pot, colloquially called "mota" around here (yesterday a surprised Mexican buddy told me that he was sure I had because I "fit the profile perfectly"). Of course they always ask me "why not?" A couple months ago, after spending some time on the beach with a group of herb-enthusiasts I found my answer. I asked a few of the Mazunte beach bums, "So...what's so great about being high again?" "Well," they explained, "you're just really relaxed and you feel like nothing is too big a deal. You feel a little heavy and just kind of content with things. You think a little differently, you see things a little differently." A smile crossed my face and was slowly, stonedly mirrored in theirs. "Whoah," said I, "I think I'm always high."

A silly observation? I thought so too. But the more I thought about it, the more it fit. I don't know what the implications are for my life in general, but it kind of explains why I don't care overuse "substances" (interesting word). And I think it gives me license to leave this fine country on December 17th with the promise that upon my return it will be equally enchanting. 

But while I'm still here in Tacolandia, as it is sometimes called, I'll enjoy it. Leaving on the aftanoon bus to Querétaro. From thence I shall make my way through San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Guadalajara, and a beach called San Blas, chewing non-stop through through these semester project and, as always, searching for the coolest and best cafes that the places have to offer. A friend told me that San Blas used to be like a pirate village. Even though said friend lives in the bus station and is slightly off his rocker, I'll still be searching for pirates and living on Pirate Time. 

I'll check in when I get tired of these projects (read: soon). Cheers.