Two blips

“Como estas? Como estuvo tu semana?”

“It was good, for the most part, with perhaps two minor blips.”

“O-oh. Blips? Does that mean you’re going to talk about them?”

“I’d like to, if you’re up for listening. You know how I like getting things off my chest.”

“Bit busy to be honest, mate. But I suppose there’s not really any way for me to stop you, is there?”

“I suppose not - though would be interesting if you tried, to see what would happen. Bit difficult to see you winning the battle - but I guess not impossible.”

“Nah. Go ahead. Let’s hear ‘Blip 1’.”

“Okay. Cool. You’re a good man.”

“Man? Please: no labels. I’m neither man nor woman: I just am. Please don’t put me in a box.”

“Sorry. And good distraction, by the way.”

“Distraction? You think that’s what that was?”

“I don’t believe this! You’re actually managing to do it. You’re actually managing to prevent me from saying what I -”

Knock knock knock: there’s a knock at the door. It’s a little old Mexican man in a hat. He wants the señor or the señora. But they’re not here. I don’t know where they are.

Maybe it’s not the time for blips. If little old Mexican men and even my own imaginary alter-ego - who’s normally on tenterhooks for everything I say - aren’t gonna allow it, who am I to argue?

Then I take out a coin - coin, of course, can override everything. And coin says: “go for it.”

Cool. Okay. I’ll just talk to the coin.

“So, coin, Blip Number 1 - you’re sure you want to hear this?”

Coin just sits there, saying nada - I take that as a ‘yes’.

“Blip Number 1 was - of course - the day after I wrote about how happy I was, and how well the writing was going. It’s ironic, ‘cos even in the moment I had this feeling - don’t say that, you know expressing something gets rid of it, and invites the opposite in - but I went right ahead anyway. And then the next day I didn’t feel like writing, and thought maybe I should have a day off, after seven days straight - and also had a couple of worms creep into my system, by reading stuff online about the writing process - about how, hey, in the beginning, there’s always this flush of enthusiasm, and you think everything’s going just fine, but that soon peters out, and it’s not actually going just fine - and I guess it undermined my confidence a little. Seriously, it was like having a little bug tunneling into my psyche. So I didn’t write that day, and I was all grumpy as I walked the less beautiful streets, among less content people, and noticed even more how much doing or not doing it affects my mood.

“Still, I did a little the next day, and of course wasn’t grumpy at all, so I guess I just need to keep it up and battle through.”

“And Blip Number 2?”

“Oh. You’re back? Couldn’t stay away, eh?”

“Something like that. Though it’s not like I have much choice, is it?

“Anyway, before that, why not something positive, to balance it out?”

“Like a reverse shit sandwich?”

“Exactly. Some yummy piece of ham in between two pieces of shit (lol).”

“Okay. Well then that’d be how I feel about San Miguel de Allende - apart from that one day - and how happy I am walking the streets after I’ve finished my typing. How beautiful everything is. And how good the life, even though I’m not really part of it, but just to have it there, outside my door, washing over me, touching me, brushing up against me on these strolls down cobbled streets, through plazas, amidst weddings and fiestas and general Mexican contentment with existence.”

“That does sound nice. So you’re gonna stay?”

“I still don’t know. I guess I’ve got six more days on my room, and will have to decide. I guess Baja’s still in my head, and though I worry about things there, I do also know people, and know the area, and love the beauty and...though I do wonder: do I love its mountains and sandy roads as much as I love these winding streets and churches? Love the nature as much as I love the culture? Love the Baja freedom and openness as much as I love this city’s sanity and civilisation? Baja does attract those desert fruits, escaping something, mad and maybe going even madder. And perhaps that’s me also - but, crazy as I am, I’m not sure I’m quite that mad.

“I dunno. We’ll have to see. I love my room and I love my life and I’m happy that the writing’s going well and I dig this place. And Baja’s probably still too hot - still getting up to 35, and mid to low-twenties all through the night - and I’m no great fan of sweating toda la noche and needing blowing air machines and AC - too annoying. Whereas here...the weather’s just awesome: hot and sunny in the day - 22 to 25 - and then cool enough at night to require a nice stack of cosy blankets to get snuggled up in. It’s kind of ridiculous, really, how perfect the weather is.”

“It sounds clear cut to me. You love it there. Why would you even think of leaving?”

“Yeah, just that Baja bug, really. Old habits and associations. And some lovely people. Though I must say, I’m kind of enjoying my anonymity and solititude, and the time it grants me for my own stuff. It’s good to not have intrusions. It’s good to be able to focus. I’m pretty comfortable, to be honest, going 99% of the week without conversing with anyone.”

“Well, if you want some advice...”

“From you? Siempre.”

“See how it goes the next few days. The last minute is far from upon us. No need to decide anything just yet. Take it as it comes - you’ll know what to do when the time’s right.”

“Acuerdo. Totally acuerdo.”

“And...Blip Number 2?”

“Oh, well, I just got in from playing football, and that felt pretty depressing. Number one, I just wasnt as good as I’d like to be, and did a couple of shit things. And, number two, I’d turned up to play for one team and ended up playing for the other, and I guess that ruffled a few feathers and didn’t go down so well, which makes me sad.”

“Blimey. How did that come about?”

“So I have this one chum in town and he plays for a team, and proposed me getting involved. I gave some photos to the organiser on Tuesday and was all stoked for making my debut this morning - but then when the organiser turned up he said there was a problem with the pics (they were too big, despite being passport size) and I couldn’t play. Well, I was a bit miffed by this, to put it mildly: I’d woken at 6.30 especially. I’d skipped my morning’s writing. I’d been all excited about it yesterday and looking forward. And then, of course, there’s that whole ingrained culture clash, where my good ol’ English brain naturally leaps to ideas of the right way to go about things - there’s been days to sort this; it should have been known; and even though says he only found out last night the pics weren’t good enough, there was still time to let me know and save me having to get up so early and walk down and miss my writing.

“In Mexico, of course, it’s all tranquilo and mañana and nobody minds anyway ‘cos they had like 15 players, so not having me’s no big deal. But I’m a little bit fuming, and thinking they probably don’t want me anyway, and wondering if there’s some sort of subterfuge, and bothered that they’re not more sorry. Also...

“The other team’s shown up with only ten men. And ‘cos I’d got there early their manager had already asked me if I could play for them and been all friendly and nice. It seems daft that they’re gonna play with ten and, by the looks of them, get spanked, when I’m there ready, willing, and somewhat able. So I go and have a word and he wants me to get stuck in and I run back to the casa and pick up some more pictures and a pair of scissors - and, easy as you like, he cuts one down to size and Bob’s your uncle. Just gotta wait for half-time and have a word with the ref and then it’s game on.

“I have a word with my mate and he’s not overjoyed but not overly bothered either, says it’s my decision, and I have a think. On the one hand, here’s this team with loads of players who don’t need anyone and don’t seem bothered about me, and then on the other there’s a team with not that many players who want me to play. All I wanna do is a kick a ball like I’d gotten up at 6.30 to do: no big deal, thinks I - it just seems logical.

“Oh, but to throw a spanner in the works, by half-time the team I was shaping up to play for had got the full eleven and were winning 3-0. So I start to think they probably didn’t need me anyway, and could see my way out of this without letting anyone down and still keep the peace.

“I didn’t know what to do. I figured, booted and suited though I was, I should probably back out. But I also had the jonesin’ to play, and what with the game right there it was a temptation difficult to resist.

“Caught on the horns of a dilemma, as I inevtiably am, I decided to flip a coin. I said to the guys, let’s let Dios decide - they’re all good Catholics; no doubt they understand and will accept it when it says I can’t do it and I shrug my shoulders and say, oh well - but the coin says ‘play’.

“And, as you well know, I never argue with the coin.

“Anyway, as it turns out, I played not great and did a couple of shitty things that are completely bugging me. Plus my friend was way more pissed than I’d thought he would be, which made me feel quite sad. And I left the game down and kinda wishing I hadn’t bothered and maybe thinking about retirement. I’m compulsively drawn to playing football - but half the time, for a variety of reasons, it just leaves me bummed out.

“I dunno: did I commit a crime? I just wanted to chase and kick a ball for an hour or so. And when the boot’s been on the other foot, in similar situations, I’ve been all for getting my friend on the pitch, however which way. But - agh! Maybe I should just quit the playing and referee instead: I’m good at that, and pretty much always go home happy from reffin’. Plus it’s just as good exercise anyway, without the frustration. There has to come a day some point when the playing is no more...”

“That’s it? That’s the top slice on the sandwich. Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Yeah, and doesn’t feel as bad as it did an hour ago. But still...I don’t like upsetting the apple cart. You can see why the Mexican tradition is just to try and keep everything smooth and even tell a bunch of porkies rather than risk peeing somebody off. Bloody coin! But I guess he’s always vindicated in the end, right?”

“Coin? What say you, coin?”

But the coin just sits there, silently smiling and waiting for his turn. Talking’s not his thing: he has other uses.

“Projecting on a coin, huh? That’s a new one.”

“It’s all projection, my friend - we’re all doing it always, even on inanimate objects and concepts. It goes deep, that hole - but that’s a discussion for another day.”

“Or maybe for a day in the past, like this one?

http://notwritingjusttyping.blogspot.mx/2013/04/everything-is-karma-and-projection.html”

“Si. Posiblemente. Necesito leer otra vez. Si recuerdo correcto, es una buena.”

“So that’s it? No dreams or signs this week?”

“Nope, nada - which is maybe a sign in itself: no dreams probably means everything’s in order, and I’m in the right place doing the right thing, for once. Though I did have an interesting dream this morning, something to do with peyote and Christianity, which actually referenced, inside the dream, another dream I had about three years ago, so that’s pretty cool. Discussing and contemplating new meanings for old dreams within current ones! I dig that.

“That’s all. :)”