2003-10-31 - 5:51 p.m.
Man, I really wanted Patzcuaro to be the solution to all my problems. And the house I stayed at too. But they weren't. They are beautiful places. But they are just places. They can't protect you from the shit that gets to you. It is not possible to get away from it. It will follow you.
Obeth pushes ALL of my buttons, just like a kid in an elevator. Only he doesn't jump off when he's done. For example, on the way down the beautiful mountain we hiked up, he peppered our talk with comments about how old I am, how I need exercise, what we should do this afternoon and tonight and tomorrow and the next day and next weekend and in November and when he comes to visit me in Austin. It follows me into the bathroom, to the table at the restaurant, throughout lunch, and then when he gives me a moment's pause and I say 'I don't want to go out tonight. I want to be alone' he offers to give me a massage and actually follows me back to the house.
At this point, I lost it. I actually burst into tears. But I convinced him that I was fine and he left. Victory was mine!!! Laid down for a nap in my happy big bed all to myself.
An hour later, there's a knock on my door. He's back. And he reeks of pot. He's high. That's perfect.
My housemates, my hosts. One of them, an American, is going through a divorce after 14 years. Has a drug problem. One is a very short, dark man with glasses who is obsessed with sex. I am living with my Ex, split in two. And the ex-wife tries to start fistfights and makes harassing phone calls to the girlfriend.
There's a daughter, 5 years old. Blonde hair, brown eyes, she's very creative. Makes up songs, draws and paints all the time.
She manages her dad through a constant series of minor whines. With mom, she is a completely different child. Warm and open. But when mom lets her down, she implodes.
One night outside my door, I heard mom say 'You aren't making this any easier.' I have no idea what was going on but the girl's sobs broke her little body in two. After it went on for too long I found her alone, collapsed in a chair in the garden, folded over like a rag doll.
But she's mean to me. She makes fun of my Spanish, pointedly tells me that she will not share her sweets with me, and calls me ugly. It reminds me of elementary school when it felt like my life was rife with mean girls. On the one hand, I feel like a dipshit getting upset about the things a little girl says. On the other hand, it gives me insight into the lives and the hurts of those girls way back when. On the other other hand, the little hurt me from way back when is still hanging around, getting hurt.
