"I may feel like death, I don't have to look like it."

 ...I say because I’m wearing a full face of make-up for the first time in at least 6 months. Except

A rare glimpse of my inner monologue

lipstick! Of course! We’re in a global pandemic and thus have to mask! lolololol life is beautiful anyway. 

THURSDAY, JAN 27
Oh, wow, y’all. If you’re going to move your travel blog to a whole different platform, learn the platform before you travel or you’ll spend large blocks of hours learning your blog instead of doing the things you want to write about later. Or just give up. I’ve done both. Life is short and its also painful so why make it worse by not YOLOing.
Yeah. I’m on the YOLO train! I’m a decade late, but it’s helping me stay in denial about the things I’m trying to escape from real life so YYYYOOOOOOLLLLLOOOOOOO!
Let’s get back on track to highlights since I’m so far behind in my own life, ain’t nobody got the time or the attention span for full stories, hahahahahahawhyamIcodeswitching?

Flashback to Saturday and Sunday…
JETLAG: Holy shit. I got about three hours sleep. I’ve survived on less, but not often (I love sleeping.) and rarely when my body clock is six hours behind. (I love sleeping.) I’m a zombie but force myself up, throw myself across my bedroom to open my blinds to activate my ocular nerve blah, blah to stimulate my circadian rhythm or something I googled while I wished I was sleeping a few hours prior (I love sleeping.), and drag myself into the shower. It feels great. I feel terrible. I take a 15 minute walk to keep from sleeping standing up (I love sleeping.) and when I get home Stella suggests walking through Hyde Park to meet our friend.
Walking in the brisk air invigorates me and makes me feel alive! (Mostly. I love sleeping.) I’m energized around my friends (to like 80%. I love sleeping.) but when I’m not walking or talking I slip into a thick haze and my body gets heavy. (I love sleeping.) Later that night, when it’s midday in the states, Stella and I are binging Yellowjackets and she asks, “Another one?” To which I reply, “YES! I’m wide awake!” and pass out 15 minutes later. (I love sleep.)
That night, all of my brutal circadian rhythm training pays off and I actually, mostly, sleep. It’s not great sleep, but I love sleeping and I’ll take what I can get.

Diane Sabbatini and I ordered the same mocktail!

FRIENDS: One of the coolest things about being in London is all the friends who are also here working! One of whom is our friend Diane Sabbatini, a legend with one of my favorite names on the whole planet. We meet for pho at Pho Soho, one of Diane Sabbatini’s fav spots here, and now one of mine. The food is amazing because Diane Sabbatini has awesome taste. And? Diane Sabbatini’s hotel (The Ham Yard Hotel) has a bowling alley in the basement! Cuz thats how Diane Sabbatini rolls. Its booked for the night (I can’t believe they would play Diane Sabbatini and her friends like that.) but we have maybe plans to try it this coming weekend. Diane Sabbatini also has jet lag and tickets to Cabaret, the most coveted show in London right now (because she is Diane fucking Sabbatini. Obviously.) so Stella and I leave Diane Sabbatini alone until next weekend. (I didn't mention her stunning hat, purse, and outfit but picture what you think a Diane Sabbatini would wear and it’s better. And the leather is softer.)

And the truth is Yellowjackets is slop.

YELLOWJACKETS: Can we talk about this show? Stella and I hate it. HATE. ITTTTT. HAAAATE IT. Why are all of you freaking out about it? What genius is doing the PR for this show bc they deserve a raise. I love Melanie Lynskey, Juliette Lewis and Christina Ricci as much as the rest of you nerds, and I love a 90’s soundtrack like it’s my teddy bear, but those two perks don’t equal a good show. I can feel the writers’ hands. The dialogue is embarrassing. It’s shot poorly. And the whole mess is just sloppy. WHY ARE THEIR WHITES SO WHITE AND THEIR SHORTS SO PRESSED AFTER BEING STRANDED FOR WEEKS IN THE MOUNTAINS? I know these people watched Lost. Take notes! We gave up after watching 5 episodes because life is too short and Juliette and Christina shouldn't have to drag this carcass show for us.
CAMDEN MARKET: Sunday, Stella and I meet two of her friends and spend the day at the Camden Market, or Shopping Heaven. I hate shopping, but I love it with Stella. Stella’s friends are boys so they walk in and out of clothing stalls we could have spent 30 minutes in. We buzz through all the market has to offer in record time, and when the boys take off Stella and I retrace our footsteps to the best of the bunch. The clothing vibe is vintage, boutique, and a healthy dose of steam-punk. Lots of oooos and ahs! from us.
The food stalls at the Camden Market are no joke. It’s every kind of food you can think of, and also the best and hottest version of it. I don’t know how the UK gets their food so hot, but it’s the most comforting feeling. Every time I come here, eating their version of hot food makes me feel so much better about my life choices. Stella and I eat salted brisket on a soft bagel and share some loaded, dirty cheese fries. 

Cheezin' for salted beef

A short about “Why this food choice?” when I could have chosen from a literal food version of It’s a Small World After All: in Feb 2004 Stella and I were in London with some movie besties. On Valentine’s Day we went bar hopping and at 4am our local guide took us to have salted brisket on a bagel with spicy mustard. He insisted we all order it whether we wanted to or not. It was the best sandwich any of us ever had. So good that almost 18 years later it won the Camden Market, It’s a Small World Food Stall Sweepstakes. The idea was there, but mustard wasn’t hot enough and I wanted the beef to be wetter. Stay tuned to see if we can find any more versions of this legendary sandwich that match the perfection of the original version 6 drunk women inhaled near Tower (or maybe London) Bridge on a Valentine’s bar hop.
Other food highlights: the cheese fries far outshine the bagel. WOW. I double fist a mango lassi and a chai tea and another WOW. Stella’s friend Dixon has a slice of cheese cake. MMM traditional, yum.  

Pre-historic Twitter

CAMDEN: Amy Winehouse is from Camden so there are tributes to her all over the place. The area is a grungy, hipster hangout with a healthy dose of touristy junk. I'm not making it sound great somehow, bc we absolutely love the vibe. There are "British characters" - punky punks, redcoats - that will take pictures with you for a pound. I love the Redcoat, in particular. At one point a gentleman with a bullhorn starts yelling anti- ...sex? ...children? ...population growth? I can't really tell, but he starts endorsing people demanding reparations from their parents because "YOU DIDN'T ASK TO BE BORN!!" ...Have I been listening too long, or is this man actually starting to make sense...? The Redcoat mocks the Anti-Birth man, the public snickers, and we witness what Twitter would look like in the flesh.

Cashmere makes outside pints possible

 

CASHMERE: I’ve been teased in the past for being fancy because I like cashmere. I hate the word fancy. Liking cashmere doesn’t make me fancy, it makes me smart. To this point: the weather hasn’t been over 48 degrees since I arrived in London. I spent the better part of the weekend outside and never once felt cold. Or bulky. Or hot and sweaty from too many layers. Because I layer my cashmere sweaters and cashmere socks in with my cottons, and cover the whole thing with my down coat, I’m warm and my body and clothing can breathe. All this to say, I’m verrrrry proud of myself for packing and dressing so well. I’m fucking stunned when I do anything right, so this is a HUGE win for me.

Highlights from Monday & Tuesday…
Stella works all day so I get to write all day in our perfect flat, minus a couple quick trips to the library for a change of scenery and the grocery store for something that wasn’t lentils. I ate from my pot of lentils for 5 days in a row. I’m over lentils.
Did I mention I was using this trip as an artist retreat to write and nourish my soul? It feels so good to have nothing else to do but write and explore. And spend 3-4 hours a night trying and failing to upload my first blog. If you’re reading this, I succeeded. ***No, I didn't. I gave up and came back to Blogger because, who cares?***

I'm so used to seeing American flags everywhere in the US, that I was momentarily confused at this sight

Cryptocurrency bros brought their boring white flags to represent at an anti-vaccine-mandate march

Pho Soho KILLING their rice bowl game too!

We DO love Camden!!

Love these ponies! They're all throughout the market

 

 

 

Camden is a bizzy bitsch

Word.

I DO have a talent!!

Scream 4-ever

Amy Winehouse memorial

Safely riding the tube

Only most of the time

"2021, 2022, whatever it is..."

...said my friend Hayley, and isn't that just the vibe of the world right now?

Call Me Daffy

Thursday, Jan 20

Y'all. It's been a while since I've traveled, so it's been a while since I blogged. I'm vaxxed, boosted, N-95'd, and ready to party... !!!!!!! ...Did that sound okay? I haven't been around people-- oh God. I think the Austin Airport is having a fire drill? Or a bombscare? Or an active shooter? What does it mean when an ear-splitting alarm and flashing lights go off at the Taco Deli but no one seems to notice but you…?

In an effort to upgrade my blog (EEE!EEE!EEE!…EEE!EEE!EEE!...I'm going deaf, I wish I could record this, but then you'd go deaf too- OH! Relative silence! THANK GOD, THE ALARM STOPPED.) I sucked the whole DemonSauce shebang onto Wordpress because I did 4 minutes of research and learned it was easy to use. It's not, actually. Reading or watching tutorials isn't as much fun as clicking random things and getting nowhere, so I'm still nowhere but I wanna blog my trip so Welcome! to my dry and incoherent blog-ish, web?site? I'm happy you're here! ***I couldn't figure WordPress out so here I am back at Blogger. As shitty as you are, Blogger, I don't have time to break in a new program and teach it the way I like things, so welcome back, baby.***

I'm happy I'm here! It means I'm traveling! This time its to London to stay with Stella. "Is this a rerun?," longtime readers may wonder. It's not! That was in 2017 when we were all naive and healthy little Sarah Conners. Now its 2022 and we've been weathered by Hell, our flowing manes haven’t had a regular shampoo in a couple years, and we've got hair-trigger anxiety attacks. We are now SARAH FUCKING CONNER. Weary, ready, eyez on the prize. My prize? Seeing Heathers: The Musical off The West End in London.

 

It's a new dawn. It's a new day.

Monday, Jan 24
How cute that I was so bloggy excited! Jet lag deflated that balloon for the last few days, but I’m (crossing fingers) feeling (knocking wood) pretty (wishing on a star) okay (sign of the cross) now. (Praying.)

Flashback to Thursday’s flying highlights:
FLIGHT: As vulnerable as you will feel, I HIGHLY recommend flying during a pandemic. On every flight I’ve taken since March 2020, if I haven’t had an empty seat next to me, I’ve had the whole row to myself. These flights were no exception. The flights were 1/4 - 1/3 full which left row upon row of seats for me to stretch out on like the masked and sweaty queen I am.
MASK: The N95 mask my partner got me was medical grade with plastic around the edges to fully encase my nose and mouth. It made me look like Howard the Duck and I loved it. Sure I was sweating under the plastic, but I wasn’t breathing in anything bad other than my breath. And even that wasn’t terrible. You know how the smell of your own farts can be pleasing in a very specific way? My minestrone soup and garlic bread breath was like that.
BATHROOM: The first time I went to the bathroom on my flight fm JFK to London, I was pleased to find the bathroom was bigger than I was used to and the water was scorching hot because these are the tiny miracle gifts you get when you fly economy on an international flight. Suddenly, finally, it sank in: I’m flying to one of my favorite cities in the world so spend a few weeks with my best of best best friends! I had to dance! It was so fun, I bathroom-dance-partied every time I saw a toilet for the next day or so. HIGHLY RECOMMEND.
SMARTYPANTS: My flight from JFK to London was a red-eye. Normally I’m a SUPERFAN of airplane food. Instead of staying awake long enough to eat the meal I’d spent full precious minutes of my life researching online (Should order an Asian Vegetarian Meal or one of the religious diet meals…? Or no, bc what if its just rice?) I smugly stretched out across an aisle I wasn’t assigned to and made 53 adjustments before I counted sheep over and over… I woke up after a couple hours of bad sleep to see it was 8am London time. I’d done it! I started my jet lag transition early because I’m A Smart Traveler ;)

Friday highlights:
JOHN: I found Stella’s driver waiting for me outside of baggage with a sign and everything. I love an airport sign. It makes me feel real special. John was so awesome! We chatted the 45 minute ride into London. He showed me Robbie Williams’ house and Robert Plant’s house. (They’re neighbors! It’s cute.)
THE FLAT: Stella and I have been lucky enough to travel and stay in flats in many countries and her current home is my absolute favorite. Its decorated in the perfect mix of both our personalities. Irreverence, beauty, clean lines, boho textiles, the female form in all different shapes and sizes, bold colors and books for days, all about art and politics. I’m in home love.
STELLA!!!!!!: OH, its so good to be with my friend. I’ve missed her so much!

See ya later, America.

JET LAG: Determined to not have a repeat of my last London experience where jet lag just killed me, I took walks, went grocery shopping, got a Covid test, and made a huge pot of lentils to stay awake. It worked! I was incoherent, but awake. Then I hallucinated that Today Tix had cancelled the tickets I got us for Pride & Prejudice the following weekend. I bought another set of tickets. I figured out that TodayTix cancelled another show (& Juliet for which I also bought another ticket). I realized I now own 2 sets of P&P tickets for the same night and I was time to go to sleep.
I dropped dead in my bed at 10:45.
I woke up at midnight.
I watched an episode of Maid. (Anyone else watching this? It is excruciating. I like it, but JESUS.) I turned off everything, determined to lay in the dark until I fell asleep because blue light and all that. I googled tips for jet lag. (Tip #4, stay off your phone before bed.) Lights out. I had a short talk with the potential ghost that was making my bed shift at random intervals, and respectfully notified it that I was staying for almost 3 weeks so… let’s be good roommates. I DM’d a friend I want to see on this trip. Lights out. For real this time. I thought about my life. I started to cry. My decisions. My career. The two extra tickets to Pride & Prejudice that I need to sell. I cried harder. I couldn't stop. This went on for a while. I went to the bathroom and started my period at that exact moment. I think I said out loud, “Oh, hello.” I stopped trying to fall asleep and instead turned to the one thing that always makes me feel better: my partner. I FaceTimed Chris and I don’t remember what we talked about, but after a while he let me go bc I was drifting off. I looked at the time: 415a. Wide awake again…

"It's a black fly in your Chardonnay..."

Cracking up at this empty ass
pool in this empty ass spa.

...sang Alanis because she’s a prophet and could see my morning and The Most Annoying Couple in Existence, the flies in my pool. This comparison worked better when I was singing the song to myself as I tried to meditate them away.

9/13

Spaaaah Day!

My last day in Mexico deserves to be a spa day. La Gruta is a spa with thermal pools, a Temazcal, regular spa things and a restaurant. Based on Yelp reviews I decide I want to be there when it opens. At 7a. One would think that I would know better than to be anywhere in Mexico when it’s supposed to open, but I’m one stubborn optimistic idealist. Also, I’m willing to risk waiting for them to open if it means I get some peace and quiet before all the tourists show up after their leisurely breakfasts. 

The taxi gets me there at 720a. They’re open! I’m shocked. It’s still really dark outside because it’s cloudy and we’re closer to the equator. I take a staff member up on his offer to show me around. 

As he shows me around I realize he’s the only other staff member working besides the money lady. This place is open in name only. The locker person won’t arrive for another 45 minutes. I could swim and just leave my stuff out but, no, of course I can’t do that. I wait. 

Worth the wait

When I finally get into the pools 45 minutes later, there’s about 8 people already who clearly don’t care if all their shit gets stolen. I step into the water and forget everything because aaaaahhhhhhhhh...

The warm water feels incredible. It’s perfect melting temperature. I go straight for the grotto. 

The grotto is connected to the large, beautiful pool I’m in by a long stone underwater corridor that’s hip to chest deep on me. The pictures on the website made this cave-like entry look much bigger, but I really dig the cinematic aspect of the dark and lights, the moisture, the exposed rock. I walk the tunnel enchanted. Then perturbed. I hear voices...?

The biggest, best agua de guayaba ever

There is a couple having a close-to-yelling argument in THE ENTRYWAY of the grotto. It's 8am! I have to skirt past the woman to enter because she’s too pissed to move. 

That’s not relaxing. Here’s a public service announcement: if you’ve paid money to step into a spa, shut the fuck up. Don’t chat above a whisper. If you’re having an argument, LEAVE. This goes for any spa in the whole world. (I’m also looking you, packs-of-girls who go to Olympic Day Spa and chat like they’re at Sunday Funday Brunch... Shut. Up.)

I try to steer clear. They argue in the grotto and then in the bigger pretty pool for at least an hour. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 

A pool that had been empty when I arrived  has been steadily filling with water cascading out from a pipe roughly six feet above the it. I, along with two other smart ladies, escape to this pool as soon as it’s over wading level. The torrent of water drowns out most of the couple’s volume and feels exquisite on my shoulders. WIN. 

Santuario de Atotonilco

I float, I sun, I try to buy my way into their Temazcal (What’s a girl gotta do to get into a sweat lodge? Come at high season apparently.) but it’s a Saturday thing. I’m too high strung to fully enjoy the experience, but I really do try to relax. 

After breakfast (quesadillas and beans and the best agua de guayaba I’ve ever tasted) I hear a child’s voice and know that is my cue to leave. Spas + children = Hard Pass. 

Thank God Schnauzer Parents Lynn & Don told me how close the Santuario de Atotonilco was. I walk an easy fifteen minutes to the church people describe as the Sistine Chapel of Mexico. 

I call this Mary's room

I’m glad I went because it’s impressive, but I’m not very connected to the moment. To be honest, I think I’ve got a touch of Little D(epression). I’m not feeling much unless it’s anxiety or exhaustion. Obviously, I’m well enough to feel annoyed, though. It makes sightseeing go quickly, anyway. 

Later I treat myself to a dinner of ceviche(!) and my favorite ginger margarita(!!) at El Manantial and a Los Rabeats set at the rooftop Luna bar at sunset. It’s stunning as always, and the music is great, but once my margarita buzz wears off, I can’t wait to get home. 

I know getting home to LA won’t solve all my problems, but at least I can establish a healthy routine so I can better take care of myself. I’m looking forward to putting all my energy into my well being in my lovely home with my own bed and my fierce kittens. I’m excited to get back to being healthy B instead of prickly, disconnected, unhealthy B. 

Talking to my dad for his birthday (Happy Birthday Daddy!) he asked me if I thought the trip had been worth it. My answer: Yes, of course. For two reasons:   

#goals, this baby girl was rad and knows her music.
Also LOS RABEATS!

The woo-woo reason is because I had FOUR separate deja vu moments here. These are scenes and moments I remembered from dreams I had in the past. I get deja vu once or twice a year if I’m lucky. To have four deja vus, two today(!), is super cool. I take it to mean I’m on the right track.

My actual reason is I couldn’t and would’t live my life any other way, even if it touches off my anxiety and depression. 

My bouts with anxiety & depression show me that I’m taking myself for granted in some way. They force me to face Stuff, which helps me shift perspective from the exterior to the guts. Then I can get the help I need. This is only me. I don’t know how it works for anyone else. 

So yeah, it’s always worth it. Every step. 

And as I finish this post waiting for my flight to LA at a Pappas Cantina in the Houston Airport over an million dollar root beer float, its strange that it’s this simple, but I feel really happy right now.

Last time I was Luna, I took a panorama that probably looked exactly like this, but I don't care.

from the pulpit

San Miguel rush hour traffic jam

frescos for days, view from the entrance

Me & the other retirees at El Manantial

Mexico likes their Jesus rare

Hasta Luego, San Miguel de Allende...

"Ella es un mujer fuerte!"

I went there. Pizza & fries.

...I explain to Luciano, the privada guard, when he asks why Usche barks her head off at him despite seeing him in her house hundreds of times.

9/11

I’m finding cecina tacos today. I had to ask myself, “Is this a big enough deal to go back to El Tianguis?” And then I backed off at my own arched eyebrow and was like, “Oookay psycho, get a taco.”

I get off the bus at El Tianguis with Terminator like focus. I get the first drink I see- it’s gross, like sweet tea, which I can't stand. None of the cell phones or heaps of clothes or Mexican flags are distracting me this time. I walk the circumference and round my way in. This takes a while. 

After a while, I wonder if I shouldn’t get some pizza and fries because that’s my other objective. Trust, says the voice in my head. I walk by people EATING CECINA TACOS. (This is not an exaggeration, I really looked down and there they were!)

As before I sit down next to them, look at the waitress and point, “Uno de esto, pie favor!”

I. EAT. That. Taco!

It’s okay. I mean, it’s a taco with fries and grilled onions. I enjoy it, but c’mon. It’s a taco. I don’t know what one random person on the Internet was so excited about. 

The lighting SUCKS in Tianguis. Cecina Taco. Fiji.

Pizza topped with fries on the other hand...? I’m not gonna lie, my first bite was disgusting. But then, I tried The Sauce. Pizza w fries tastes like what you cover the fries with. Obviously, first I tried ketchup. I happen to love ketchup on pizza (try it before you judge) but this ketchup was not good. The Sauce was gooood. Mixing the Sauce with ketchup was even better. I don’t know what The Sauce was, I just know it was creamy spicy with pepper flakes. 

I drink a righteous horchata on my way out and vomit burp my way home. 

9/12

I read in the paper about a weekly free lunch for the elderly where people can volunteer in the church atrium. I know helping people helps people so the church is my main plan today. And souvenir shopping. 

Post pizza & fries glow

I’ve been to the Artisan Market a few times, just wandering through. I don’t understand why I keep reading about it online because it’s just one block of little shops. Today I find the rest of the Artisan Market. It’s actually 4 blocks plus of stand after shop after person on the sidewalk. I don’t know how I missed it before, other than it’s got a Harry Potter entrance across the street from where I thought they ended. I’m happy I found them when I did so I could pay the artists directly for handmade crafts rather than pay a store for manufactured crap. 

I get to the church. I see a lot of well dressed people that don’t look like they’re ready to volunteer. A memorial service has just ended. I try to stay out of the way while still looking for other volunteer types. I’m early, México is late, so I wait. 

I go to the office and ask the staff. It’s in the atrium. I return to what I consider the atrium and then I look up “atrium” on my phone to make sure I’m right. I’m right. 

I almost missed this gem!

Finally I google “San Miguel” “volunteering” “Sept 12” and I read a notice that volunteers should meet at the atrium for a dinner 530-730. 

I eat my feelings for lunch in the form of pastries. IT WAS WRITTEN IN THE NEWSPAPER. I’d talked to people about it! I went to the office and asked the staff. 

I know it’s very American to rely on times and schedules and information. (Because times/schedules/information makes life easy, but whatever.) I know I need to surrender more to the winds of change instead of forcing time and space to my will. But the church thing really annoyed the crap out of me. 

I’m not saying I bought myself a pair of boots to make myself feel better, I’m just saying if I had been able to volunteer I wouldn’t have had time to buy the boots. 

Schnauzer Parents Lynn & Don are home! We get dinner at a locals Italian spot where I lose myself in Montepulciano and ragu. It’s an excellent meal with my excellent hosts. 

This is a train wreck I couldn't help capturing. I can't tell, but I think it's a pig dressed as a longhorn?

Pretty, but gross. I drank it anyway bc chili rim.

Cecina taco deconstructed

Winner, winner!

This is the REAL end of the Artisan Market, more than three blocks away from what I thought.

'Losing yourself happens one no at a time,'

...writes Shonda Rhimes, my nomination for Oprah once Oprah retires.

9/9, EARLY

Snake slide!

It sounds like a war cannon. The dogs burrow into me. It’s La Virgin de Loreto’s celebration day. I’d read there were going to be fireworks at 5am. (Thank God it’s 6am. I guess even saint celebrations happen on languid Mexico time.)

These fireworks aren’t the fun ones. It’s a flash of light with a BOOM. It’s not like there is an awe inspiring show to make up for the noise. It’s just BOOOM!!

The dogs and I watch TV for a while. Schnauzer Mom Lynn said CNN soothes them in the face of fireworks or thunder. I can’t stand the news for longer than 10 minutes so we flip until we get to Mariachi music videos. Lotsa machismo and lotsa cheating.

Cuddling and caring for the dogs takes my mind of myself. My anxiety is 1000% self centered. I’m not saying I enjoyed cannon sounds every couple minutes from 6 to 7am, but I’m grateful for them. 

This morning there is a Temezcal (a sweat lodge) for the new moon scheduled at the botanical garden. I’m looking forward to it, convinced it’ll Purge any lingering Stuff.

Is this cool or what? They're rattlesnakes.

I decide to walk the mile and a half to the gardens, but halfway up - up because it is steeeeeeeeep - I make a wrong turn and a taxi appears. I don’t think, I just wave. I’m so tired, I don’t have time to be too scared to talk to a stranger. 

9am

The Temezcal is cancelled because not enough people reserved ahead of time. I’m not a disappointed as I thought I’d be. The view and vibe of El Charco del Ingenio Jardín Botánico has me psyched to just hike the grounds.

It’s early enough to walk the natural reserve in relative silence. I see a group on the trail before me and go the opposite way. The walking trails are a loop(ish), so I’ve just bought myself some nice alone time. In quick succession, I find the Pollinator Garden, I see a blue butterfly the size of my outspread hand(!!!!), and I slide down a rattlesnake slide :) This place is healing AF. (Note for Grandma H, “AF” = “as all get out”)

South (water) from the Sun?Moon center

I wander onto the Four Winds Plaza, a vast ritual space honoring the 1991 solar eclipse. I’ve seen The Craft, so I know I’ve wandered onto sacred ground. Different colored rocks make the pattern of the moon and sun and the four points with their corresponding natural resources. (FYI, North is earth, South is water, East is Flora, West is Fauna. I didn’t know any of this and was thrilled to learn. PS The Craft doesn't use the same corners :/ ) 

I meditate in the middle of the moon and sun. I journal. I cry, of course. When people show up, I fight the urge to collect my stuff and not be That Lady. After two seconds the urge fades. I’m not ready to leave yet. I don’t care that I’m That Lady. This feels good. I’m gonna do it as long as I need.

The rest of the nature walk is lovely. There is a random swing in the middle of a path that I play on for a minute, lest I break it. It’s clear this rope-on-branch swing was made for smaller people 100 lbs lighter than me. There is a kickass biome housing, among other things, some rare and endangered species of plants native to Mexico.

Native dancers

On my way home, I hear a parade. Something I’ve discovered in Mexico: when you hear a parade, you go toward the parade. I abandon my route home and witness the most random collection of groups honoring the Virgin. First a military type brass band, followed by native dancers performing to drum beats (my FAVORITE), followed by people dressed in horrifying Halloween costumes dancing to loud techno. 

I do some research, and the scary people are called Locos (crazies). They have their own parade and celebration that started when San Miguel was mostly orchards. (I’m massively truncating this story.) The dancing was an offering to the saints and farmers started dressing in costume to scare away curious people and let the offering of dance take place in peace. In time, the scary costume and dance merged and the Locos got organized into their own parade and day of celebration in the Spring.

Locos!

I spend the rest of the day listening to Shonda Rhimes' “Year of Yes” and trying to make the half raw chicken I poorly cooked into something. (Chicken & broccoli. It’s not great.) 

Whereas the first half of Shonda Rhimes’ book made me feel terrible; (I started it before the Purge, so let’s assume Shonda Rhimes was the straw that broke my Saturday) post-Purge, I’m getting the

Being That Lady

message. Now, I love the book. I love Shonda. Part of me considers watching the first 10 (11?) seasons of Gray’s Anatomy so I can have Christina Yang as a best friend, too. Maybe next time I have the flu. 

9/10, 7am

I do yoga. I don’t cry, but I don’t feel well. I’m exhausted. I’m craving structure. I realize I haven’t had a solid routine since late July before all the fun and craziness of visitors and travel took over my life. 

I change my flight. Originally, my plan was to leave in 10 days. Now, I’m leaving on Friday. For a hot 48 hours or so, I’d talked myself into going to Mexico City for Diez y Seis de Septiembre, because Independence Day, wooo!! I’ve been told it’s an insane party! I’m here anyway, aren’t I?!

I’m wary in a crowd on a good day. The thought of scuttling through a citywide party trying not to get raped or vomited on (I’m terrified of rape & vomit in the US, too. More so, to be honest.) makes me want to hide. So I’m coming home. 

I was raised with the belief that plans are PLANS. When I was an assistant and my boss

Swing 'em if ya got 'em!

would have me change his flights, I would ask the travel agent to do this like I was asking for a personal loan. Canceling my Mexico City Air BnB and changing my flight feels revolutionary.

I’m all over the place about my decision to leave early. I’m sad that I feel too fragile to stay. I’m glad I’m taking care of myself. I feel guilty that I can’t make use of such a great opportunity (“There are starving children in America, Bianca!” has been my mental reprimand since I got here.) I’m proud I’m making my health a priority.  

My whole life I've muscled through jobs, relationships, even nights out despite how my body reacted. This feels cheesy to say, but whatever: This time I'm saying YES to my health and my needs. Thank you, Shonda. I forgive you for ruining my vacation.  

BioDome!!

View from the eclipse

My favorite cactus looks like BRAAAINS! ("Cerebro" = brains)