| Aug. 16th, 2005 @ 08:30 pm Que voy a hacer? Je suis perdu. |
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| I´ll be honest. Those two days stranded in San Luis Potosi quickly running out of money, knowing that internet access was more important than dinner, taking naps so as to not get hungry, reading so as to not get hungry, counting pesos every time I spent something, constantly rehearsing the coming speach to a priest, longingly gaping at the couples in Plaza del Carmen, sitting blankly, trying to sleep to save energy but ending up with teary head underneath pillows in a last attempt to retreat, were among the scariest ever, and the soundtrack, nothing but the title track for this entry and Like a Rolling Stone reminding me not to romanticize this, not to pretend like it was cool, or hip, or anything, but keeping me on the very real line that I was beginning to wonder if I would make it back, if I would sing to strangers, maybe worse, starting to stare at the prostitutes in the blocks above the Alameda this time not out of horror, not out of charity, not out of curiosity, but this time out of common emotion, a knowledge that the dress bunched up between thighs is not a goal but merely a means out of those same nights, head under pillows, utterly vanquished, alone. |
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