Mexico has its own perks and memories that I will suck dry in later years, remembering only the positives. And living here during this "financial meltdown" has its own set of special benefits. Firstly, I follow it from a distance rather than feeling the volatile market's backlashes. In the States I would, no doubt, be spending half my salary on increasing gasoline prices and a heating bill unreasonably high. But in Texcoco, the market's biggest impact on my life has been the 10 cent increase in a fare for a bus I rarely take. Secondly, this, "The Greatest Depression," means that I am granted unlimited complaining and exaggeration rights in my old-age, forcing young whippersnappers to sit through countless tales about walking 15 miles through the snow, bloody and barefoot, just to get a gallon of milk.
I further ignore this economic maelstrom because of four birds, one kitten, and 30+ plants. I am house-sitting for my boss and enjoy the self-imposed isolation. This is not to say I dislike my current living situation in La Puri, but I have always wanted to get a taste of solitary
living; it tastes like exotic tea in the sun. I wish I could say that there have been no expected speed-bumps, but then again in Mexico there are unmarked topes that come at you in the night; my tope was a dead bird in Petr's kitchen. Sweeping feathers is as futile as it sounds and even more so with a kitten attacking your broom, practicing for its next kill (which turned out to be a rather large lizard).The stay has given me time to practice my new melodica and my semi-new harmonica without driving my dear roommates insane. I have learned only a little for both, but enough to have kept a crowd of two entertained in a narrow hallway at Matthew's party. I mastered "Friend of the Devil," knowing it was present in Mike's repertoire, but I had to improvise for other songs and quickly reverted to singing when the crowd looked mutinous.
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