I haven't written much recently: too busy, too tired. However, part of why I write is simply to maintain my fluency with the language: it's "use it or lose it" not in the sense that the writing facility disappears permanently (though over the course of decades, and if you're one of those people who stops learning and lets your brain turn into concrete, that's certainly possible), but it takes a bit of doing to get it back once it lapses. And I've been reading this book by John McWhorter that I picked up in Seattle, which has me thinking about how much I enjoying writing and crafting sentences, and which reminds me that outside my little world, that's becoming rare; reminds me that while I may take time even (especially!) in email to consider what I'm writing, so that I say as best I can precisely what I want to say...I'm in the minority. And that's saddening because it's happening, but heartening because I can keep doing it and no one can stop me.
I don't drive much any more. My new job comes with a Go-Pass, a sticker companies can give employees, which when attached to a company photo ID badge, lets us ride Caltrain anytime, anywhere, for free. The drive is twenty minutes without traffic, and thirty or forty minutes most of the time. Instead, I walk about ten minutes to the train station, ride the train for about ten minutes, and walk about ten minutes to the office. It's low-stress (it helps that the job is very flexible about hours), I get some fresh air, and it's one less car on the road for the commute. After just a week of this, I find driving kind of annoying.
I'm in a curious headspace. (Surprise! that never happens.) I had a friendship/relationship that I had accepted as being...not lost, but well diminished from its former indelible intensity. It was a note of sadness, but I had let it go, until overnight it re-awoke somehow, to become...something. I have no idea. It certainly could have come at a worse time, but it could have come at a better one as well, maybe sometime when I wasn't re-organizing my life (again--I think I have one of those times coming up after the beginning of June). Wishful thinking, I know: I am constructing my life every day and every week, deciding who and how I want to be, placing the pieces carefully so I can have everything I want, but with all the honesty and integrity I can muster. Which is great, really, and it's working well. But this week?
I was about to say I should never have left Mexico. But it was time for me to leave. Just at the moment, because it's time for bed and I'm unable to think clearly, I wish I could go back. *grin*