Sunday morning. 8:30am. Awoken by my neighbor to notify me that he will be shutting the buildings water off "for a while" as he is installing some new fixtures in his bathroom. The neighbor on the other side next to me is up also bright and early. She rents the tiny studio with her four kids. All children are 5yrs old and less. She spends the next hour screaming and slapping at them. I guess she isn't under the impression that every sound can penetrate these thin, adobe walls. My front door is open (I am waiting for the first mentioned neighbor to give me the okay on the water so I can shower or at least make coffee), the neighbor across the street, a fat gimp with a mauled hand is blasting his stereo. The same obnoxious, twangy ranchero musuc you hear at closing time at millions of cantinas throughout the city. With my door open, I am forced to hear this music. Oh, he just walked out his door holding a mug half-filled with beer...tossing garbage from his place out into the street.
My patience has ended with this place. The romanticism of living south of the border has died. I have seriously been scouting other cities to relocate to. El Paso? It's cheap, but holds too many distasteful memories. Tijuana? Same as current situation but maxxed up 100%. I've been looking over info online concerning Boulder, Colorado or Seattle, Washington. What do I want? A relatively peaceful place to call home while I write. That is all I really care for nowadays. Not like I was in earlier entries of this blog, I have mellowed out substantially.
I have been setting my eye on Tijuana, though. Seriously pondering it. Renting a place on the beach so as not to endure the 24hr madhouse of downtown. I do have some good friends who still reside there (and a couple who I do not wish to see), but overall, it sounds promising. Who knows? I'll make my decision at the end of this month. And whatever I do decide, it can't be any worse than the predicament I put myself into here. Or could it?