I am surprised by how much work gets done here. I think in those last moments I told myself this was not really a work place, that I didn’t really know what Coyoacan would turn out to be. But it is primarily that, a place of work. And I am surprised how much work involves sleeping and smoking and just being alone. I keep this place spare and close to my family’s home for two reasons. I need to be alone. I need to know that I am not alone.
Sometimes I wonder if I go through people quickly. There are so many people I’ve known and do not know, so many people I’m used to talking a great deal with and lately I’m not talking to a lot of those people at all. I used to condemn myself for that. In my last relationship I kept it going based on the belief—at least in part—that I needed to learn to put up with people, be more merciful. But that was a crucifixion that turned into a bending of the back and calling black white and day night. When it was over I sprang back into what I might have called being refreshingly judgmental, but was really just possessing judgment. And I do not miss him or any of the fools I’ve suffered in the name of sweetness.
I got this place and part of me thought of the company I could have, the visitors I would entertain. But I sit here, work, listen to music, read, keep my own company. I do not hand out my phone number. It is a joy to come here in the middle of the night, when the world is dark and my little light is on.
And except for God and teacups… I am alone.
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