what the hell happened....

to my blogging? It's not like I've purposefully stopped, or went on hiatus, or lost interest. Time is just kinda slip sliding away. This is not the first time I've wondered how in the hell people have time to work. After my morning coffee, email catching-up, checking in on the outside world via the internets, visits from the neighbors, feeding the dogs, walking the beach, reading a book, imbibing at cocktail hour, making dinner, after all of that there is no time left in the day for blogging. How in the world will I ever squeeze in working? (Shit, and I didn't even include staring at the sea and stringing shells and trips to town.)

Briefly, here is how 2008 has started off for me: I'm having fun. There you go. After all those boo-hoos and blah-blah-blahs about how I don't fit in with the RVing life and how I hate not being coupled up, I'm actually having fun with all these coupled-up RVers. With most of them, that is. There are actually two camps of happy campers in this little RV park on the Sea of Cortez. One camp consists of mostly Canadians with a couple of U.S. couples thrown in (from New Mexico and Nevada). The other group is known as "The Californians". Oil and water, the camps do not mix. I hang with the Canadian camp but am friendly with the Californians. I strive to be neutral.

Small battles rage. The most intense is between the Giant Gringo and his neighbor the Ex-trucker. He really hates her (the fact that her name is the same as his ex-wife's doesn't help) and, as I've told him, his yelling at her and calling her names is juvenile. In that battle, I have chosen the Ex-trucker's side.

Another battle is between Boobs and Everyone Else. Upon her return from the US where she and her husband had made an emergency trip, Boobs came back, I swear, with bigger boobs. Or else the giant stick up her butt makes her boobs look bigger what with that rigid shoulders-thrown-back walk of hers. The incident that did in her acceptance in the park was when she went up to one of the Canucks who was selling handmade shell jewelry and demanded to know if she had a permit for selling the jewelry. A universal "what the fuck" went through the gathered crowd. Needless to say, I have chosen sides on that little battle, too.

But still, for me, the most fun is being in Mexico, being with the Mexicans, struggling with and laughing over language barriers. After the summer here I couldn't wait to go home-wherever-that-is. Now I feel differently. I could see making this little town my home. However, not in this trailer and not in a park overrun with gringos, but maybe in a little concrete house surrounded by an ornate wrought-iron fence, a covered porch with tile floor, ceiling fan, potted plants, and maybe with a dog, a rooster, a man. A man with money because, after all, who's got time to work?