Two adjusting gringos

Every once and a while I have to look out the high-rising windows of my downtown office, take a deep breath and say “This is my life now.” Each blue-glass building like a gate pole leading to different streets and opposite directions; steel and stucco on either side of me. I wanted this but have miles to go until I’m where I want to be. The human conundrum.

Pat is here. Finally. Which is probably why I haven’t written in 5 days. We’ve been attending baseball games and marveling in the ease of getting downtown to the stadium – “This is easier than going to the movies,” he says and with the light rail steps outside our door, I’d have to agree with him. We’ve been sitting in the corners of authentic Mexican restaurants laughing at being the only gringos, me blushing at having to pronounce things in a language I can’t speak and Pat rolling the words from his mouth as smoothly as the glass-bottle Cokes. We’ve been sunning by our pool, he ignoring the conversations I have with his younger sister about sex and me pretending I know more about relationships and men than I’m sure I do. I love his family. After 10 years, it’s been amazing to see myself mold into them.

I took this photo before Pat got here, realizing that people take photos of themselves when they are alone because no one knows how their hair is in the morning, their breath or what their face looks like while listening to music. When you’re alone, you have to document your life, even if it’s just for yourself, otherwise you might not really exist.

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