And why not? Is it their shortness, their stony Mayan profiles, their weird range of ages in which they apparently skip from not-old-enough-to-drink to responsible-Papi with no in-between? Is it your terrible, not-even-high-school quality Spanish, that strips all nuance from meaning, causing them to kindly switch to English for your benefit? The fact that 90% of them are trying to sell you something? That you aren't clever enough to come up with a kind but firm rebuttal to "Almost free, Señora, almost free!" or that you want to punch the next silversmith or shoemaker or t-shirt-seller who asks if you're on your honeymoon? Whatever happened to the days of the Mexican divorce?
How many rainy days or too-hot days or emotional-turmoil days do you get before writing is a hobby and not a vocation (or an avocation, let's be generous)? How many days does the muse let you call in sick before you're fired?
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What are you writing this week, or what are you fighting?
