Perhaps you are thinking, “Oh, that boy has been gone so long, and no word from him yet, save a scribbled postcard”. To this delay, I can readily point at two culprits thus clearing my name and upholding my untarnished reputation as an industrious and responsible young man whose ever foremost concern is keeping his elders informed of his whereabouts, activities, and state of being, both mental and physical. The factors impeding my grace are these:
A. The much famed Mexican postal service. They are known for their extreme disorganization and high illiteracy rate among sorters. And the Oaxaca puebla postal transport has been suffering an alfalfa shortage, thus increasing resistance to service by the burros. Also it is a documented fact that the consumption of certain types of chili peppers will drive people to extreme laziness. Postal service workers are know to consume these with extreme gusto.
B. It has become very apparent to me that while eating beans and rice in a market food stall, I unwittingly consumed what I thought to be your average salsa, but much to my surprise, it contained a none to docile dose of the above mentioned peppers. Subsequently I, beyond all efforts to the contrary, have been driven to long lazy afternoons swaying in a hammock under the shady mango tree or sitting in the Zocalo on a bench, little more able than to read and watch the senoritas go by. And desire though I might I could not muster the needed motivation to work up a letter. I would struggle, but tire myself even at the thought of removing the pen cap. And so with a big sigh I’d slump down into the bench again and maybe chit-chat with the postal worker falling asleep beside me.
Of course, I ate no more such salsa and the old active self is returning, with occasional relapses. And now I’ve started a letter, and in a selfish attempt to protect dear ‘ol lethargic me I have plummeted to feeding on the most evil and vile devices of exploiting demeaning stereotypes of the Mexican way, thus giving yet more creed to my northern counterpart’s already twisted view of the people among the cactus.
There is perhaps no redemption for such a crime, as a plead of guilty is nothing once the deed is done. But what am I if not an American, ever ready to gain at another’s loss!
Tags: culprits thus clearing
, perhaps no redemption
, self is returning
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