It's hard to explain how — or why — I broke down last night. I felt pressured to go out for another exploratory sortie when I would have preferred to write and relax. So I was irritated with J for his inability to just hang out in the expensive and homey suite I'd arranged for just that purpose.

As we traipsed the streets, my mood grew darker. This trip wasn't turning out like I'd planned. I wanted to be stimulated and creative, but all I was doing was cataloguing the endless stores of copycat crafts.

At least I had the presence of mind not to lash out against J even as I was silently cursing his restlessness. We checked out two stores on my "return list" for possible purchases. I looked at the sparkly arrangement of cut glass beads that tempted me the day before and couldn't get excited by them. I went back to the store that was selling some strands of old trade beads with old coins and milagros. Yes, the price tag was still $270, not a mistake as J had suggested. Too expensive. A rip off.

We tromped through the craft market and I decided it was my own brand of restlessness at work. I was looking for something and not finding it. I wanted a place and time to work creatively, but we'd become just tourists. It was better at home… as cramped and familiar as that was. I was a fool to dream of a life in San Miguel.

I told Jim I wasn't feeling well. He thought it was my cold and offered to grab a cab to get us back to our suite. I said, no, we could stop for a drink.

By the time we settled into chairs at a little bistro on the corner of the main plaza, I was so overwrought that I couldn't even begin to talk about what was bothering me. "It's a rebound effect…" I started to say about 3 times, tears streaming down my face. A margarita helped me relax. I was trying to say that I thought I was experiencing a rebound effect from having let my imagination run riot about all possible futures involving Mexico. Like a rubber band, my imagination had stretched to its limit and snapped back with a sting. Nothing's going to ever change for me. And I'll never do anything to impact the world more than I'm already doing.

Jim was sweet and sympathetic. Listened to me weep through 3 potent margaritas. I bought a pink rose from a little girl who came by our table. Then we staggered the mile or so home and I passed out in bed. Another night with no dinner.

In spite of the drink (or because of it?), the long night was restless. I pulled out my radio and found some folksy Mexican music to calm my jumbled thoughts. I dreamed of working on office space problems, then having the whole office building start trembling and falling apart in an earthquake. It was a work dream, yet the buildings and rooms in my dream had the complex and fantastic aspects of Mexican spaces. About 6 A.M. fireworks started exploding in a park west of here. The fusillades went on and on for a good hour. It's still a mystery whether the perpetrators were revelers or officials trying to scare off the great flocks of nesting egrets and night herons that have become pests.

Still, I felt better going out today. We walked over to the Instituto Allende and got a taste of the art classes they offer. The shops between there and downtown seemed a cut above the mass marketed merchandise. In one little jewelry shop, we met the owner and maker of all the interesting metal pieces. All handmade, he said, no machinery at all. I was charmed into buying a necklace and 2 pairs of earrings. Down the street at an interesting set of galleries I fell for a wacky composite necklace made of found bits of brass, horn and the cap from a water faucet labeled COLD. The shop guy said it was made in New York City in the 1960's (consigned by the owner who is now a resident here). I couldn't resist. Since I had passed up the $270 necklace, paying $400 for this one felt justifiable… and more like buying a real work of art — not Mexican, but in the playful spirit of this town.

I am writing this on my laptop ensconced in the white linens of our kingsize bed. Church bells are ringing at a typically inscrutable time (it's 4:40 P.M.). There is a brass band playing somewhere in the distance, too. A bullfight is getting under way down the street. The music may have something to do with that or it may be folks preparing for tomorrow's celebration. Tomorrow brings the annual Día de los Locos parade, commemorating St. Anthony's Day. They say it's like a mini-Mardi Gras, with everyone in wild costumes. That will be our last vision of San Miguel, since we leave for our bus ride back to Mexico City at 3 P.M. We'll stay at the airport Hilton again (path of least resistance), in preparation for Monday's slow travel (3 planes) back home.