All Saints' Day

Yesterday was Omar’s birthday. Tomorrow, The Day of the Dead, is Álvaro’s. So today, later, the brothers will celebrate both at a big party in a rented salon with a palapa and alberca.
Yesterday, in the morning, a woman came to the house from Hacienda to advise me I owe a multa of $1243 pesos for paying my taxes late, and last night my laptop’s hard drive was making a lot of noise and acting erratically. I tried to save important files to another disk because it looks as if the computer is to be repaired or replaced imminently.
This afternoon, before the fiesta, Sra. Z. arrives home from Sinaloa, where her mother, a pleasantly sharp lady passed away during the week. Álvaro was very upset when he learned his grandmother had died, and it was very fortunate that he had gotten to spend some time with her when she visited recently. Her home is pretty far away. She impressed me because though she was in ill health, she was a great talker, and frequently laughed.
So overall, these recent days bring good things at the cost of bad.
I was advised yesterday by Marta at the school that I am on the schedule for next semester for a similar work load, which I guess I should look at positively. But lately I have felt very tired while trying to complete all the chores I must do at home.
The house is in need of a good cleaning because Á’s work schedule keeps him away most of the day and when I am here alone I spend hours in front of the computer. Perhaps this breakdown is a sign—a respite from one kind of work to take care of another, equally important, but recently neglected.
Things at Tec, on the surface, have been without incident, but I never trust still waters, especially with a personality such as Kate’s. I can’t help but feel, based on past experience, that I will soon misstep and be called on it. Still, as I told her, if she does leave after next semester, and if Paco is her replacement, I don’t think I will want to stay on.
Recently, there has been a connection being made among the English teachers from the various campuses in the Tec system, and that looks promising, but I don’t know yet what it will lead to, and this surely is not convenient to be without my computer at the moment.
As for my writing—this is one of those fallow periods (no ideas and no time) and it follows having submitted a story that was generously reviewed by the Zoetrope gang. I know it’s just temporary, but I feel an empty space when I am not working on something.
The other day I read and copied an article that said culture shock goes through four stages, and the last, when a person finally learns to feel comfortable in their new location, takes several years to achieve and some people never do. As I felt familiar with the first three stages, I’m thinking the article must be realistic, and it scares me to think I may never reach that ultimate level of assimilation. Not a total disaster for a young person who can start the process again or return home a little saddened but wiser, but I am aging rapidly. What will I do if this doesn’t work out for me?
I have been posting this while doing laundry and as I watch it starting to rain on my semi-dried clothes, I guess I have received some sort of answer to that last question. And here’s another: Why does my guiding spirit always have to be so obtuse?