Constant traffic, where are the tortillas?

Mexico City is always a monster. At times I've really enjoyed it: the museums, the art, the music, things you can't find anywhere else, lots of movement and extremity and the history and society, etc., etc.. But right now, I just want to be able to see the stars and moon, to walk to the market and come back with armfuls of fresh fruit and vegetables and warm, non-Maseca tortillas, to smell pine tree breezes, not traffic fumes. I want my coffee options to be more expansive than Starbucks on one street corner or Nescafe from the Oxxo on the other corner. 15 pesos an hour for internet?! 

I feel trapped by all the cement and steel. If I want to move around, I have to go under ground....rather than follow the sun or my intuition. If I want to find a friend, I have to find a phone card and a pay phone and a moment when a diesel truck isn't roaring by so that I can actually hear the conversation...rather than just strolling by a couple places I think they might be. 

Yep, I'm a gal that belongs in small towns. My first night venturing out of the house here in the Distrito Federal, I tripped on a dark sidewalk and fell down so hard that I ripped one of my only two pairs of pants, and both my knee caps, open. Ow. 

It's sort of funny to think back, though, to the first time I came to Mexico City and was convinced that no one should walk in the streets at night, ever. And now I'm not afraid to walk around the city on my own at night at all, realizing it's just as dangerous as anywhere else. Now I'm just annoyed and discouraged by all the noise and hardness and impersonality.