Many Things

I don't know how I do it, but it seems to be the way things happen. For the first month of moving somewhere new, I'm usually unhappy, lonely, frustrated. And then, like clockwork, I become happy again. It's as though happiness is my natural state, and once I reach equilibrium someplace new, I become happy again. This week has been just so nice.

Our guests have been just lovely, some women from Tucson, AZ, and one elderly lady in particular who reminds me of Maude from "Harold and Maude". Yesterday some students from the University of Peace came on a field trip for their sustainable tourism class. I made friends with a few of the girls, and they invited me to visit them at the University! I'm so happy to meet people my age and have friends a close distance away. Last night I made lemon squares when the kitchen was empty, and they turned out delicious.

Windy season is here; it's dry, sunny, warm like spring, and gusty. I think I am the only person who likes the wind, but I luxuriate in it. It makes me feel totally alive and exhilarated.

I have been focusing on artistic endeavors. I painted a road sign for the hotel, spending many hours down in the basement mixing paint and thinner, making a huge mess and a very handsome sign to tell the drivers on the road not to honk. I also made a lantern lampshade for my bedroom. It was a naked lightbulb before. What I did was I boiled scrap office paper and then put it in the blender and spread it out thin on a screen to dry. Then I crumpled some other office paper and stained it in tea, the way we used to make treasure maps as kids. After letting that dry, I rubbed it with vegetable oil to make it translucent, and stored it for a few days between sheets of paper to wick out any extra oil. Once the handmade paper was dry, I folded it into four to make an open rectangular cube. I cut a window out of each side and glued the oil paper over. Last night I hung it in m room and it's soooooo beautiful! I also got a little desk for the hallway, and it has totally changed the whole house. It has a checkered table cloth and a stack of poetry books and a little blue lamp. I cut wildflowers and put them in an empty soda bottle with the top cut off. Finally, something nice! And I can write there. I am writing a short story, my first short story since I was a kid! It's going ok. But I'm reading "100 Years of Solitude" right now, and it is absolutely the most enchanting and delightful story, but it puts my writing to total shame.

I have been walking uphill from town to come into work on some days. It takes the better part of an hour, and it's way uphill. So it's a good workout, and I'm slowly meeting the people who live along the road, and the dogs are gradually beginning to get used to me and they bark less. Sometimes I stop in the Super to buy snacks for the walk up. I've been exploring their different dry cookies and plantain chips; everything is sort of gross but enjoyable just the same time.

The town has a new mayor! Mourning doves are building a nest outside my window! Mornings I don't have to work, I walk around the house in my wrap, with the doors open, eating papaya and writing.

Casper. Casper is gone from us forever. Kenny let his crazy stalker fuck buddy take care of him, and now she won't give him back or stop calling. He changed his phone number, and told her to just take the dog. It's sad, but I know that it's best because Kenny had no time for a dog. He couldn't take care of him and kept boarding him in Puriscal: he's only been at the house 2 nights all month. So goodbye Casper! You will be missed!

The bug situation is getting pretty hairy. I have to admit, my repugnance for bugs seems to grow daily. It is because there are no limits here! No boundaries! The bugs are lawless and prolific! The little ants here cover everything so indiscriminately as to be the universal texture of objects. Last night there was a scorpion in my bedroom. I tried to catch it in a water bottle but as soon as it moved I screamed and had to wake Kenny up because I couldn't sleep knowing it was in the room with me. Needless to say it was a humiliating experience that skeeved me out to the max. I can't put my hand anywhere dark or hidden because god knows what is in there. It's sort of like everything is covered with poopy slime, but invisible or small, moving poopy slime, and my bed is an island in the middle, a little safe haven in a world that belongs, most certainly, to the insects.