Food for thought
I can remember thinking to myself recently "this is what it means to be an adult" while I consumed half a bag of tortillas and salsa to pass the ten minutes of lull I had waiting for a friend to come pick me up for dinner.
This week again, "This life on your own, as a big grown up girl: dipping the knife into the jam jar right after spreading the peanut butter- without
washing it first."
Last night: "This is life in community" as I came home, dropped my bag in my room and hacked my way around the banana leaves to Nicole's house where friends were just serving up dinner.
This morning: "This is absurd.
" I am pretty sure I know of NGO's that could buy more food than the WFP.
The New Digs: Not a bad scene...
I moved yesterday. In about twenty minutes. To what I have christened the "German Gungle." Three big houses owned by ex-pat Germans and three little casitas, inhabited by one central american couple, a german-nica couple and then me, right in the middle. Incidentally, the place is a lush tropical garden hideaway. Infested with lush tropical bugs. I nearly died this morning from a heart attack when a centipede dropped out of the towel I had been holding for five minutes. They are, ahem, poisonous. It took me five minutes of running-shoe smashing, heavy watering and the final finesse being a good spritz of raid to kill the thing (even when 80 % of his body was shmushed irrevocably into the stainless steel side, his head was still moving... ominous indeed), but I did it. And I did not cry. I wanted to, but I did not. I did yelp.
Yes, I am a merciless insect killer. Sometimes I wonder if its necessary- before I knew what they were that that they were poisonous, I killed them because they were ugly. Don't judge me, in the words of Jack Nicholson from a Few Good Men: "I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it."
They really should offer training for this sort of thing upon entrance to these countries. Monday morning I woke up with a worm in my bed. It was harmless, but of course I have heard horror stories about long writhing worms that do not die and are creatures of malicious peril and imminent danger. So that one had to go too. I showed it to Santiago after, and of course, was reassured that it was not the cien-pie I had been fearing and was just days away from finally facing.
How was I supposed to know that you could actually SEE the feet of a centipede?
So, why do I share this with you dear reader? Because as I don't want you to fall into temptation of covetousness and envy. Yes, I live in a lush tropical paradise with mango, jocote and banana trees- that large one might very well be avocado- but this is only for the strong, the brave.
I will, ahem, be investing in more screens and raid tonight. No harm in preparing...