25 degrees and drenching humidity. I feel a bit weird today, body aware of the storm brewing. Noticing small things: ants the size of poppy seeds, a gecko on the wall, the aftertaste of papaya rind, accidentally eaten. The creeping effect of suntans, Dostoyevski's use of the word 'depravity', the absence of helmets on scooter-riders, the withdrawing droop of hibiscus petals, the piles of white coral that look like bones.
I may break down and buy an electric kettle. The tea-drinker in me is growing fractious.
My skin feels fantastic. It nearly crawled right off my body during my first few days here... but now it's adjusted and swooning. My hair is becoming rather mane-like. Gnarly and sea-blasted, colour fading - no combs, no brushes, no shampoo. Better this way. I eat a papaya every morning with plain yogurt and it's better than Swedish pancakes. I've a new addiction for San Pellegrino. The weather always demands bubbly water.
Went out for a walk. It was tinged with a dream-like quality. Someone beeped at me, then doubled back, followed me into a parking lot, to ask if I needed a ride. I didn't. The wind came up, grew fierce when I reached the beach. The water was the colour of slate and it was rough. I leaned forward into the wind and hollered to myself and the sky as I walked, hollered at the sand flying into my face, hollered at the raucous thrashing of palms. For half an hour I was a demon and it felt real good. Then I went to the grocery store and bought rice cakes. Ha. The clerk asked me, "What does this taste like? Is it good?" about the San Pell. "Sweet, right?"
Now I'm going to write more letters - I have been procrastinating about this last batch. Having trouble with my opening line to Thom York. But nevermind, it will come. It's my day off, but I think work is called for after such gluttony of pleasures.
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