"i don't have water," she shrugged. "i know you're not used to it, but you can be sick in the ditch. it's the costa rican way."
sigh. i was trying to avoid the ditch. a pale, stumbling gringa is spectacle enough without the added show of puking yellow bile between her knees ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD. i made it to the ditch and became a spectacle. dammit.
i was just trying to return this book. i'd been throwing up since four a.m. and the book that was supposed to last me all day was spent. i stumbled into the shop of the kind-of-nice lady and promptly fainted. groan. okay, this is not going well. i've walked five blocks, i can't make it home this way, this lady is supremely unconcerned with me DYING on her floor. i crawled to a chair. nope. on the floor again, head between my knees. better. much better.
drip. drip. drip. yikes. am i sweating that much? i looked at the drops rolling off my nose, at my pants darkening from wetness at my knees, thighs. gotta get out of here. my head was buzzing with confusion. my eyes couldn't focus.
"here's your book," the lady said not-so-nicely. i took it and somehow, somehow stumbled out of there. i started saying a mantra, something along the lines of "home is close." the world spun at every step. i fell up the stairs and into my rented (thankfully single) room. good thing i am prepared and had a lined bucket waiting patiently.
i knew what was happening. everyone in granada had this virus, including jose luis and the baby, and i had been congratulating myself for two days on making it back to costa rica before the dreaded thing hit. now that it had, of course, i was seriously regretting leaving a comfortable family atmosphere for the backpacker trail and seen-it-all clerks. home is not close, jana. home is not close.
i feel fine now, mom. i did the right thing and stayed in bed for two days and ate only saltines and flat soda, two things you can find in abundance here.
the book was not that good, but perhaps it was the, uh, lack of focus. i switched to dickens and that helped me sleep, i guess.
drip. drip. drip. yikes. am i sweating that much? i looked at the drops rolling off my nose, at my pants darkening from wetness at my knees, thighs. gotta get out of here. my head was buzzing with confusion. my eyes couldn't focus.
"here's your book," the lady said not-so-nicely. i took it and somehow, somehow stumbled out of there. i started saying a mantra, something along the lines of "home is close." the world spun at every step. i fell up the stairs and into my rented (thankfully single) room. good thing i am prepared and had a lined bucket waiting patiently.
i knew what was happening. everyone in granada had this virus, including jose luis and the baby, and i had been congratulating myself for two days on making it back to costa rica before the dreaded thing hit. now that it had, of course, i was seriously regretting leaving a comfortable family atmosphere for the backpacker trail and seen-it-all clerks. home is not close, jana. home is not close.
i feel fine now, mom. i did the right thing and stayed in bed for two days and ate only saltines and flat soda, two things you can find in abundance here.
the book was not that good, but perhaps it was the, uh, lack of focus. i switched to dickens and that helped me sleep, i guess.
1 comment:
Condolences. I'd wondered where you'd gone off to the past few days; glad to hear you're back on your feet.
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