i don’t mean to be so linear in my description of my time here: phase two to follow phase one, to be followed by phase three, and all that jazz. but this certainly feels like the next part, or a different part. i suppose i can just say i’m in transition. things are changing. the context i arrived in is morphing into something else and i’m trying to figure out how i can morph as well so as to not be pathetic, outdated lady. nobody likes her. she’s sad faced and kind of smelly. the first friends i made here have left, the volunteer role i had is not sustainable, my first apartment was suffocating me, i have lost contact with my hometown friends and family, and my intestinal tract was trying to kill me. some folks told me much of this would happen around month three. it’s time to shake things up, and ensure it doesn’t make me vomit.
beautiful, random chance, or something else, threw lovely people my way when i arrived. i was able to adapt to this place well. being someone who is not terribly social, doesn’t intoxiparty, and finds most folks difficult to engage with, it was quite fortunate to meet these guys. i relied on them for quite some time and now i have to up my social game. and i despise organized sports. meep.
i’ve whined plenty at this point about volunteering, so i won’t delve into it too much, but… honestly, i don’t know where to put myself in that shit show. part of me just wants to get a job, watch tv, have sex, and buy shit. yeah! because now and then, i completely forget why i came here in the first place; in the in between moments, i feel ready to go back. for the first time, i’m starting to miss my city. i went on craigslist, even.
my landlord suddenly became a crazy, alcoholic, coke fiend. i think it’s coke. he could be freebasing oxycotin, which is apparently a thing. he took issue with my active sex life with my samarian, and i had to put the smack down on his paternalistic, misogynistic, xenophobic nonsense. he hasn’t looked at me straight since. his mom and grandma moved in too. grandma would randomly walk into my room and turn the lights off because she thought i’m not there. and she’d stare into my window, which was just spooky. i think she’s got a bit of the alzhies, poor thing. i moved out yesterday. i’ve now got a cute little expensive studio apartment closer to the city center with all the amenities. how very san francisco of me. i have a feeling this is not what i’m supposed to be doing. supposedly.
and now i will do the unthinkable: travel. i’m off to medellin for a minute and then wind up the coast back to santa marta. i’m hoping vacating from my vacation will trigger memories of the inspiration for my self-deportation. wish me luck. proxima estacion…