11.23.2012 - 11.23.2012
I'm afloat. Also, miserable. As if, cast out on a boat in the middle of the ocean, a fine, cold drizzle has begun falling. It seems as though I have always felt this way, but I remember that only yesterday I was cheerful. We are sleeping in attic storage space above the hotel restaurant tonight. From the bed I have a fine view of a curtain of cobwebs in the rafters. For the privilege we pay Q100 (~$12.50), the same price we paid in Flores for that hole under the stairs. No internet here, and no free water. Oh, and no door.
I think Chris is a little taken aback by my sudden fatigue. I want to pull myself together for him, but I can't. I need to wallow for a while in self-pity, as Princess-and-the-Pea as it may seem. When I realize we only had one meal today (and some bananas) I want to laugh for no sane reason. It doesn't matter: food and rest are overrated. Soon I will climb into the mosquito net tent--a space narrower than a twin bed that I share with Chris.
I feel about ready to weep, but I can't. There's Chris, steely beside me, saying with his silence, "Well, this is how you wanted it, isn't it?" All right. I'll keep quiet.