Today is … day 5?? of complete isolation. Day 2, however, of sunshine. Yes, sweet, sweet sunshine. Some clouds, stinking hot, but sun, sun, sun. My hair has dried out, my bed has dried out, and my clothes are sweaty once again. There’s no happy medium here but I’ll gladly take the blistering, melt my face heat over the days of drizzle and downpours, thank you very much.
Our final of the only two guests over the past two weeks departed, I think quite happily, the morning of the 1st of May and it has been me, Mac, and Dave (the new, 40-something English dive shop manager who arrived about one month ago) since then. 3 of us. That’s it. Neither Mac nor Dave are the chattiest of fellows once the initial hellos and how are yous have been said, (you know how you always seem to have something to say to your friends but can’t be bothered to talk to your family?) so I have very quickly become annoying Annie as I bounce from lad to lad, trying to engage either of them in the smallest amount of conversation. Initially I would get a sigh or an obligatory one word answer but it has deteriorated to shut ups, please fuck offs, and finally, avoiding me completely. Completely. When we do come together to eat lunch and dinner, the conversation takes one of two avenues… the current state of English football (soccer) or tales of their cocaine fuelled benders from pre-Pemba lives and their plotting and giggling like school boys with a stolen porn mag as to how they can score some “bugle” and “percy” here knowing full well that I have nothing to contribute to either conversation or experience. They do take pity on me from time to time, noting when I’ve been exceptionally quiet for stretches, and throwing me a bone with a question or two to invite a bit of chat, but I’m careful not to take it too far. This, is what my social life has been reduced to.
My feelings aren’t the least bit hurt (well… okay… maybe a little) as it’s not like they’re hanging out with each other, palling it up and slapping shoulders as boys do. They are either holed up in their rooms or in random isolated corners of the plot avoiding everything in general. I am quickly going out of my mind. And it has only been five days. I’ve read hmmm… 3 ½ books, continued with my teaching, done laundry when it didn’t need to be done or had no possibility of drying, and thought way, way, WAY too much. Oh. Did I tell you that for all five of these days, our internet has not worked? No internet. At all. Completely shut off from everything. Everything. EVERTHING! Yes, I know, I know, for those of you up to your eyeballs in work and stress I’m sure it sounds like the absolute ideal, but when isolation is not self-imposed, it quickly becomes alarmingly constricting. Alarmingly. I have reached that stage.
Rumour has it that two unexpected guests may arrive this afternoon and four more are scheduled to arrive in two days. I have a very sad feeling that one or both of those rumours will fail to materialize. So I sit, and I wait, and I continue to feel very, very stuck. I can’t look for work, hell, I haven’t even handed in my notice yet as we’ve had no internet, I can’t email home or creep out facebook or try to figure out what on earth I’m going to do once I leave this place. And that’s supposed to be really soon! I’m pretty torn at this point. I’m desperate to get out of here but I think I’ve more or less convinced myself that I can’t go to Mozambique, there’s just no way that I can see that working. I haven’t told Brendan yet. At this point, our texts still have the “you’ll love it here” and “when I’m there” tones to them, but I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I just don’t see any way to make it happen. Can you imagine? Here I sit, biding my time, as he continues his fabulous journey down the coast in search of work. He sends message once he’s found something, I start my own fabulous journey, following a somewhat similar trail, and hope beyond hope that I’ll be able to sweet talk someone, anyone, near where he has secured work, that I’m equally employable. And then what? What if there’s no work? What if there’s nothing at all? I drain out the rest of my meager savings in hopes of seeing him when he has a day off then after some time, we can move on to the next leg of our journey together? Ummm… yeah, right. He tells me I think too much, he tells me that I just need to go with it and it will work out; it did in Asia, it will here, but I don’t think I have that strength left anymore. Too practical, too old, too cynical to believe in his romance. Trust in my universe, I keep telling myself to trust in my universe, but what if all of the hesitation and humming and hawing that I’m experiencing IS my universe telling me that I’ve had my adventures, I’ve lived less than some but more than others, and it’s time to just sort it all out?? What if it’s time to bow out gracefully before I crash and burn? I feel like I may be getting close to that crash and burn.
***sigh*** welcome to my melodramatic cabin fever dronings. This is what happens when I have too much time on my hands. Ramble, ramble, ramble. Be patient, hang in there, guaranteed that I’ll be back to happily planning my trip to Mozambique and Brendan by this time tomorrow. Guaranteed. Isn’t this SO much more interesting than me painting pretty, glossy pictures of palm trees and sandy beaches with frilly cocktails in hand?! Life… good times, good times.
P.S. not sure why my blog automatically marks my entries as having “explicit content”?? I WISH I had explicit content to share!
P.P.S. At the time of this posting, the hurricane like winds and torrential downpours have returned with a fury to show the sun who’s boss. Damnit.
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