— tapioca world tour

Archive
June, 2009 Monthly archive

petersporchApologies for breaking the self-imposed Jawbreaker/DiFranco title lyrics rule, but I’ve gone back to my undying affection for Deb Talan albums. I spent the last day in Lima getting a third sunburn and eating fish and pizza and being sad, as you can tell from this look of angst on the balcony, and not going to sleep. P. wouldn’t go to bed; instead we went out for a midnight dinner and talked about things I can’t remember. I spent the plane ride crying. I just could not stop crying on that stupid plane. It started as soon as we started moving down the runway, and it didn’t stop. Just felt like it wasn’t time to go yet. Now Boston resembles Lima with its consistent fog, and I’m trying to readjust. It’s taking longer than I expected. I’m pretty sure I left about 40% of my psyche in South America and I’m trying to figure out whether I want it back.

I’ve decided to spend the next 24 hours being angsty and depressed, and then I am going to Get Over It and FOCUS. Because there is much work to be done.

:: nothing for the blues when the sky goes grey. #debtalan

The orange air stinks
of nostalgia and wet salt.
What do we do now?

I am leaving in the morning, so… (Ani fans, can I get a holla?)

No, really though. I have another strange sunburn and my eyes are tired from trying to burn images into my memory. Like the light on the water fountain in the pool. Like the way the sky went from hazy sun to unbelievable fog. Like the traffic. Like the way P.’s house smells. Like the view from the roof. Like M.’s knife collection, knives randomly tucked between the car seats. Like the neon cross over the ocean. Like the ocean. Like the endless horizon. Etc. etc.

I am leaving in the morning. Like, dawn. I’m not sad yet, but I will be. Momentarily. And when I lose it, I will lose it BIG.

:: I might wait for you to look for me / and then I might be gone #difranco

by Rodney Jones

Nearly sunset, and time on the water
of 1984. Language its tracer.
No image like the image of language.

I had waded out about thigh deep.
Then a shout from the beach.
I held in my hand half a coconut shell

of coconut milk and 150-proof rum
and dumped it white into the waves
when it came on me how sweet it had been,

then the idea I was not finished,
then the act of reaching down
with the idea I would get it back.

Had a disturbing dream anoche, something about a man chasing me and locking me up and me swimming and trying to escape. This is what happens when you watch Smokin’ Aces before going to bed.

In more bad news, we found out today that one of the female company reps who accompanied us on our journey into the jungle (but stayed there for another week to visit internet cabins) was drugged and robbed on the night bus back. She’s still in the hospital in Huancayo, and my heart goes out to her. Two other telecom reps were injured and robbed yesterday as well, but in different cities. It makes me so grateful for the male chaperones I had on this trip, and the fact that P. drove us to the Amazon, instead having us take buses.

Sometimes I hate being a woman. And uber pale. And blonde. But what can you do? You can’t do anything about that. You just have to be smart, and pray a little.

haaa

Courtesy passiveaggressivenotes.com