Pixie in Paradise

Since I’m writing this from a horizontal position in bed, it’s safe to assume we’ve decided not to go slow as of yet. In truth I haven’t been feeling great for the last few days and today I stayed in bed most of the time, napping off and on. It’s just some mild adjustment to an entirely new climate, lifestyle and diet; or, it’s a tiny tropical jungle virus. Either way, it can leave any time now so I can get back to my days of sun and socialization with any stranger that will stop and speak to me, which includes all of the island dogs. So far, the only dog that was on a leash was a sweet Newfoundland whose owner explained it wasn’t to keep her away from other dogs, the leash was to keep her out of the ocean or she’d be in there constantly. Dogs are all over this island, taking themselves for walks or napping under our tables and hammocks.

Having hit the ground running on day one, my body trying to get me to slow down is probably not a surprise. I even got over my decades’ long running title of “germaphobe,” and pretend germs don’t exist on this tiny overcrowded island, risking my health by buying meals at any food stand, vendor or to-go meal. It’s safe to say there is absolutely no health inspector anywhere out here making sure hands are washed and certainly no food prep gloves are worn. But, most everything is delicious. However, the Central American diet is so high in carbohydrates, grains in the form of breads, tortillas, fried bread, corn tamales, the list is endless. My body hates these and could be part of the reason I’m so achy and fatigued right now. I’m going to have to figure out when the boats of fresh produce are delivered (I think it’s Mondays or Tuesdays), find the freshest meat and seafood shops, and prepare most of our food. Rasta got spoiled the first week and a half after my arrival, while I was preparing rather tasty food options for him. I got sunburnt a few days ago and shortly after became a little under the weather and basically told him that he’s on his own until I’m back up and running. Clearly he survived before I got here and he’ll be fine fending for himself for a while.

Feeling less than 100% and not my energetic self has started making me cranky. It was already bothering me that I hadn’t taken the time to deep clean the apartment upon arrival and because I packed way more than what I should have, I also didn’t have my belongings arranged and tucked away. There just isn’t enough room in this incredibly tiny apartment. Truthfully I’d have enough space if it was one person living here. Rasta doesn’t have much, but it’s quite an adjustment getting used to not being the only human in the house and it is only fair that he gets at least a couple of the 12 drawers in the entire place. He sometimes forgets to turn lights off and close doors or windows, but it only took a couple days of not locking the front door before I scared him straight with that one. Because bugs, specifically tiny ants, are constantly all over the house, especially the kitchen table, I’m forever wiping off counters with this orange oil concentrate popular south of the U.S. Mix it with water and spray, wiping away germs and bugs. If I feel better tomorrow the whole damn apartment is going to smell like a citrus fruit salad! I even saw a huge roach two nights ago late at night as I went downstairs to get some water. That didn’t even faze me as I had huge roaches in Arizona and Pesto the cat would usually kill and sometimes eat any that dared to come into our house. 

All of the little things that didn’t bother me in the least for the last two weeks are irritating me today I think because I’m not feeling well and everything is still so new and different. Before heading to his night shift, Rasta was laying back on the couch finishing a piece of pizza. I came over to sit beside him and put my hand down on something cold and squishy. Goddamnit. It was a mushroom that fell off his pizza. Knowing how aggressive these little red ants are with food, I just about came unglued. I told him he can’t eat like that because of these bugs and I wonder if he knows just how close he came today to getting throat punched, as I am in no mood to explain how to live in a civilized house. I think he could tell by my expression though, because he promised it wouldn’t happen again. We have a lot of compromise to do and I’m so thankful that he’s very willing to listen and do better, as I hope I can be too. It also doesn’t hurt that he has a really cute face – but I’d still smack him on the forehead if I find a mushroom in the couch again!