I've just found a big old box of journals. Here's a page, for your pleasure.........
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20 - 1 - 8

Practically three weeks into this thing now, most of the shakes and belly-aches seem to have passed. I've cut back on the nutmeg tea, got plenty clean clothes, and any minute now my water --- a-ha! There it is, ready for my mate, Sun draping over me warm as an infant's blanket and soft, my neighbour is fixin' beans n corn yumyumyum, and her little son Dylan is changing by the half-minute from sweet wide-eyed child to growling tantrum-pitcher. Now he's out here telling me I'm on vacation.

"Porque estas tomando vacaciones?" he asks me, his toy of the instant a half-stripped ear of corn.

"No estoy en vacaciones."

"Si."

"No."

"Dije que si!!"

One of us is right. Unemployed ain't necessarily 'vacation' now, is it, but gads, the wee bugger is a mite young for such staunch realism. What the heck. I'm on vacation.

22:15

The gremlins are starting to play and swing and screech on the junglegym of my neurotransmitters. Hang it all. I've got a busy day tomorrow, off to the capital to visit the Civil
Registry for the ump-teenth time in hope of clearing up some confusion and organising a degree of legality in this cool country.

I better see if the liquor store that sells papers is still open.

~

Nope. Closed shut. 22:30, I've got more energy now than I had all day. What the pickins. There's always this room to tidy up, that was the plan...