I'm not that easy, I am like a horse to water

I just want to start by saying that I love horses. My aunt has always had horses, I used to ride for several years when I was younger, and I've always felt an affinity for them. I really enjoy the fact that we have wild horses here on this island, and I have never complained about swerving to avoid them in the road or the mess they leave behind.

However.

Last night was late night for me. I haven't gone out much on weekends lately, but last night I met some friends for drinks and karaoke. A bunch of people from work showed up, we closed the bar, and there was an after-party involved... not perhaps the best decision, and believe me, I paid for it this morning. At one point when I was drunkenly/hung-overly stumbling between the bed and the door to open it for my dog, I noticed that one of the two gates to my yard was open. Completely unable to deal with it at that moment, and wrapped in a towel (remember - too hot for PJs), I haul my dog inside and went back to bed.

I wake up again at 12:30, wrap myself in a towel again, and am just about to let the dog out, when I remember about the gate. I go back inside to put on clothes, open my door and - horses. Five of them. In my yard. And every single one of them had shit. I chased them out of my yard, and turned to assess the damage.

The thing about my dog - really any dog I've ever known - is that given any opportunity to roll in something disgusting, she will seize it with wild abandon. And horse shit is WAY up there on her list of favorite things to smother herself in. So obviously, having it in my yard is a bad idea. I'm still hung over, it's a million degrees with a thousand percent humidity, and now I have to use the only shovel I have to pick up five enormous piles of horse shit. Awesome.

I did the best I could with the tool I had, but I missed some pieces. And now it's only a matter of time until my dog finds them and either rolls in them or enjoys them as a mid-afternoon snack... I love horses, I do, but man - they are on my shit list right now.

it's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life

So, one of the things about living on my own is that I have to deal with bugs. Anybody who has ever spent time with me knows that I do not do bugs. Not in any shape or form. I would be very happy if the entire insect population was eliminated from the earth tomorrow. So I'd like to share with you how I spent an hour of my very valuable time about a week ago.

I was just getting out of bed to get a glass of water and turn out the light, turning in a little bit earlier than usual but feeling it was a luxury well-deserved. I was walking into the kitchen, when I saw my cat, Mabel, streak past me and then freeze, staring at something well above her head. This is never good. Before I could even complete the thought "Please let it be a gecko" I turned, and an enormous palmetto bug flew over my head and into the bathroom.

For those of you who have no idea what a palmetto bug is, take a look at this. It's like a cockroach. But bigger. And it FLIES! Fuck! I hate those things!

So, being a woman, naturally I let out an ear-piercing scream. I'm not really sure how else to respond when I have a 3-inch-long living piece of nastiness in my bathroom. And then I realize that there is nobody around to kill this thing for me. I have to do this myself. Deep breath. OK.

I head into the kitchen and grab approximately 18 paper towels with the thought that I can just take a deep breath and smush it. But palmetto bugs are effing fast. And I couldn't really stop hyperventilating long enough to get that deep breath in, so smushing it was out. So I begin wracking my brain for something to slow it down. Bleach! That should do something right? I head back into the kitchen, grab my spray bottle of bathroom cleaner with bleach, a few more paper towels, and then realize that I'm standing in my trailer, with all the lights on, completely naked. I sleep naked, OK? Down here it is WAY too hot for pajamas. But I try to keep the nakedness in my trailer to a minimum after dark, because it's close to the road and you can see right in the windows. OK. Not good. So I grab the nearest towel and wrap it around myself, and then stand in the door to the bathroom armed and ready.

I peek my head into the bathroom, see the bug, take aim and start spraying. And the fucker flew right at me! Right into the spray of my bleach-laced cleaner. I stand my ground, shrieking louder with each pump of my hand on the sprayer. It flies on top of the medicine cabinet - I spray. It flies down behind the sink - I spray. It crawls up the shower curtain and over onto the other side. I lose sight of it for a second, then see one of its disgusting little feelers peeking out over the top. I spray. It disappears. I wait 30 seconds and then smack the shower curtain to flush it out. Repeat. Finally I smack the curtain and nothing happens, so I throw it back, and see this foul little insect crawling around my tiled shower, definitely moving more slowly now. With a triumphant yell of "DIE FUCKER DIE" I unleash half the spray bottle on it, until it is unable to move. Then, I drop approximately 34 paper towels on top of it, and punch it. Assuming it's crushed but too afraid to look, I grab the paper towels and run shrieking to the kitchen wastebasket. By this time I am shaking all over, barely able to hold onto the towel which is the only thing keeping me from making a complete spectacle of myself to anyone driving past.

So much for going to bed early. I am so hyped up on adrenaline at this point I think I'll never sleep. Feeling that a celebratory beer might help settle me down, I grab one from the fridge and climb back into bed. I crack open the beer, pick up my book, and look up at the enormous fan pointed straight at my bed. There, behind the whirring blades, is ANOTHER PALMETTO BUG. Staring at me. OK, now I know I can do this. But this time, I'm putting on clothes. I get up, get dressed, walk into the kitchen to get my half-empty spray bottle and 34 more paper towels. I frame myself in the doorway (very theatrical), ready to wage war again and - it's gone. Gone! Nowhere to be seen. I scan all the walls, the corners, the ceiling - nothing. Unbelievable. Now I really don't think I'll sleep. I spend half an hour sitting in bed staring at the fan, spray bottle and paper towels at the ready, before I hopefully conclude it must have gotten out the same way it got it.

I never did find it.

...and the strangest things seem suddenly routine.

My armpits are blue. I guess it's not that surprising - I wore a blue shirt to work, and it is HOT here today. And I was sweaty. If you'd told me a year ago that I'd be un-phased by blue armpits, or by any of the things that are now just a part of my daily life, I'd have told you that you were high. Like only having hot running water in my shower. Or the roosters that crow outside my window at 4:30 every morning (EVERY morning). Or the tarantulas. No - I lie. Still very much phased by the tarantulas.

I've been on the "rock" for about 8 months now. What rock, you ask? It's a little tiny island off the coast of Puerto Rico. While still technically part of the US, it is very much a different world down here at 18 degrees North. The island is somewhat remote and underdeveloped, meaning that sometimes basic necessities are hard to come by. But it is stunningly beautiful, and infinitely sunnier than my hometown of Rochester, NY. I moved here with the man I was ready to marry. Four months later I found myself homeless, with no car, and single. With the help of some truly amazing people, and the healing powers of sun and ocean, I put myself back together. Now, like the mythological phoenix, I feel reborn. I have built a life down here that is my very own. Nobody but me has a say in how I spend my time. Funny for someone who's always considered herself independent - this is the first time I am really out here on my own. And I am loving every minute of it!

But to build this life, I've had to adjust my expectations a little bit. In a land of hurricanes and concrete structures, I live in a trailer. Yes, a trailer. My office is in a trailer too, but that's a story for another time. I think this is karma; I always used to make fun of my parents for having lived in a trailer early in their marriage. And now - just call me trailer trash. I drive a 1994 Toyota Tercel, with a tape deck, crank windows and no A/C, and it cost me almost as much as what I made when I sold my 2001 Ford Focus, with power everything, back home. My internet comes through an aircard, and I have no TV. But I do have my own space, with a fenced-in yard, and lots and lots of mangoes. And best of all, I have two kitties (one brought from home, one adopted here) and a puppy (also adopted here). I'm a regular Dr. Dolittle. In a trailer.

And now that the sun is starting to creep down, and it's cooling off a little, I'm going to sit on my porch with a friend and finish a bottle of wine. An excellent way to wind down a week.