A Day of Writing

I woke up at dawn today, something extraordinarily rare for me. I was on the bus coming back to Rio, a 16-hour ride across three states, and the sun's first rays flooded through the window right into my eyes. Despite being groggy and thirsty, I was actually glad to be awake. I have been itching to write uninterrupted for the last several days, and already my mind was spinning with words.

Jenna gave me this great little notebook before she left last week and I've been carrying it around everywhere inside my purse or pocket. It's strange writing on small, lined paper after so many years journaling on blank pages in larger books, but the immediacy of it is quite appealing. I pulled out the little notebook and started to write, struggling against the bumps and shakes of the ill-maintained Dutra highway.

It's now 11pm and I've been writing nearly nonstop since I woke up on the bus. The words just keep pouring out of me, and I have to switch between my laptop and handwritten pages so that my pseudo-Carpal Tunnel problems don't return. When I'm grantwriting and on the computer all day, my forearms start to ache and the tendons in my wrist feel tight, as if they were stale rubber bands ready to snap. I've found that by switching between the keyboard and a pen I can stave off the problems for several hours. I wrote e-mails before lunch, then updated my blog and moved onto some short essay-type compositions about the concept of "home".

I feel weird today, both physically and mentally. I got a killer cold when I first arrived in Rio that mostly affected my throat and lungs. Then it migrated to my head and turned into a snot-propelled ear infection. I had to get out the antibiotics I brought along in my medical kit, before I even made it to Africa. Right now the pain of the ear infection is gone and I can breath through my nose again, but my right ear still isn't normal. The air conditioning in the bus made it slightly worse, and I feel as if my head were inside a fishtank. In addition, the inside tendon in my left knee feels *very* abnormal. I feel like if I take a step too quickly it will, in fact, snap right in half and I'll collapse onto the ground. My knee hurts and feels tight. Probably from sitting all night on the bus, then continuing the stationary trend all day while writing. Maybe I'll take a walk tomorrow and see if it loosens up.

I feel lonely and unsettled and antisocial. I don't feel like hanging out with my friends at the bar they invited me to. All I want to do is read and write and listen to music. Maybe lean over the verandah and look at the street every so often, feeling the cool breeze that always blows on top of the hill.

I ate too many brigadeiros tonight and spoiled my dinner. Beth made them this afternoon, and they are probably the last thing I should have stocked up in the fridge right now. Brigadeiros are little balls of condensed milk boiled with chocolate, then coated in chocolate sprinkles. They taste just like caramel, and those of you who know my preferences in desserts know that is one of my weaknesses. I've never been much of a chocolate person (crazy, I know), but put some toffee or dulce de leche in front of me and it's all over. Feeling slightly depressed and having a tray full of sweets in the kitchen is NOT A GOOD COMBINATION.

Yeah, I'll just go for a walk tomorrow morning. That will fix everything: my tight knee, the extra brigadeiros, and my reclusive tendencies.