Flood

I guess the US is out of the World Cup. I'm almost glad I didn't get to see the game. I suspect the anxiety would have driven me to bite through a pillow.

God I love sweating.

At work today I spent six hours clearing 200 square meters of knee high brush and fallen trees in 80% humidity. A machete was involved. The rain cut our work blessedly short. My co-workers and I had become quite stumbly beings by the time it finally graced us with its presence and sent us fumbling, equipment in hand, to the van and air conditioning.

Exhaustion has left me contentedly blank. It's a welcome change. Jaime's death is still sinking in, of course, and the smallest routines of daily living sting with memory. But this isn't unexpected.

I had more bad news today, although nothing so horrendous. My grandpa has long suffered from severe back pain, but more recently it has become almost debilitating for him. He was found face down in a pool of his own vomit by my cousin today after overdosing on his pain medication. He's okay now. In the hospital, but he'll be fine. Apparently the woman he was living with had been encouraging him to take his oxycontin with alcohol. This is quite deadly. The family has cried foul, and my grandmother and his two daughters have rushed to the scene. I'm confident they'll put things to rights. But I worry for my grandfather. I love him dearly.

With this and other recent developments, I should be quite upset and angry. And earlier I was. But emotion requires energy, a comodity, my muscles tell me, simply not at my disposal right now. I don't feel much of anything. And that's fine by me. It's still raining and I finally get to put up my feet. Breaks are nice.