Update time!

August 21^st, 2010 – 6:02 p.m.

I just got back from working out and I feel amazing. I upped my repetitions and time on the exercises I’ve been doing and my whole body is on fire. I also ran a few hills. I can almost do the largest one (probably 40 feet or so at a straight incline) without being  short of breath. I decided today on a few goals. When I get home, even though I’m sure I’ll at my goal weight by then, I’m going to intensify my training exponentially. I’d like to do a triathlon before I turn 23, and a marathon before I turn 25. I think those are both realistic goals. I turn 23 next May. I also have decided that with every decade older I become, I will have been to as many countries as my age. For example, when I turn 30, I would ideally like to have visited 30 countries by then.  After this year, I still only have nine though. I’d say that isn’t too bad, considering I didn’t even have my first plane ride until I was 16, and every trip I’ve ever taken has been entirely on my own dime. No help from anyone else. I’m also excited – by the time I leave here in January, I’ll be fluent in three languages. Considering I was raised only learning one, I’d count it as an accomplishment. Maybe I’m trying to justify my choice to travel instead of finishing my BA first. Somehow though, innately, I’m not concerned about it. I know I’m going to spend at least a decade in stuffy libraries and classrooms when I’m getting my MA and PhD. In those arduous yet necessary moments, I’ll have my memories  of traveling to keep me motivated. Right? That was an articulate enough justification. I’ll accept it.

I feel incredibly over-stimulated today. I read a few hundred pages of Heidegger, Zizek, and Duformantelle. I also completed two Yale lectures from an open course on literary theory and hermeneutics. I’m so glad I downloaded it before I left. Listening to a lecture and taking notes is a nice break from so much text. I feel ravenous and cannibalistic about the knowledge I’m acquiring. Many of the minds I’ve been delving into – Heidegger, Nietzsche, Spinoza, Kierkegaard, Levinas, Lacan, Derrida, Foucault – they require an extensive preamble and background in order to understand them. At least, that’s what my “professor” said. Haha. I laughed when I heard that in the lecture. This is a graduate course at an ivy league school, and I’m already familiar with a majority of the material from my own personal studies. Somehow, I’m skipping all of the background. I have gone directly to most of the texts with little or no peripheral information.  I’m diving straight in and just chewing on it, bite by bite, forcing myself to acquire a taste for it. I will be honest – it’s incredibly difficult to digest at first. I have to force myself to masticate and swallow over and over again – I’m sure there are many morsels that remain untouched. It is liberating, however, to be completely free from the interpretations of other thinkers. My thoughts may not be as developed or as sophisticated as theirs, but I’m learning fast. I’m jumping in the deep end instead of first learning how to tread water. Wow. Too many metaphors. Well, I shouldn’t be apologetic. I guess language itself is fundamentally metaphorical; it is argued that man can never go beyond an entirely metaphoric description of the world. I’m learning slowly that I am not a nominalist – I have a hard time believing that words correspond precisely to sensations. If that were true, they would constitute the only foundation for knowledge. Maybe I’m channeling Wittgenstein right now, but I would sooner believe that concepts are the best metaphors for what is perceived by the senses.  I don’t mean to be pretentious. I made a promise to myself early on (that I have clearly broken) that I would refrain from too many philosophical speculations in this blog. I can’t help it – philosophy has incited a hunger in me that moves along an unknown horizon – one that is entirely mediated by the limits of language and the limits of philosophy’s own ability interrogate language. Therefore, since this I am conveying these thoughts using language, my tangential diarrhea is completely relevant.

Also: I’ve rediscovered how much I love broccoli. Probably the best snack ever.

August 22, 2010 – 8:30 a.m.

I was self indulgent this morning and slept in until 5:23. Hahaha. Oscar won’t let me sleep past 5:30 though. His shrieks increase in frequency and volume until he sees me approaching with his food. Then, like the alpha male cock that he is, he pushes all the hens out of the way and proceeds to chomp on the grain ravenously. It’s really humorous. They don’t even put up a fight, They just wait until he’s done to eat. It’s actually kind of sad.

I’m incredibly sore today from my workout yesterday. I think I might actually be developing some upper body strength. My core is achy too, which is good. I don’t want to be just a pair of legs supporting a formless blob.

The neighbors invited me to their house this morning at 9 – I guess today is mother’s day in Costa Rica. Anyway, I guess they’re having beer and lots of food and stuff. I wanted to go, but for some reason I just felt like staying at the farm today. I don’t want to sabotage myself: I’ve been doing so well, and I know I’ll probably just go crazy and make myself sick with alcohol and bad food. Instead, I stayed here, went for a run before it got too hot, and spent awhile making a delicious scramble with fresh vegetables. I sautéed some garlic, then added onion and broccoli. Next: eggs, crushed red pepper, and diced tomatoes on top coupled with an inhuman amount of Tabasco sauce. Since it’s Sunday, I kept the yolks in. I know, I’m living on the edge taking a day off from my egg whites. Regardless, it was DELICIOUS. I am so spoiled being able to have all of these organic vegetables at my disposal. Even if I have to purchase vegetables in town, they are all wholesome and pesticide free. I guess it’s (almost) a fair trade off for having to defecate in a bucket.

August 23, 2010 – 5:41 p.m.

I think I’ve gotten over the largest chunk of my homesickness. I feel so in my element here. I am inexorably happy. I’ve never been in better shape; never had a clearer head. The climate is perfect. At night, the rain cools the earth and air and it sooths me to sleep. It’s so placid. Muy tranquilo. Another raging dichotomy that makes life better: It is sunny and bright and hot during the day – humid and scorching. I always break a sweat outside when I’m working. My clothes get soaked through. It’s an amazing sensation. I can feel my muscles getting stronger. My endurance is better than it has ever been. I’m becoming the person I’ve always dreamed of being – the difference is that now, I’m actually making it happen. I’ve also never felt smarter. I’ve been spending four or five hours a day reading. It’s so addicting. Even though I don’t really watch television, I was regretting at first not downloading any movies or shows on my computer. Now, after I got over the initial shock of reading so much, I don’t regret it in the least. Six months with no visual distractions. The only distractions I’m really allowing myself are facebook and email. I check both of those a couple times a day. That’s another reason why it’s easier to be this far from home – those media of communication make me feel closer to people. It’s nice being able to remain in your lives in some way – even if it is minute, digital, and insignificant. It is the minutiae of life that end up comprising the significant things after all. Most of all, though, I’ve been overwhelmed by the positive responses I’ve received regarding my blog. I’ve been getting many emails, comments, and messages encouraging me to keep writing. You guys have no idea how much easier that has made my transition to living here. It also helped Liz a lot when she first got here – the network of support that came together for her at a tough time made all the difference. So thank you for the astonishing 100+hits a day. It means more than you realize.

Now, back to my feral-childlike narcissism (yes, I am going to come back unable to speak ANYTHING and looking like I was raised by wolves – yet I’ll still find a way to be relentlessly pretentious). I am definitely on my way to confronting all of my fears and becoming a modern day renaissance woman. I am slowly getting over my fear of small heights. See, I’m not afraid of sky scrapers, plane rides, canyons, etc… it’s ladders, ledges, 10 foot drops that get me every time. They basically catalyze this weird kind of vertigo within me and I can’t move. It’s one of my only really tangible fears, but its debilitating; especially since I like adventuring so much. I think it’s because I’ve spent so many years of my life being chronically uncoordinated and clumsy. I can’t even roller skate because I’m so afraid of falling. My friend Eryn has seen it. That was one of the worst nights of my life. I will never consider playing roller derby again, even when I’m not gigantic. Anyway, to combat this fear, I have been scaling the sides of steep hills and climbing trees. It’s terrifying for several reasons. One, I don’t always know how strong the branches are. Even though I’m not two bills anymore, I’m still not the most waif-like creature in the world. Two, if I fall and get hurt, I’m already a good distance away from any means of contacting anyone for help. The farm house is a good four or five acres away from the orchard in which I’ve been adventuring (it’s still on our land…this place is almost 50 acres. Imagine that, Southern Californians, a lot that is more than a concrete patio and a flower box). Also, even if I were to traverse back to the house with a broken something, there is no emergency dispatch anything that could make its way up here. Thank god for the neighbors. I know I’m going to have some ridiculous emergency at some point, and it will probably really embarrassing. Not badass at all. No, not a snake bite. Nope, not a machete wound either. Yeah, I don’t want to be the one who got my hand stuck in the peanut butter jar in Costa Rica and had to go to the emergency room on horseback. Let’s just pray to the God I don’t believe in that nothing of the sort will happen, and I’ll keep reading Nietzsche until I am smote down.

Now I’m listening to Serbian gypsy music and making myself a cocktail. Before you judge me, I need to soothe my sore muscles. I have to stay hydrated! I’ll be honest, life doesn’t get much better.

August 24, 2010 – 2:22 p.m.

I will never tire of this downpour. I’m getting to the point where I can read Heidegger at normal speed and understand his inversions and cryptic turns of phrase almost immediately. I still don’t know Spanish.  My priorities have never been set straight. I don’t feel like writing much. I’m in more of a reading mood.

I’m really upset that I finished the scotch. Now – back to confronting the Nothing in the face of my metaphysical anxiety.

4:12 p.m.

Went for a run in the rain. Then, since I was still wet, I put on my bathing suit top and rubber boots. I  went outside for an epic walk around the farm and through the foliage in my underwear. It was amazing. I forgot about everything. There are no expectations here – unless I build them myself.

Also: I have 38 bug bites, nearly half of which are on my hands. This is impressive considering the amount of time I spend naked here.

August 25, 2010 – 2:14 p.m.

Well, I had my first near death experience today. Ironically, nothing else makes you appreciate life more. So, I woke up at the same time I always do. I fed the chickens, got dressed, fed the cat. (Yes, I got dressed AFTER I fed the chickens. I don’t want to begin to count the times I’ve gone out there in my underwear). So, I decided (unintelligently!) to wear a flannel OVER my long sleeved shirt and long pants (which were tucked into my boots). I basically built an oven of heat around myself.  My reasoning was since the flannel had a hood, I would be preventing bug bites /unwanted friends nesting in my hair. I was planning on leveling a particularly treacherous foliage-ridden area; I didn’t want to come back with acres of bug bites. I also wore gloves. Keep in mind, in the morning here before the sun rises it’s pretty chilly. This changed quickly. Oh, for clarification, “leveling” is when you take a machete and hack all of the weeds/plants/trees etc growing in a specific area.  It’s basically weeding on steroids, but you’re the weed whacker. My target today was a few acres large and also a decent walk away from the farm. So, I grabbed my machete and trotted off. I went through the papaya grove, down a winding path, into the hills of horse pasture, trudged slowly down those (They’re REALLY steep!), under the barbed wire fence, across the stream, down another hill, and I was there. I worked heartily for about an hour and a half. Then, the sun rose. I started getting really exhausted and sweaty, more so than usual. There is normally a certain degree of exhaustion and sweat that is catalyzed by work like this, but it’s never unbearable. I mean, it’s never easy, but it’s good for me. This was different. I was getting incredibly light headed, and my vision started blurring. I somehow didn’t make the connection that I was covered in layers and that I wasn’t getting any oxygen or air circulation. So, I decided I should probably head back. I walked up the hill, was feeling more winded than normal, I crossed the river and shimmied under the barbed wire fence. Then, upon standing up, that’s where it hit me. Everything started spinning and I couldn’t breathe. I literally could hear my heart beating in my ear drums, and I felt it slow down right before I passed out. That is the last thing I remember before going unconscious. A little while later I roused back into consciousness. I knew immediately where I was, but I had no concept of how much time had passed. The sun didn’t look too much higher in the sky, so based on my estimation it was probably only about 20 or 25 minutes. I tried to sit up and was immediately overwhelmed by nausea and dizziness. I laid down again. I kept fighting myself over and over until finally I told myself that I was going to lay there for five minutes and catch my breath. I removed my sweatshirt and my long sleeved shirt. This helped immediately. I evened my breathing, and sat up. It was much easier this time. When I tried to stand, however, my vision went completely blurred and I could barely make out lights and darks, let alone shapes. I fell back to the ground. I have never felt so powerless as I did at that moment. I was at the bottom of an incredibly steep hill, a good 30 or 40 minute hike back up under normal circumstances. It seemed impossible. I knew that one of the workers might find me tomorrow or the next day if I didn’t make it back, but I didn’t know how long I would last there. I evened my breathing again. I wouldn’t let that be a possibility. I started climbing. I forced myself up with my hands and arms, clawing and pulling at roots and thick weeds – anything that would give me leverage to pull myself up. It was absolutely exhausting. My legs had little strength left in them. Every time I tried to get solid footing, they would slip and I’d slide back a few feet, undoing my progress. I eventually developed a rhythm. I’d climb for six minutes and rest my head for three. I used my clothes as support for my head and I tried to stay in the shade whenever possible. When I finally made it back up to the trail that led to the papaya grove, I forced myself up only to collapse three steps later. I then waited five minutes, and forced myself up again. I didn’t stop until I reached the house. I stumbled inside, stripped off my clothes. I then went to the fridge, grabbed the cold filtered water I had just filled that morning (luckily!) and downed it. I passed out in my bed after that. I was pretty incoherent for the next 45 minutes or so, but I kept forcing myself to drink water. After that, I felt almost normal. My head still hurts a little and I feel groggy, but I know I’ll be fine. I’ve been drinking water like it’s scotch.

Anyway, I learned the following lessons:

I’m never layering like that again. Ever. Let my flesh be a smorgasbord for mosquitoes, I don’t care. The discomfort and itching pales in comparison to passing out in cow manure.

I’m not going to go that far away from the farm when it’s only me here. Luckily Liz comes back in two days (YAY) and we have walkie talkies, so I can give her my coordinates next time I do something stupid and she will rescue me.

If I had an early dinner the night before, I HAVE to eat something before I go out to work. I ate my last meal at 5 p.m. the day before and went to bed at 8. That is way too much time between meals. Normally my meals are pretty steady. I’ll work for a few hours in the morning, eat breakfast, and then work some more before lunch. But in this scenario, I’m sure my low blood sugar didn’t help the situation.

Lastly: aside from my stupidity, I’m a badass. I have a lot more faith in myself now knowing that I could get into a life-threatening situation and get myself out of it based on sheer will. I can’t believe I maintained such a cool head through that whole thing. Even when it was hard to breathe, I didn’t hyperventilate. Most of all, I was patient. I have never seen myself as a patient person, but I guess I’m learning.

“I admit my limitations – but I’m not going to accept them.”

4:19 p.m.

The electricity is out and a storm is coming. Awesome. Today is just not my day. Power outages here are pretty frequent though. The Costa Rican government controls all of the electricity, phone service, etc… and if it’s being used too much in a certain region, they’ll just shut it off. I have never had it last this long though. Oh. Spoke too soon. There it is.

6:49 p.m.

So, all of the lights work, but none of the outlets are functioning (except for the one connected to the fridge – luckily – or I would have a bug infestation in a matter of hours…maybe even minutes.) I hope it’s just a breaker I need to flip or something. I really don’t want to have to screw with the electrical stuff myself. Luckily my computer has a 10 hour battery life, and I can charge the cell phone via the USB port on my computer. Technology really is my crutch. Someday, I will try this again, but with NOTHING. Although, to be fair, I’ve really only used my computer for music and writing. Okay, and playing Heroes of Might and Magic once in awhile. I probably would go insane (even more so) without music. It makes the difference between me enjoying being alone and me hating it. I play Frank Sinatra and Edith Piaf in the kitchen while I’m cooking. I have a 20s music playlist for when I’m drinking scotch. This one includes Gershwin, Duke Ellington, Fanny Brice, and Johnny Hamp’s Kentucky Serenade among others.  I have tango music and Chopin for when I’m dining. Radiohead for when I’m writing. The Avett Brothers, Bon Iver, The National, and Bright Eyes for when I’m feeling nostalgic and homesick. Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash for when I’m sharpening my machetes and cleaning my boots. I even have tribal music for when I’m falling asleep. It really fits here.

8:23 p.m.

I’m using that old trick from my childhood to see how close the storm is. The lightning flashes – I start counting (as I use my fingers out of habit – out of necessity) One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Each Mississippi until I hear the thunder, that’s one mile.

The boisterous rumbling shakes my shack and I’m two and a half Mississippis away from torrential downpour.

And now, I wait.

 It doesn’t matter that night has fallen – the ensemble of wildlife never ceases to perform.  Even in the midst of the thunderstorm, it continues. It’s almost like an accompaniment. Right now – I can hear the macaws and crickets and cicadas preparing their symphony – an orchestra warming up in their pit below the stage. The strings are being tuned, they’re growing warmer and brighter as the thunder approaches. Major scales. Arpeggios. Etudes. They are becoming ready for their grand show – their permanent bill. Their majestic duet with skies.

And then – as a spectator – a patron of the arts – I settle myself in the front row. I cuddle under my blanket with bated breath as the curtains are drawn.

Good night.

August 26, 2010 – 6:39 p.m.

The rain is intense again tonight. I’m so glad today is my last day alone here. It’s starting to wear on me in the wrong way. Liz comes back tomorrow. It already feels like I’ve been here a thousand lifetimes over and my real adventures have yet to begin.

The last statement, however, seems somewhat like a hasty generalization. It’s like Baudrillard’s notion of “real” life – how individuals spend their lives preparing for what comes after college – when in reality, they were living their “real” life from the very beginning. I should try to focus entirely on the moment, and savor every sensory detail around me. The rain hitting the tin roof, the animals singing, the wooden walls creaking in the wind… I can’t. I only claim to be an existentialist. I think it’s impossible to truly live in that manner – as Meursault does. Maybe it’s that I’m never satisfied. I know there will be times where I look upon this moment and long for the absolute insularity of it. I don’t want it right now. I want to be in a room full of my best friends having drinks and shooting the shit. I want to be at my old job making lattes and not working as hard as I should be. I want to be sitting outside Peet’s UCI with Monique and Farah and the whole gang smoking hookah and sharing gossip. I love how our “gossip” always turned to politics or philosophy related discourse. I learned more from talking with those two than I could learn in hundreds of class sessions. My friends are far smarter than me – and for that, I am grateful. I want to be drunk with Amber off cheap whiskey after we’ve snuck into a movie at the District – even if I have to spend four hours holding her hair before my open the next morning. I want to be in Salt Lake City with my older sister walking through temple square on our way to downtown – appreciating the irony of using an LDS causeway to lead us to bars. I want to be with my little sister in Laguna overlooking the beach and listening to music. I want to be sitting at the table with my mother and asking her hundreds of questions about her life – about who she was before I knew her. I want to be telling her how much I love her. I want to be sipping on some Yin Hao Jasmine with Kelly as we argue about Gadamer. Looking back on everything, I’ve had such a full life. I’ve made many close friends, been to many places, done many things. I guess this is how I find fulfillment. I have to put myself through a lot of discomfort first. I have to force myself away from these things in order to appreciate them. The worst part is I know the home I left won’t be the home to which I return. Existence is revision. I am not who I was when I started writing this, and when this sentence is over, I’ll be someone different again. A different version of myself. Anyway.

Because of my stupidity yesterday I took it pretty easy today. I didn’t do any extra work, and I didn’t exercise. I feel like such a blob. This is the first day I haven’t worked out since I’ve been here. One day off, and it has really impacted my mood. As miserable as I feel right now, I can’t over-exert myself because I know I’ll end up causing irreparable damage. Yesterday really shocked me into being more responsible.

I don’t really know what is happening to me. I am developing excruciatingly high standards for myself. I hope it’s a good thing. I’m concerned that it isn’t.

I just stepped outside to put the chickens in for the night. I keep waiting until after the sun sets. It’s a horrible habit. Snakes like to hang out around the chicken coop for obvious reasons. In the dark, every branch becomes a pit viper and every firefly becomes a reflection of slithering scales. I wanted to get it over with so badly that I just went out in boots and a poncho. That’s it. I took a shower earlier, and I feel like I’m just going to be dirty again if I get dressed. God, I haven’t even been here a month and I’m already demolishing whatever sense of social grace I had. After six months, I am going to be a female sasquatch (minus the copious amounts of body hair – I’ll have some intensely matted and untamed peach fuzz).

I put Jeff Buckley on and now I have the urge to fill hundreds of blank pages. It’s my own minute attempt at immortality – hoping that someday someone will read my nonsensical ramblings and it will ease their anxiety a little bit. Or they will learn something. Maybe they’ll laugh, or just simply smile. It’s the least I can do – the greatest homage I can pay to the authors who have changed my life. I am saying all this, and I want to study literary theory, which centers around the notion of the death of the author. (Barthes and Foucault both developed this idea in different ways). I don’t know, I suppose I am defined only by my foundation of contradictory juxtapositions.

Here’s a disgusting non-sequitur: I just saw a fat mosquito nesting on my right hand. I waited until it punctured me and began sucking my blood. Then, I took the skin around where it was inserted, and squeezed and pinched. The pressure caused it to explode everywhere. I wiped it off, and continued writing. I don’t know what this says about my mental state. I also went outside to answer a phone call earlier (from my sister Natalie!) and was greeted by a spider the size of my fist. Nothing. No reaction from me. I am becoming completely unfazed by these creatures.  I wish I could know how many bugs I will unintentionally ingest throughout the duration of my time here. I’m sure it will be in the thousands. That thought is kind of disgusting, but mostly awesome. I never thought I’d be okay with roughing it like this. I feel free. I have regressed into a personal “state of nature,” as it were. Well, as much as a theoretical notion is possible realistically.

I have rambled enough for tonight. I think it’s time for bed. Hopefully I can go into town tomorrow so I can empty this steaming bucket, if you catch my metaphor.

August 27^th, 2010 – 9:03 a.m.

I got woken up last night at 2 a.m. to a scorpion scratching its way across my face. It was one of the least  pleasant experiences I’ve had, ever. I flung it across the room, crawled to the corner of my bed, and debated whether or not I should get up to turn the light on. Finally, I grabbed a shirt I had close by, laid it on the floor (to protect my feet!) and jumped to the light switch. I shook out my sheets, blanket, pillow, clothes, everything. I even looked under the bed. It was nowhere to be found, dead or alive. Bastard. After some helpful advice from a few friends, I discovered that cats love killing scorpions and lavender deters them. So, I am definitely letting the cat in my room now. Behold:

 Vida, the scorpion slayer! This cat is awesome. He is so cute and has a whole array of expressive little noises. He follows me everywhere I go on the farm and will walk figure eights around my legs. He also loves sitting on my lap and clawing at my books while I’m trying to read. Too adorable for words. Although he may appear benevolent, however, he has a malicious streak. He often climbs trees and kills birds just for fun. He eats bugs constantly. He basically thinks that he’s a cougar or something. I guess he does live in the jungle…

I hate that I’m becoming a cat person. I’m still allergic. Just another way to be masochistic, I guess.