I’ve been sick since Sunday night. It is miserable being sick here because:
I’m alone.
Monday I could hardly rise from my bed. (Miguel, the night guy at the posada saw me make a valiant effort to head out into the rain Monday night; he told me to go back to bed, and, though he’s not supposed to leave his post, he retrieved three bottles of Gatorade for me.)
Yesterday, thinking I was better, I went to teach in Teotitlan del Valle (I had promised to substitute teach there this week). It was a long bus ride home.
There are so many delicious things to eat here, so many little stands everywhere. I’d like a smoothie and the onion soup I saw on the corner.

I still don’t want epazote. No. Even if it might fix me, no.

But I must be getting better. I can think about food again. I’m out at a cafe (wanting coffee) having tea and, yes mom, saltines.

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