Last Week

It's been raining a lot more as of late in Kealia and Kapa'a. It has been wet and hot. The humidity doesn't do much for my hair, let me tell you. And my attitude? I'm a little bitter.

I feel like this journal is turning out to be a whiny, complaining-all-the-time, self-pitying, log of thoughts; that is not what I wanted to achieve through this. But in case I haven't shared before, I miss my other life. I miss the cities, the controlled climates, and all the comforts that come with home. I'm so thankful that I still have a place there. (I'm thankful that I have a place here as well, but I'm throwing in the soggy, sandy, towel and calling an end to it.)

My energy has been rather low these days; I try my best to be out doing something (always) so as to avoid from (always) being homesick. I go to the beach. I go walking. And I take the bus quite a bit. But even the bus is proving to be a little less exciting. It's fine, but sometimes it's a little late, and my fondness for it decreases when it leaves me waiting in the rain on the east side. And when I get on and sit down in a seat that is a little too warm and smells too much like piss... it's just not as romantic as I once saw it before.

And the beach. I like the water. But I grow tired and bored easily. I like sitting on the beach and watching people pass by, but the sun makes me cranky and rather unpleasant. It's a bind. So I feel like it's the idea of the beach that is most enticing and pleasing to me. People tell me that this tan will fade, and I take a lot of comfort in that.

I don't have internet at the shack anymore. (So I'm spending some quality time at Starbucks. There's a regular here, and he has fancier earphones than what I have. I'm blowing out my eardrums at volume level 43 and I can still hear the Starbucks radio playing overhead. Can I complain about that too?) So when I am at the shack, I'm actually finishing books, and in record time. I'm also hearing things that I'd rather not hear.

My sweltering bedroom sits on a hill. On that hill, there live countless chickens and roosters. Though now I can say that there are four or five less living down under. A majority of those chickens were taken away by an aquaintance of my grandfather's. Although, I do assume that one of those five was for dindin in the big house that night, for I was paralyzed as I sat there hearing the frantic calls and flailing and flapping of a chicken outside of that bedroom window. And then it was still.

And then it rained.