Angels and Demons, get it. Last night I walked down the calle to our closest friends' casa. I've been avoiding them. They were there the night of the debacle even though they're not usually part of the bar crowd. Actually, pretty much every expat was there because it was a special party a friend was giving to welcome her son who had never been here before. I certainly made it memorable for him. Even if they hadn't been there they would have heard about it because this is such a small community and when you go on a two week bender someone is bound to notice and let everybody know. Even, Nancy, the Mexican girl that own the little tienda (store) across the road from us called our housekeeper, Gaby, to see if we were alright because our roll down gate had been down for two days. I'm ready to go back to the mountains where if a bear ate me nobody would notice I was gone for months. Anyway, I walked down to our friends and they gave me a big hug as I walked in their gate and asked, "How are you?" And somehow that was worse than when those other people asked. Because I knew they really cared and it's hard to know that you've caused people who care about you concern. It's hard to acknowledge that you are in need of concern. Tomorrow I'll have more friends over for dinner and I'll mix them Mojitos but I won't have any. Thursday I'll have another friend over for dinner who is going back to Canada at the end of the week. He's been down here for 3 weeks because he had surgery and I was supposed to be helping him out but I didn't. Today I'm going to a bar (I told you everything takes place in a bar down here) to meet a guy to talk about fixing the computers at the school for the kids, something I forgot I was supposed to do. I'm trying to get back those two weeks. Wrong. I can't get back those two weeks. I'm trying to make up for those two weeks. I can't do that either.
Today I'm out there doing the best I can to like the Kary of today.
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