Being a non-hippy in hippy land is a strange thing. Actually, I should have thought about it more, but I had no idea that Guatemala would be filled with hostels where Australians and Americans and Germans in their 20s treat themselves to extended vacations. What do they do all day? None of them is reading, happy hour doesn't start until 5, and they all wake up around 8 or 9. I was barely able to make it one day after a nearly-all-nighter two nights before: I had to go for a walk, I wrote a blog post, I read 50 pages.
But the thing is, hippies are so nice. I was just down at the local waterfront cafe/bar/restaurant/hostel for two hours, drinking tea and juice and filled with a wonderful sense of purpose as I entered 30 paper charts into an electronic medical record, when I found myself drawn into the conversation behind me about hiking out to waterfalls. I just wanted to hang. I too want to discuss the waste that goes into producing a gallon of gasoline. But tomorrow, tomorrow I will hang. And Saturday we will all go hiking.
The good thing is, I come from a proud line of hippies with a purpose, or non-hippies who like hanging with hippies, or hippies who managed to get their school work done. No wonder I feel so comfortable.
Tonight's dinner, because I can't stand eating out when I can cook at home: sauteed green beans and zucchini, black beans and rice with an egg, white wine. Today I gave my first injection! Piece of cake. And now watching a magnificent thunderstorm on the other side of the lake, with enormous bolts of lighting and flashes that light up the whole lake.
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