We gave the motorbike back and have nothing planned for the rest of the day. I think I might take a dip in the frothy ocean to cool off, but I've seen no one in there and have to wonder why. Is it just that "black sand" (brown, really) is less enticing? Or is there something nefarious about the waters here?
All of this is written just to distract me from the thought that I'm officially 30. Chris says I'm taking it exceptionally hard. It's just another reminder of my mortality, I guess.
I feel impatient, restless, as though waiting for something to happen. It's so still and quiet here. German Martin in Malapascua saw me writing in my journal once and said, "Ah, travel diary? Yes, I used to keep one of those. And then I realized I was spending two hours a day writing when I could have been living my life!" Suddenly apologetic, he added, "Of course, when I read through the pages later it was nice to see what I had done..." We nodded, yes yes, it's nice.
The dogs here are so naked it's almost embarrassing. The females, especially, with their swollen teats that make you think, "There're too many!" They walk languidly, as I do. Only the puppies have energy to run.
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