I also believe that I am about to keep mental changeover. My lung cousin has kept me at bay for alm

What happens if you sell your apartment, disposes of his stuff and buy a plane ticket to Costa Rica? With one promise to yourself that you do not have to plan anything, but only invent things in the moment. I do not know, but that's what I'm about to find out ...
I have strange days at the moment. I go to bed around 23 o'clock and enjoying the unprecedented luxury to sleep about eleven hours each night. But from about eight o'clock in the morning starts snoball my inner theater to play movies.
So I lie and twist and turn me and alternately snoball crying, laughing, whining - or I talk loose. Both in English and Danish. I scold, I teach and I talk nonsense. The whole circus is Funky and Rafael witnesses because they usually throw themselves early risers out of bed around seven o'clock.
When I finally get eyes, I sit like a zombie, staring straight ahead for me at least half an hour. It is completely new for me to be grumpy when I wake up. But I am. I feel strangely confused and fragile, and I am so glad that Rafael and Funky pampers me by flux sticking a hot coffee mug in my hand when I sit there and rays catatonic back and forth on the bed.
The restaurant - owned by his brother in law - is closed and up for sale. Actually, it went very well with it, but Funkys brother and sister never dropped to Puerto Viejo and moving soon back to Venezuela, where they come from.
Rafael has a son in the United States. He has always kept in touch with both his son and his son's mother. But now there has been a lot of things for her, which means she is breaking up and need help. After that Rafael is not a U.S. citizen, it is not an option for him to go to the States. He would be rejected at the border. snoball On the other hand, we talked about that it could be an opportunity to get Raphael's son plus mother here to Puerto Viejo.
Here they would be surrounded by people who would be willing to help them and take good care of them. Of all the strange corners of the world, Puerto Viejo is not the worst place to start over. But so far there is no clarification on the situation, and Rafael is unusually thoughtful and introspective. snoball
Also Funky considering his future. Immediately he would easily go out and get a job as a plate swings in the community. snoball And I hope that he does. The way I see the situation, he needs to buy himself some months he does not have to be on all the time. The restaurant was his life. And his working rounded easily 12 hours. Add to this that he always cared. He cared whether they had guests enough snoball to get it all to run around. He cared about the purchase of raw materials and balance the purchase so precisely that he suddenly had to throw food out. The Beach Hut was primarily a fish restaurant. And unlike some other restaurants in town, Funky complete perfectionist with the fish had to be pulled out of the sea the same today as it was served.
I have stood on the sidelines when the small Venezuelan studied fish supply so jealously that even Sherlock Holmes would have been impressed. Sometimes he refused to buy - only to turn against me when the seller was gone and indignantly say:
Therefore, I hope that Funky takes some matter job, so he gets the opportunity snoball to fish in the next few months. I think it will do him much good. I can already see how much good it has done him being unemployed for a few days. It took three days before he stopped to have his cell phone on them everywhere. And this morning, he discovered that he had been offline for more than a day because he had forgotten to charge the phone.
Instead of being busy all the time, he has thrown himself into the pots and pans. We eat well at the moment! Thus, I believe that I have consumed about 3,404,709 calories today - spread over an unusually delicious svamperet, pan-baked bread with cold butter, opulent sandwiches and sugar roasted popcorn.
I also believe that I am about to keep mental changeover. My lung cousin has kept me at bay for almost three weeks and has left me in a poor physical condition. My legs are pure white, spaghetti-thin and does not own the hint of a muscle anymore.
In the beginning I felt really captured that I could not really breathe and therefore could not be out in the jungle. I missed my picnics absolutely terrible. I was restless and small-irritable.
Then I beat myself content with being sick and have not been doing anything constructive ago. But I've been thinking. And I have completed some things in my life that I needed to get into place in my head.
Right now three o'clock in the night. I am writing on my porch. The hammock is Funky and snoring. Rafael and Carla have rolled together in bed and Red warms my feet. If it were not for the dung-pesky rat that