Ah...
I'm here on a tropical island, drinking coconut juice almost every day, and sitting on my bed while my husband plays me love songs on his guitar. Jealous? You should be.
But sometimes, this being a tropical island, there are lots of bugs, the coconut juice is rancid, and my dear man is tired of playing his guitar. Then it's time to wash our clothes. By hand. Then I cook, when my man lets me (he usually cooks for us). The outlet on our 20 x 40 inch counter doesn't work, so we do our cooking on the floor until we can find an extension cord. We're planning on getting chairs as soon as we can find something that won't break after a year. In the mean time, we eat on the floor, or on our bed, which is hard because it is two bunk-beds stuck together.
And why am I happy? Because I'm with my man. Things are a little weird right now as far as living conditions go, but we're good. We're happy. We're in this together. Does that sound extraordinarily corny? Did I spell that right? Anyway, I feel like I'm living a life out of a novel. Not all roses...it's a very realistic novel, but with a surreal quality. I'm content, at last.
Until the next adventure...
