don't forsake me, mi ventilador dulce.

My hands always feel dirty here. My only conclusion is the constant muggy state of the air makes me feel like I have to wash it off of them just because... as if it were tepid sludge or floating dirt... but not air. As soon as I wash it off and my hands dry the feeling creeps back. Usually I keep the washing to a minimum to keep a healthy set of harmless germs running through my body. It creates a strong immune system and more importantly makes life in dirty places easier and keeps me lower maintenance. There are more important things to worry about than dirt, but here... my hands always feel dirty.
There's never a thin enough shirt or light enough skirt to satisfy my skins need for cooler temperatures. While I walk or sit in our room or in the courtyard sweat collects under my shirt and my pants stick to my legs... I could probably bare it all and the night would still suffocate. It's not hot here, just heavy.

Our internet is slow and makes our job here harder. We joke about this savage third world country (global south country- to be politically correct, ironically) and it's God forsaken internet. We joke because its the only thing to keep us from going crazy. I refuse to let it contain me to a sedentary lifestyle but I'm getting tired my dependancy.

nothing really happened today, thats why you get to hear my sweet nothings.