I was eating one night and a guy named Abdelmajid came and sat next to me. He said something about us being brothers, as opposed to the people outside of this little dining room in which we were seated, and so he could talk frankly with me. And did he talk. He gestured wildly in his speech; his voice, its pitch, volume, and origin within his body, modulated just as forcefully. The light on him and the shadow projected onto the wall, a wall covered in a pattern in which I cannot help but see a row of mexican wrestlers or ninjas, by the single candle threw me into a mild revery; it was as if these monologues for which I have been playing audience with some bizarre frequency have been saturated with godliness or something of the sort. Like when I was in Rome, the world is playing itself out and I am watching as it plays me out. I am understanding more what Daniel was talking about in Paris, how unreal everything seems when you understand everything is being and coming into its right place.
There is one hash peddler who has taken a strong dislike to me and comes off threateningly. Gives me the creeps, this guy. I've made friends with some locals, though, plus my tourist status is a deterrent, so I'm just staying out of his way, and he should be staying out of mine. One of the "friends" started out by conning me out of an embarrassing but not unliveable amount of money. He said his kid was sick, I gave him a little money. He came back for more, I said I want to see the kid. He was sweating from what I took to be worry for the kid. He came out of his house with the child wrapped in a blanket, actually looking like he could be sick, so I gave him some more money which he promised to pay back the next day. Next day came and he asked for more money for his wife to buy a phone card to call her parents in Spain to wire them money. No money. At this point, I considered the loss a loss. I talked with his wife who knew nothing about this con, she brought me to their house, he was caught. Only thing is he didn't have the money anymore, so I played hardass, saying I don't want problems, but I'll deal with them if I've got problems. He's paying me back over time now, which means I spend a lot of time with him waiting for him to give me more of my money back and running around with him to collect from people who owe or will lend him money. Again, weirdly enough, I've begun to enjoy running around with him, he is a good guy in some respects, and he is more of a person with me than I would have expected. Also, when he's around, he'll shoo away any hash dealers or scroungers easily where I would have a difficult time--not because I don't say no and mean it, but because they are more persistent here than in the other towns I've visited. Farid is his name. I've talked to his twice with boogers hanging a quarter out of my nose and he tells me with what seems to me a compulsion for cleanliness or seriousness or the appearance of such. It could also be read as a friendly or protective gesture, but I wouldn't assume him to be conscious of it. Still, I'm on my toes.
I'm realizing I need to revise my stubborn projection that everyone is trying to be good for every- or anyone; sure, this doesn't mean I need to appear otherwise, just to take things in with more attention to what they may be rather than what I want or care for them to be, which goes for all interactions, not just those in which I'm worried about deception.
PAIN. All of the sudden I'm doubled over on my bed for no reason I can call up. Pain unlike anything I've felt, it hurts to breathe even shallow breaths. Pain to even lay down flat. Wow, pain. I was thinking testicular torsion, I was thinking kidney stone, I was thinking caught nerve, wildcat running through my organs, appendicitis, wildcat, my mind must be malfunctioning, wildcat. I tried to stay with the pain, not push it out, bend it into a sense of the overwhelming intensity of life, no meditation. Was this childbirth? At ten or fifteen minutes in, I took an ibuprofen and got myself together enough to lie back and rub the pain, expand my slight breaths little by little. Just the other night I was thinking about writing about pain and my relative inexperience with it, that I should know what it is better before throwing it around. I got that wish. Considering how little confidence I have in doctors in the States, I was not keen on seeing the inside of a Moroccan hospital. The pain subsided after around three quarters of an hour and I was coming into the intensity of comfort to which I am so accustomed, riding on this for about as long as I was writhing in pain. Apparently the herbal tea I drank in the morning has this effect sometimes if you aren't used to it, and my digestive system has been working slowly lately, so I couldn't recognize it immediately for what it was. I'm okay now. It's like the only relationship advise my dad has given me "stay away from the crazy ones," which I also had to realize for myself with darling Edie Darling. Wow.
And Happy Birthday Ruth. 20. How did this happen? Happy Birthday, I love you.
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