Mary J. Blige says No More Drama. Doesn't she? Also, after this No More Costa Rica.
Tuesday, Mar. 28, 2006 - 20:29

Take this for what you will and so will I but the other day I was walking up the street and saw a banner on a church: Do not place a period where God has placed a comma.

And while I have my own ideas about this (I would prefer the term 'the Fates' to 'God' but actually in this context I would prefer 'fate' (or even 'life')) it made me think enough to now be writing about it.

Who was saying she's in a wait-and-see phase? Hmm? Oh that was me? I guess it was. And then who had decided to end an important friendship once and for all? Me again? Yeah, me again.

Why and why now? It would create a lot of drama for both of us, it would be hurtful and upsetting. And it wouldn't be effective anyway because there can't be an ending point right now because we work together.

Helpful hint: don't get involved with someone from work.

Helpful hint: unless it's a cute boy because then all rules go out the window.

Helpful hint: don't listen to me.

Helpful hint to myself: please calm down, just wait and see. Have a little patience, would you? Maybe that's the point to this whole thing. Patience.

Leaving town tomorrow, pointlessly.

End of Costa Rica part two:

Postscript:

Now that I know what �dervish� means, and even though it doesn�t mean what I wanted it to mean, it still works.

Addendum:

Fifteen years after my death the townspeople can�t exactly remember if the luck that was being thrown at them in the form of rotten mangoes was bad or good. They debate it, they argue amongst themselves, fights break out at bars, until one day the question is answered once and for all when a woman and her husband, tragically childless still after eight years of marriage, go for a walk in the jungle and are both hit on the back of the head by falling rotten mangoes. The next week the woman finds herself pregnant and it is clear: the mangoes bring good luck.

The town is renamed in my honor, Santa Gringa Loca y Fea, Santa Gringa for short. A statue of me is erected in the middle of the fountain, concrete at first, and then, after a large-scale fundraising campaign by the Women�s Auxiliary of the Holy Gringa, bronze. I am depicted mid-stride, a benevolent smile upon my face, a basket of mangoes in one hand, the other cocked behind my head ready to throw. People come from all over the country, riding in dusty buses all day long to touch the hem of my robe or to place an offering of mango in my upheld hand. Children and hopeful teenagers stand underneath my hand for hours, hoping rotten mango bits will fall on them and bring them luck.
No one remembers Rafael�s name and the small memorial for him at the soccer field is not replaced when it is accidentally macheted to pieces by workers clearing out weeds from the neglected field � no one plays soccer anymore, they are converting it to a baseball diamond.