June 22, 10

My hives have mostly disappeared. The stray cats scare me less. The heat wave is on a down turn and Argentina just scored a goal. Despite the physical yanking me back to this country in a real and palpable way, I am slowly settling in.

Tonight, Georgian food with an old friend and her new husband. So many incredible beautiful women. The men don’t compare here, not yet. I am drinking lemon mint water, as prescribed by an acupuncturist after I showed up coated in hives. He said I had too much heat in my body and we “bled” me of that heat with acupuncture points and lemons.

My room is still holding yesterday’s heat wave. I live on the top floor and heat rises and it sits like a cloud over my bed. I will sweat out any impurity here, manifest the devil in skin rashes and hopefully emerge a better woman.

Friday, lunch with the gays. Tomorrow, a mommy is swooping in to feed me proper dinner. Ulpan in the morning and teaching at night and even though this is what I have been waiting for, a normal full day, I secretly want to continue sleeping in a sweaty mess until all the swelling from my face is gone and the heat has left the building. Seeing that this could take weeks, I will book it to class.

There are bats here, and homeless people. There are hipster bars and gelato stands and giant projector screens with the world cup hoisted between boulevards. In another body, this would be bliss. But even as I write this, I see a hive forming from the heat on my right hand. My muscles feel like I was beat up and in some ways I was, from the inside out. It took me to arrive ill in the Middle East to muster up the strength to admit that it is possibly ok to not know, and even more ok to believe in yourself.

He asked me earlier, “when was the last time you had faith?” Performing. There is faith in writing and in stage and in connectivity. I am a teacher, but how, and to whom, that is the question. ESL is not my calling, because no matter how much I fight it, and no matter how heavy it grows, a thorn in my side, I am a writer. A writer who teaches. And so, my job here, sweating and swelling and coughing: to take the thorns out of the act so I might flow freely and creatively for the rest of my days.

Amen.