196 Books: Bolivia

American Visa by Juan de Recacoechea

Bolivia is in South America, here:

And summary, straight from the back of the book:

Armed with fake papers and a handful of gold nuggets, an unemployed schoolteacher sets out from a small town in Bolivia on a desperate quest for an American visa, his best hope for escaping his painful past and reuniting with his grown son in Miami. Mario Alvarez's dream of emigration takes a tragicomic twist on the rough streets of La Paz, Bolivia, as he embarks on a series of Kafkaesque adventures, crossing paths with a colorful cast of hustlers, social outcasts, and crooked politicians--and initiates a romance with a straight-shooting prostitute named Blanca. Spurred on by his detective fantasies and his own tribulations, he hatches a plan to rob a wealthy gold dealer, a decision that draws him into a web of high-society corruption but also brings him closer than ever to obtaining his illusive ticket to paradise. 

So, the summary for this book got me all hyped up but was a little misleading. It might have been my own fault though since I haven't read any Kafka so I wasn't prepared (I started to listen to an audio of The Metamorphosis but I think I only got a third of the way through). Then I saw how a couple of reviewers likened the main character to Raskolnikov from Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment and I was like oh...yeah...that's why this wasn't exactly my favorite. 

I mean, this book was entertaining enough, and a very easy read. And being home with nasty face shingles has given me a good amount of time to sit down, relax, and escape in the book. I think part of the distaste I had is of my own making--I'm a bit of a snob. Maybe more than a bit. But you've got the main character who is basically constantly drunk, who's in his 40s and really has nothing to show for his life, and who creates a lot of his own problems. (Easy for the white, middle class girl to say) Then you've got a ton of prostitutes, vagabonds, beggars, and generally undesirable people. Plus it constantly talked about "half-breeds" which made me feel like it was slightly racist. Maybe that's just how they talk in Bolivia. I dunno. 

*SPOILER*
He never gets his visa. The last sentence of the summary, for some reason, I thought was going to be most of the book. I imagined that he'd get entangled in some shady ass ultra-rich people shit where they'd be like "hey, do this illegal stuff for us and we'll get you to America...also if you don't we'll kill you." Nope. The high-society stuff only came in roughly 200 pages in (give or take) and he really isn't drawn into any sort of web. The author did try to give it a happy ending, it just felt a little lukewarm, probably partly because I didn't love the main character. 

This was a pretty decent book. Apparently it was made into a movie that I don't think I would be very interested in, but cool. Sooo, yeah. Stuff and junk and onto the next. 

Shingles

Not the roof kind.

Welp, we're back on the down side of life. Eh, kind of, it could be a lot worse. But it's what happens when your body is a big old jackass.

This post is a little gross medically/bodily/facially. Read at your own risk.

I had Sunday to pull myself back together after the trip before getting back to work on Monday. No big deal, just tried to get some rest, unpack, and do laundry. About halfway through Monday I was absolutely exhausted, but I didn't think anything of it; it takes a bit to get back into office work after a vacation. On Tuesday and Wednesday I started having some pain in my ear. Still no biggie, I remember having a bit of a hard time trying to equalize it on the plane back so it must have been from that. Then I started getting some tingling in my cheek and chin. Whatever, I thought I was just breaking out. 

The first thing that seemed a little odd was that, where I expected I would break out a bit, I got kind of like welts. Hmm. Okay, they still looked kind of pimpley. I'm the sort of person who can't help but mess with blemishes, so of course I did that. That's when I got freaked out. *Grossness coming* There were some little whiteheads and when I poked at them, some skin just kind of peeled off. Every time I looked at them (and still now) they give me goosebumps because it's so disgusting. And there was also a larger welt thing at one of my temples that seemed weird. Since Humira takes a while to get into your system, I thought I was having a reaction to it. Cue my freak out to the worst possible scenario. If my body didn't like the meds it would be back to the drawing board on making my immune system be less douchey. 

To the doctor! I was very detailed and open about what was going on and she didn't waste much time saying it was shingles. Qu'est-ce que fuck?! SICK. I was so grossed out by myself. I ran back to the office to pick up my things and tell them I'm diseas-ed and repugnant. 

I've basically been lying on the couch all weekend...popping all sorts of (prescribed) pills, practicing every home remedy the internet could throw at me, and doing my best not to scratch my face off. 
I was a little worried about work since I don't get paid leave, and I'm the only one who does many of the office duties. Luckily my bosses (well, at least one of them) don't want me there while I'm contagious (which is basically the whole time till this runs its course...which could be weeks) and they want me to do some work from home. So maybe I'll get paid a little bit and my pride doesn't have to be subjected to the outside world while my face is festering. 

So now it's basically taking all of my willpower not to mutilate my face. But the good thing is I think I've had a decent ride as far as shingles go. I don't have a huge amount of pain or itchiness, at least not so bad I can't handle it. And poor Soldier is basically a saint. He's been so good about listening to me cry, getting things from the outside world, and even sleeping on the couch so he doesn't disturb me in bed. He's the bee's knees. 

Guys, here's the moral of the story: don't get an autoimmune disease. Cause you know what? It basically fucks up everything always. 
Oops, let me connect those dots. When your immune system is an overzealous asshole you have to take meds to calm that shit down. And now I've had to shut it down so much that it opens me up to getting down with the sickness. All the sickness. Being stuck in a giant metal germ tube (aka plane) for 6 hours doesn't help, of course. 

On the bright side, it's given me time to draw and listen to podcasts and watch lots of anime with Soldier. My latest favorite podcast is one called Nothing Rhymes with Murder. It's two British girls who "travel" to a different country each episode and each do a murder story, ending with cool places to visit there. But they're so lovely and funny and they also talk a lot about their lives and dealing with anxiety and such. I want to be best friends with them. Listen to it. Now. 

Well...that's what's going on with me now. A semi invalid again. 
Isn't it kind of odd? I've let you guys into aspects of my life for quite a while now...it's gone from dating and jackass guys to being married to my Lobster but continuing to change my worldview and deal with a chronic illness. Ya'll have been with me through a lot. I'm getting a little verklempt. 

Ok. Me and my gross face are going to bed. Sweet dreams, guys.