Girl, Interrupted

I went to bed last night wondering what I was going to blog about today. Truth is, I’ve been blogging a lot about writing and it’s not exactly giving the world a well-rounded idea of me. Although I don’t do MUCH else at the moment, writing isn’t my only passion. It’s the only passion I hope to turn into a job (I can’t see me becoming a professional dancer at the age of thirty-one) but I do have other interests. And isn’t it fun when other people tell you these things just as you’re thinking them? See Kristen Lamb’s post on the subject which I found via Rebecca Enzor’s post today.

I wasn’t always stuck on a bed tapping away at a keyboard all day. In fact, this time two years ago I… Hmmm, no, that’s a bad example – I was in Peru and had completely run out of money. Handily you could buy four ciabatta rolls for one sol (about 20p/$0.30), and that’s what I was living on while spending all day on the sofa (thank god for small differences) tapping away at a keyboard. I had managed to find a job online writing articles for the internet. I can honestly say it was the most soul-destroying job I have ever had (I simply don’t need to know that much about haemorrhoids or acne or the X-box Red Ring of Death) BUT it did pay. Very little. But it paid. The rent. It didn’t cover food, though. Inevitably, the day came when I had no food left at all. I’d eaten all the spaghetti and there was no flour/sugar left for making cake mix (batter to the U.S. folks, which I also ate quite a lot of).

Luckily I was roped in to help with a salsa class that evening. My ex-boyfriend made friends with every tour leader coming through Cusco and this particular one had become a good friend, so when he got my ex to give a salsa class he asked me and another mutual friend (we’ll call him Joe) to come and help out (we’ll cover me and salsa later on). At the end of the class, the tour leader bought some VERY large bottles of beer and I told Joe I couldn’t have any. He asked why and I said, well, I haven’t eaten all day, I’ll be on the floor. Which brought us to ‘why haven’t you eaten?’ and ‘why didn’t you tell me you were so broke you can’t even buy bread?’.

He was very annoyed with me – my argument that he wasn’t my husband, brother, father or boyfriend and therefore wasn’t responsible for me cut absolutely NO ice at all. Bless him, he then regularly gave me money so that I could at least eat. And yes, I did pay him back – he had to move out of his room so I moved him into my place. Which I came to regret because he wasn’t the most conscientious of roommates, but still.

I miss Peru. I miss dancing and speaking Spanish. I don’t think I want to move back there specifically, but I’m definitely on the wrong side of the Atlantic.