Oh the cold, cold, cold

Not since Peru have I been this cold.

And it's quite a change from the last few days, running a lovely 39.4 C fever.

What a way to leave the country.

The story starts with a manicure, a blender, and several nights without sleep. Somehow, I managed both to get an infection in my big toe, following a lovely little French manicure at the beauty salon down the street (shame on you, Brazilian microbes!) and a scrumptious smashing of said toe by falling plastic blender. I've been whining about it for weeks and in spite of all my best efforts at first aid, it wasn't healing. Then I had a few nights of goodbye parties that ended at 5 am, staying up late praying over Manguinhos because of the ridiculous shootings, and a couple hot dates. Tuesday I woke up feeling off, went to Jacarezinho to collect the laundry, went off to Tijuca to run errands and fell asleep on the bus. Drooling, hallucinating sleep. I almost missed my stop. Exhausted, I ran the few absolutely necessary errands I needed to and, frustrated in my attempts to pay the cellphone bill (you would think they would make this easier on their customers), sat down in the square. Drained. Cold. Shaking. Hot. Feverish? I called Rodrigo, my lovely surfer friend with a car who, incidentally, I am also dating, and he picked me up and took me home, where I promptly fell into bed and didn't leave it until I went to the doctor at 1:30 pm the next day. A ten minute walk that because of my state become more of a 30 minute walk...only to find out that the clinic was closed until 3. Ninguem merece. We took a taxi the second time. The doctor was fabulous and charged a grand total of R$20 for his services. Free tylenol too.

The fever went down with the prescription and the tylenol. Praise the Lord for antibiotics. And friends who make soup and bring water and extra blankets. And for manicurists who know more about toes than family doctors: when I saw her yesterday before I left the country, she took one look at my foot and attacked it with painful instruments of torture. After I kicked her and cried and whined and basically acted like a spoiled child, she was able to extract the slice of nail embedded in my foot after the incident with the blender. Goodbye infection!

Wasn't that lovely?

Now I'm spending time with my parents in my childhood home that is nothing like my childhood memories, eating yummy food but oddly craving rice and beans, and trying very much not to hate the English language...I think it's just homesick reactions!