Sick and tired

So I finally let Franklin drag me to the clinic, after three weeks of this cold. Actually I dragged myself to the clinic while he cleaned the house and washed clothes, sweet man, but he was the one who made me promise to go. Turns out the cold has degenerated into bronchitis. I now have antibiotics and a cough syrup that makes me feel loopy and underwater, but at least I can breathe. I've spent most of the past couple days lying in the hammock reading Cien años de soledad. Magic realism and cough syrup is a trippy combination, to say the least. It has been raining, too, nonstop; so much that the river overflowed into the pastures and the entrance to La Selva was underwater. Today the river is down, and so is my fever, and so I chanced the long walk into the station to check my email. Pura vida, as they say. Beats the alternative.