DECEMBER 11, 2008
Red Hot Chili Peppers is playing; it's kind of nice. We awoke this morning to find a note from second patrol left from last night. The note said "dead turtle at sector 12." They had found a dead turtle on the beach that had completed its nest, but wasn't moving. Alan said that they sometimes fall asleep, so a few of us were going to check on her on our way to Playa Coyote (the beach to the North of us, divided by large rocky barriers).
It is retched hot today. I just keep sweating non-stop, but the surf is too high and rough right now for swimming. I prefer to swim when the tide is low and shallow pools of water have collected for wading and searching for sea urchins. There is just no relief today; hardly any breeze like there normally is from the ocean. I am so uncomfortable--in sitting, in standing, in laying. So hot; so sweaty. The tarp that makes up Sarah and I's tent where we sleep is black and there is no circulation. We never spend any time in there during the day. The hammocks in the common area are so uncomfortable and make me feel hot, too. They are made out of this unbreathable nylon material kind of like the material in a windbreaker, or a typical camping tent. The benches that are around the table are too wide for my little frame and the table is too far away from where I sit. I feel like that I sometimes spend my days hunched over and my spine stays sore with there being no where comfortable to relax.
I just ate like 5 corn chips and feel sick. What the hell? This blows... this pen fucking blows, too. What a shit fucking day.