I still have no work and I'm trying not to stress out about that. The one for sure deal that I had fell through. So that stinks. I continue to apply for other things. And I am making jewelry. I love this for several reasons. 1)It's a brilliant way to pass the time 2)I am hand making gifts for you beautiful people back home 3)I get to tap into the artsy side of my head 4)I have visions of getting enough done and actually selling some to the cruise ship passengers rolling through on the weekends. I think if I could sell just a couple, my day would be made. I'm going to try it this weekend for one day if I can.
I would love to have my touch up kit here. I would just go and call on furniture stores and show them what I can do. It'd be great if I could have my kit shipped here, but It's apparently a HUGE fiasco for a person to send hazmat in the mail. And I don't want/can't afford to buy a whole new kit while I'm here. Argh.
I have this lovely rash spreading on my wrist. I have no idea what it is. But it itches, is bumpy, and likes to turn into full on urticaria when I'm hot and dare to scratch it. I am convincing myself that I have definitely not acquired scabies. My skin absolutely adores misbehaving. Scabies takes me back to Saturday.... On the drive home we saw this: 
Saturday afternoons, Omar and Rheanna have drama practice. (It's SO good.) It's held at a Kingdom Hall with a huge covered patio area. So it's outside, but always very breezy, and of course sheltered from the sun's smiling face. It begins to storm. This particular Saturday, an adorable Schnauzer came traveling through the practice area. Immediately, even from a distance, I can tell this dog is sick. He has mange. His long flowing black, white, and grey hair has long since matted into impenetrable dreadlocks. There are burs matted so hard into his fur, the thorns are sticking in to his skin. His once proud, maybe even neatly trimmed beard is tangled into the dreads formed around his nose and eyes. He has little wounds on his skin that are barely visible through the matting. He's followed the loud sounds of the drama voices looking for any resemblance of a meal. He smells of wetness that has never really dried, time and time again. He has the kindest eyes. I am getting up to attempt giving him the last few chunks of my papaya, when someone harshly begins to "shoo shoo SHOO!!" him away. I scald this person with my eyes and say, "Don't shoo him!! I'll get him! He's just scared." The person backs away and I move in. He's terrified of humans. I slowly gain his trust, bring the papaya with me. I ask Omar for my scissors and a rope that I saw lying around earlier. I slip the rope around the dog's neck and he gingerly follows my lead out to the sidewalk in front of the hall. I begin by rubbing his head. He acts like has forgotten how a good head pat even feels and is still cautious of this human giving him attention he has not known of in ages. Finally, he remembers. And oh yes, how wonderful a head scratching feels. And oh, the ears. The ears..... His ears are separated into sections. I can't imagine how this happened. And I am sure I don't want to. He eats the papaya. I begin to snip away at his mats. I one by one clip out all the burrs that I find. I separate his beard from the hair around his nose. I trim all around his face and neck and make it as short as possible. What a sweet face he has. Dread after dread after bur after bur are clipped away. He gives me kisses on my fingers and now seems to trust this human giving him this desperately needed relief. He rolls on his back for me to clip away at his belly. The sun has come out for all of this and is beating down on us. I hardly notice the sweat rolling down my face and back as I am focused on the face before me. Drama practice has ended. Omar goes next door and buys him two cans of beenie wheenies. I have accomplished all I can with scissors and the time I have. We lead him on his leash past the busy streets, down into a neighborhood, over into a park area, remove his leash, and give him the food. He is still gobbling as we turn around and walk away. I feel a rush of guilt as I turn my back on him. But there is nowhere to take animals like him here. And there are stray dogs, in pitiful shape, with the saddest eyes I have seen -everywhere-. Yet, I continue to hear of people breeding their fancy dogs. Yes, that's just what this island needs. How someone could want a dog and be able to resist the eyes of one that needs them so desperately bad only to pay to have one made, is beyond me. I think it's pure evil and selfish to breed dogs. EVIL AND SELFISH.
So now, I can't stop thinking about that sweet doggie. I like to imagine someone somewhere taking pity on his hideous state and at the very least, slipping him some food every so often. "Don't feed 'it'! 'It' will just keep coming back!!" Well God forbid that happen and have him be shown some regular kindness. God forbid.
As we walk back inside the patio, it begins to pour rain again. I thank Jehovah for giving me just enough sunshine to accomplish what I could. 
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