It's very late now and most everyone has gone to bed, giving me a chance to monopolize the computer. But I am tired, so chances are good this internet session will not last too long.

I'm reading a very good book called 'A Fine Balance' by Rohinton Mistry. Tragically engaging, and incredibly detailed, it conjures a portrait of India in the 1970s. The people, places, and events at once disturb, mystify, and certainly overwhelm me. I've heard similar accounts of mind-exploding experiences in India from friends who have travelled there, and I am inclined to believe this book is a relatively accurate account of that time. Which is even more disturbing and still more than a little mystifying. I highly recommend the book.

Eggs and bread and fresh tomato and chile salsa for dinner tonight. Yum! It is looking like fresh vegetables and fruits will sustain me for the rest of my time here. The cleaning woman, whom I have taken to calling 'sticky fingers', swiped a bag full of my food from the kitchen shelf the day before yesterday, limiting my selection considerably. The bag didn't have my name on it, although I have been eating out of it for days, and the staff were apparently clueless that it belonged to anyone at all. It was really just an utter failure of communication that I never knew to put my name on it until after it was gone. Sticky fingers claimed, upon questioning, that she could not return any of my food, because it was distributed among too many people. I have my doubts, but I am not picking this battle. Her family is hungrier than I am.

I am tired.