The cockroaches seem to have moved on to a better place, except of course, in my dreams. I wake up in the middle of the night brushing what feels like dozens of bugs off my face and arms and jumping up to stand on the mattress and strip the bed of all the blankets and sheets. I shake out each piece of bedding before remaking the bed. I have yet to find a single actual critter when I fully awaken. It’s all in my head.
One redeeming feature of this apartment is that it magically produced a little present for me to make up for the bugs. For no logical reason, I decided to pull one of the drawers all the way out from the dresser to look behind it. The drawer was not sticking out or sliding oddly, or making a noise, so I have no idea what inspired me to remove it. But, when I reached way back into the dark empty space, I found a plastic baggie half filled with pot and some rolled joints. We are right on the beach, so I just go out for a walk in the fresh ocean air to smoke.
The best time to be high is before I go to bed when I listen to this hypnosis tape my dad just made. He read an article stating that applying heat to the breasts causes blood flow to them, which would increase their size. So, he has a theory that he could use hypnosis to get the body itself to send blood to the breasts, and if it is done on a regular basis, you could permanently increase bust size. Since mine are small, I am his boobie guinea pig; and he’s measuring my chest every few days to see how much it grows. It actually seems to be working. Nothing huge, but every little bit helps.

I’ve been hanging out on the beach and have gotten to know the guys who work the suntan oil booth. They are all really cute, especially Dirk. Panama Jack hired him as eye candy to sell modern day snake oil to the women on the beach; he is a model or something back in the states. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he is very well chiseled. We went to a costume party as a couple: I was a harem girl, and he was Lawrence of Arabia.

As much as I enjoy the beach, it got boring quickly with nothing else to do, so I’m working as a waitress in the beach snack bar during the day and as a cocktail waitress at night, except when we do our shows. I make the best tips because the other waitresses are slow and don’t even try to keep up with the tourists’ vacation thirst. Glasses on my tables are usually replaced by full ones before the last sip is gone. The other waitresses are being flagged down by customers raising an empty glass and nod to beg for more. The workers are not lazy; they just run on island time. All I have to do is operate at normal speed here and I look like a superhero. The bar manager invited me to his room to get high one night and I went, since he was friendly at work. We were sitting on the floor passing a bong back and forth and he suddenly whipped out his junk, put his hand on the back of my head and started to pull me down. I got right up to bolt out, seeing his little helmeted soldier quickly retreat into its bunker back under his shorts. It is a bit awkward at work now, but that’s not my fault. I was 13 when a ship’s officer wanted to show me his cabin at the front of the ship, made that move, and I took off. Again, awkward.

Paul is assigned to a new ship and will be docking at St. Thomas soon. I can’t wait to see him, if only for the day. We write to each other regularly. I’ve written to Vinny back home a few times, but he’s never sent a thing.

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