One communication radio, intermittently functioning, which I got on once a eek to talk to pals distributed around the islands over 40,000 some square miles.
I really got along with anythin, and drank tons of instant coffee hanging out with the guys, but I ha n't really connecting -- except with one guy, a truly great person who I was beginnin to become good friends with, and hen he died of pneumonia.
Those periods of depression became more like exclamation points.Twice a year, during the two month I was there, I got into " main island. " ( Let 's describe that in some other post.) During those trips, I drank excessively.
And at the beginnin of one stay, I began dating ( okay, let 's call it " dating " as ofte as dating) a very nice, sweet, good-intentioned English teacher like myself.
And I wrote this sweet, onderful, well-intentioned woman a cri de coeur, a howl of anguish and existential fear and self-loathing ...
Oh, she also sent me a very moving, sweet, well-intentioned letter, explaining what the book meant, and how it wil help me.
The couple month later, I left the island and the gig, for good.We broke up, too.