Bored in Costa Rica, not in the good way

Preface: In January 2000, I packed a truck with my boyfriend and we drove from San Diego to Costa Rica. We took 2.5 months to drive through all the fabulous countries and towns in Mexico and Central America. Camping nearly the entire trip and only in a hotel when I was sick. The most favorite road trip of my life. Though at our destination, we were ready to settle in the first town we landed in in Costa Rica. That town was Playa Grande, a surf town on the Nicoya Peninsula, and at the time it was the most inhabited surf town North (aka the first as you enter Costa Rica from Nicaragua). Here's a journal entry after living there for 3 months:

-------- ~June/July 2000-------------

Bored. Bored. Bored out of my tits. Sure a 3 becoming 7 month vacation is relaxing, but boring? That is sad. I have lost my motto, "Smile & See joy in everything I do." I do nothing. I drive around a town that is 1.5 miles in diameter in search for lines of communication to places thousands of miles away. When that doesn't seem to be working, due to government monopolized phone lines and pseudo power, I try to indulge in a little remodeling of a cave. A beautiful cave I may add. But a cave, which seems to have been vacant of humans for quite a while, now full of bouncing crickets, sojourning ants (some with wings of course), melancholy scorpions, cracked out cockroaches, and 100's of delectable spiders; or should I say this growing list of delectable critters are a treat for the 100's of spiders? Who cares? And Who's counting? I just want them out. A bomb. mmmm. I tried to find a good fumigator. Surely you would think a country filled with over-zealous insectos would have a way of ridding them forever. Forever, impossible, but desired, or just for 4 more months. I can't stay much longer than that anyway! Not with all this talk of surfing. That is when the true boredom begins. Go surfing, have fun, I don't care, but please save the surf talk on the beach! Anytime I hear words of surfing I shall walk away. Not to be rude, but simply to save my sanity. [who said journal entries were up-beat?]

Now the question is, "Why do I despise surfing so much?" Just because I don't surf? No! I don't do a lot of things but I would enjoy a good conversations. [I ran out of books a month ago including what was in the town] Most of the surf talk is absolutely fucking mind torturing! [the boys were hot, but still]

"Oh that was a good wave."

"Yeah I caught 4 today." [loser]

"Hey did you see that swell?"

"No, but the wind is offshore." [yawn]

Wait. It is because I don't surf that I find none of this interesting. But [insert cursing] Did you read what I just wrote? Does this surf talk not bore you?? It's like the power went out [happened all the time during a rain storm] and the generator is puttering. [if the generator puttered] My circuit breakers are going nuts and the sparks are flying off all the wrong synapses [that's my brain on drugs]. A once happy-go-lucky-girl has become a lion in a cage drooling for fresh meat. [the hot boys were not enough to make me happy]

Damn that felt good. "Get if off your chest", some psychiatrist on their knees, ass up, bowing to Freud once said.