When I was making my plans to come to Costa Rica, I fretted for days and days about whether my runes were going to arrive on time to bring with me, yet despite having been here for just over week now (admittedly a lot of that week was spent sick) I have yet to actually touch my runes. I’ve looked at the bag. I’ve smelt them, pressed my nose against the bag and taken a deep breath. I’ve even opened the bag to look at them. Still though, I’ve yet to actually get them out and handle them as I’m told I am supposed to do each and every day. On one level I know why I’ve been extremely hesitant to do so; Costa Ricans are at least supposed to be extremely Catholic and the family I’m staying with a Methodists (which in my experience, which I’ll admit is entirely based on western cultures in this regard, are some of the more excitable bunches). One another level, I don’t want to get them dirty – it’s a very puerile and almost neurotic thing, but I’ve been relying on anti-bacterial gel to ‘wash’ my hands. Normally I don’t much care about that sort of thing after shoes and whatever else, but after going to the toilet there is no argument. Moving on.
There is a third level however I’m struggling to work out what it is. It’s similar to looking for something you lost but something you know you lost in a particular place, like at home. You can’t find it but you know that it cannot be anywhere else. It’s like that, I know there is another level but I can’t quite make out what it is. I don’t like not knowing, one of the few times you could ascribe cat like qualities to me; ever curious.