I find myself in a very strange kind of limbo these days. I have three weeks to go before I set off for Benin, and as I've (mostly) finished working, my life has taken on a very lethargic pattern: Game of Thrones, swim in the pool, lay in the hammock, drive all over the planet, google everything Benin, and read a thousand books until the next episode of Game of Thrones. I'm trying to strike a balance between Be-As-Lazy-As-Possible (since I imagine this brand of HBO and cheez-it laziness will soon be a thing of the past) and See-Everyone-And-Do-Everything (since I'll be hard-pressed to find baseball games and picnics with my dad in the bush). I can only imagine how different my life will be once I get to Africa, and I know these cat-nap days are numbered, but my! how they are sweet.
Limbo definitely describes the doing, but also the thinking. I've definitely come to terms with the fact that it's happening, and I am looking towards it with a kind of reverence reserved for the actual and not merely the possible. This manifests itself in minor panic attacks ("How many ponytail holders should I bring? Is fifty too many?! What about BOBBY PINS??") to a small stockpile of toothpaste and granola bars. My mom jumped on the bandwagon today by being uncharacteristically worried about the durability of my hairbrush.
I suspect I'll have to store these moments up for those long African summers, and winters that feel like summers, as I struggle and succeed and sweat and teach and laugh and cry and eat strange things and wash laundry and plant seeds and speak français and everything else I couldn't even guess at.
that's all I have for you, lovelies. can't wait to tell you about the exciting things, I just have to get there first!
Limbo definitely describes the doing, but also the thinking. I've definitely come to terms with the fact that it's happening, and I am looking towards it with a kind of reverence reserved for the actual and not merely the possible. This manifests itself in minor panic attacks ("How many ponytail holders should I bring? Is fifty too many?! What about BOBBY PINS??") to a small stockpile of toothpaste and granola bars. My mom jumped on the bandwagon today by being uncharacteristically worried about the durability of my hairbrush.
I suspect I'll have to store these moments up for those long African summers, and winters that feel like summers, as I struggle and succeed and sweat and teach and laugh and cry and eat strange things and wash laundry and plant seeds and speak français and everything else I couldn't even guess at.
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