amalthya

Consistency is key.

Or at least, that's the "truth" I tell myself that holds friendships and life together.

But sometimes, it's the inconsistency that makes things easier. More jagged, and sometimes painful but overall, easier.

When I came back to the country, I didn't know for how long. In my mind, I'd be back in Uganda by Winter break in January. Of course, that didn't happen but it didn't mean that I didn't operate as though it would --

In the field we constantly had transitory relationships because none of us knew how long we would be in any one place, or where we would go next. It makes life easier, knowing that you don't have to make any promises.

After I didn't head to Uganda in January, I guess I started settling down a little. Call it inspiration by the people surrounding me -- rosefox and sinboy alone could have prompted me to stay in one place, but there were so many more people added to the mix -- a New York I'd previously experienced only with the volume down -- people like xoder and extraordinary renewed friendships with Charles and Yenni and infd and noranac and brand new friendships with ursus_archetype and alexsirkman.

There's always a point, though, where you still feel stifled, or unhappy. Or, in my case, Ordinary. Same old emo, same old drama, same old bullshit.

As I told blackiestark, leaving the country is the cleanest break you can get -- it answers all the questions automatically. "Of course they'd invite me to that party if I was in the country" -- or, "I'm sure that I'd get to see them more often if I wasn't so far away."

It automatically neglects the surety of mess, and hurt feelings, and confusion that is staying in one place for too long. It's my version of chasing the dragon -- trying to make everyone continually love me or want to be around me is a losing enterprise even from the getgo. People break up, feelings change, things are awkward, and nothing ever stays the same. Consistency, in that way, is a lie. It doesn't make the disappointment of change any less palpable.

I guess, too, that I like the certainty of being far away, and isolated, and not being able to depend on other people. Given other options, I do tend to cling to those around me. I enjoy knowing that they value my company. Even if it's only for a finite amount of time.

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Part of me is astonished that I am getting to go back to Congo as soon as I am. The longer my academic career slogged on, the more sure I became that I would be relegated to stationary life for at least another few years. To have the opportunity now just fills me with purpose again. I flush talking about it, and for once, I don't feel like I need to fake interest or motivation in order to tackle my to-do list.

Which is, at this moment, incredibly long! Not only am I trying to get myself ready, but prepping Adam for what life will be like is a top priority too. And it's a strange feeling, but also a wonderful one I guess. Mostly it's the change between making a clean, full break and actually leaving someone out of the cut. It's a little scary -- Bush/Field time is so much a part of me, and part of what's really important to me. Wonder if Adam hates it? Or hates who I become in the field? Idle worries, yes. Most of me knows that Adam, who seems to get along with anyone and everyone, will have no trouble acclimating to a new climate and a new culture. It's probably scary just because it's new.

I'll keep writing here sporadically, but most of my Congo preparations are going into lifeincongo -- a blog we'll both keep while I'm gone since I'm well aware that my huge, 5 entries-at-a-time postings from the field are a bit tough for most people's FLists to handle.

And who knows? Will things be the same when I come back?

There's always consistency in the possibilities of a fresh start.

Monday 2:19 am

God, it's nearly 2:30 in the morning. I've drunk 5 cups of tea, spilled half a cup of tea on the floor and on my pajamas. I'm wired, feeling sort of drunk and demented all at once.

And the fact is, maybe I am going insane. Maybe it's because I'm nervous about going home, or nervous about trying to keep all my long-distance friendships alive and active.

But the fact is, I'm not even sure if I can maintain conversations anymore. I feel so far removed from, well, everything. I don't really have any idea what to say, or what's appropriate, or what's funny or makes me well-liked or disliked and I'm feeling totally lost.

Have I somehow "lost" it without even really realizing it?

I mean, crap, I feel like a paranoid demented asshole, but people even being away-from-keyboard suddenly makes me wonder whether I'm bad or other words I can't think of at 2 am.

Do people watch my videos? Or read my extensively long and verbose posts even if they don't comment? Why am I suddenly feeling like I'm dangling out in the breeze solo?

Or like everything is just so much more work. It still feels worth it, but I'm resenting what feels like an uphill climb. I'm almost... afraid... to come home?

I guess too that it's the feeling of impotence of being so limited in my modes of communication. When does one give up? One unanswered email? One week of no replies? Two times of no AIM replies?

Being bad at keeping in touch does not make someone a bad person, but how can you discern being bad at keeping in touch with not wanting to keep in touch.

I'm full of heavy caffeine, and my head is swirling. Feel free to disregard this post, that is, unless you're already disregarding it.



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Entirely Unrelated Note:

Shege ate my deodorant today. They don't sell deodorant here. In addition to leprosy, I might become smelly. Which is worse?

Also, photos have been uploaded. Check Out:

Week Thirty Two Photoset

Week Thirty Three Photoset

Many Chimpanzee Videos