I did some housekeeping around here today - took out a lot of names and some work descriptions from back when I was not so cautious about being stalkable (New York will do that to you) - so if a whole boatload of old posts suddenly appear on a feedburner, I apologize.
Meanwhile, still waiting. I am haunting the Africa blogs again, searching for more like an addict looking for a fix. And I don't want news analysis, people. That bores me. My friend IE from the Tanzania days often sends me instant messages that say, "Amuse me! Amuse me!" That's how I feel. I want details of life in Africa. Give me some stories. A few pictures, maybe. Give me just a moment in which I can almost see the sky and the bright clothes, almost smell the green and the cooking fires. I'm craving.
I went to a terrible box store today, the really evil one that starts with a W and ends with a Mart and involves scary grinning smiley faces. I couldn't help it, though, even though I hate the store, I stood caressing the digital cameras. Mmmmmh. Small camera that I can fit in my pocket. Mmmmmmh. 7 Megapixels. My mom had to drag me away forcibly, pulling me behind the cart she uses to protect her feet from the horror of the little cuts in her ligament that are plantar fasciitis. (We have weak ligaments in this family; witness my two wrist surgeries in April/May 2006.) Okay, she didn't drag me away. I dragged myself away, moaning, "I'll buy that when I get a job. Then I can put it in my pocket and take all the photos I didn't take in Liberia because I'd left my camera behind." This wasn't as much of a problem in Rwanda because I HAD MY OWN CAR. And the camera fit perfectly under the passenger seat. I'm craving.
One thing I've learned about jogging is that it makes you really hungry if you do it for, say, 30-45 minutes. And if, like me, you jog about two hours after supper and you are theoretically trying not to eat in the evening because you don't want to blow up into any larger a round shape than three years of law school have induced, you'd better learn to sleep hungry. I'm craving.
Meanwhile, still waiting. I am haunting the Africa blogs again, searching for more like an addict looking for a fix. And I don't want news analysis, people. That bores me. My friend IE from the Tanzania days often sends me instant messages that say, "Amuse me! Amuse me!" That's how I feel. I want details of life in Africa. Give me some stories. A few pictures, maybe. Give me just a moment in which I can almost see the sky and the bright clothes, almost smell the green and the cooking fires. I'm craving.
I went to a terrible box store today, the really evil one that starts with a W and ends with a Mart and involves scary grinning smiley faces. I couldn't help it, though, even though I hate the store, I stood caressing the digital cameras. Mmmmmh. Small camera that I can fit in my pocket. Mmmmmmh. 7 Megapixels. My mom had to drag me away forcibly, pulling me behind the cart she uses to protect her feet from the horror of the little cuts in her ligament that are plantar fasciitis. (We have weak ligaments in this family; witness my two wrist surgeries in April/May 2006.) Okay, she didn't drag me away. I dragged myself away, moaning, "I'll buy that when I get a job. Then I can put it in my pocket and take all the photos I didn't take in Liberia because I'd left my camera behind." This wasn't as much of a problem in Rwanda because I HAD MY OWN CAR. And the camera fit perfectly under the passenger seat. I'm craving.
One thing I've learned about jogging is that it makes you really hungry if you do it for, say, 30-45 minutes. And if, like me, you jog about two hours after supper and you are theoretically trying not to eat in the evening because you don't want to blow up into any larger a round shape than three years of law school have induced, you'd better learn to sleep hungry. I'm craving.
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