Thankfully, as per usual, I was brilliantly wrong.
|Trenchfoot. It's for real.|
But I am a lover of stories, and even though my tales from the summer will be have to be reconstructed from the late night, so-tired-I-feel-drunk scrawls of journal entries, there are stories I need to tell. And over the next couple months, I hope to share field notes from our wild, hot, African summer on a lake that's more magnificent than we can ever hope to understand.
In the meantime, I'll force my body stay awake when all it wants in the whole wide world is to sleep, abandon my inclination to hoard toilet paper, and try to remember that most people shower more than twice a month. And I will hesitantly resume a life that feels safe and tame and a little bit dull by comparison.