Thankfully, as per usual, I was brilliantly wrong.
Thirty days and a thousand stories later, I'm lounging on my deck back in Madison with some gin, soaking my fungus/blister-ridden feet in salt, and nostalgically looking back at photos and videos... trying to convince myself that the last month actually happened. People keep asking me how it was, and the word that immediately comes to mind is "hard". Not to be overly dramatic, but coming back alive AND in one piece didn't feel like a given this time.
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.
Stay tuned.
I will buy your book..... Time to write a novel E!
ReplyDeleteMiss ya, and glad you are home safe.
Blog on!
ReplyDeleteI'm on the edge of my seat over here!
ReplyDelete-Libby
I am tuned! Can't wait to hear what all the hubbub is about.
ReplyDelete