I am so fickle. I hate it. I hate that I feel pushed and pulled in so many directions. I so want to do a good job here in Burkina Faso. I want to learn the community: the language(s), the people, the food... and yet I'm such a coward. I want to do work but just don't know how to get started. And then - I have an urge to go home and finish what my words started and begin my life. I have an eerie feeling that if I go home anytime soon - that's all I'll know and I want to open my eyes to the world before then.
Pushed to stay here
Pulled to go back
Alas, today was pretty fantastic - drawing the kids in my family courtyard. I am slowly learning how to GIVE IN when life throws me curves... all part of allowing the flow to take you where it pleases. I just wanted to be alone when I went out to write... and then a crowd of children surrounded me and were not letting up on breaking into my personal bubble. I resisted. But I gave in... and I'm so glad
on a bad note:
SWEAT
RUNNING DOWN
MY NECK
BACK
FACE
ARMS
LEGS
ew.
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