(This was written in August, btw)
Today I'm in my backyard, sitting in the Texas sun, being eaten alive by mosquitoes. I'm 18 and just graduated high school (FOREVER! YAAAAY!) and it's that awkward summer where you're kind of an adult, but you don't really feel like one, and people expect you to know how to do all this stuff you've never had to do before. I'm supposed to get a job, and like...pay for gas and food and stuff. It's really ew. That kind of stuff makes me want to join the circus. (This isn't a real blog right now, so I can pretty much say whatever I want and it doesn't have to be all poetic and stuff.) So yeah, I'm moving to Africa in January! I'm really excited. There is really nothing else I would rather do. College sounds disgusting, staying here sounds good, but not right, becoming a mountainman sounds tempting, but not as good as Africa. Oh, Africa. I love Africa. I love the way it smells, I love the food (except there's no Mexican food!), I love the culture, I love the people, I love the orphans, I love the freedom, I love the nature, I love rawness, I love everything about it. I miss it so much. Every day I find myself dreaming of being in Uganda again, just wishing I could be there holding hands and laughing with my friends at True Vine, or holding that tiny baby in the Bukirayi village. I'm longing to be home, so much sometimes that I feel physically sick. It's funny because when I was in Uganda last time, I was longing, too. Not for Texas, but for my mom and dad, for my sisters and Dennis, for my church and my friends and my puppy. Now that I'm here with all of those things, I'm longing to be back in Africa. I have a feeling this is going to be life-long tension.