Monday, March 29, 2010
6 of one; half dozen of the other
Life, life, life, life, life!
Man, I want to say and FEEL like its Beautiful. I want to say and KNOW that the sun is going to shine down and warm my face every morning. I want to say and BELIEVE that everything is just Fan-fucking-tastic!
But I can’t.
It would just be me lying to myself, lying to you, which would only add more deception to this already terribly twisted and awful façade that we have built ourselves into.
Instead I will say that life is what you make it. Another cliché to add to the mountain of metaphors and metaphysical theories: the foundation of the House of BS that I have built around this here person. Me.
Yeah, 120 words down and it’s already quite apparent that I have had a bit too much thinking time. I can’t just shake it off and give you the Sesame Street jist of “Life in Tanzania.”
Today was one of those days where you kick your own ass for trying to re-invent the wheel, and upon countless invested hours of time, money, energy, and patience, you go to test drive your new wheel only to find out it doesn’t actually fit on the car that you wanted it to drive.
Prior to today things have been going. Life in the village is basically a constant of strange and unexpected. It’s either all happening at once, or nothing is happening at all.
Pakilo (my dog) absolutely hates everything about me. Let’s be honest here folks, I don’t even pet him. I hate dogs. He has ticks. He pees in my house and craps in my bathroom. He whines when I try to play the guitar (as if I didn’t already know that I suck). He refuses to eat ugali- the staple TZ food. He has a rat tail. I think it’s disgusting. He sleeps on a pillow in my house for 80% of his waking life. The other 20% is divided between walking with me (yes, I hate him but not enough to make him stay inside all day) and crying at the NYC sewer sized rats that have taken over ¼ of my house. I have never been so glad to give a dog such a stupid name. Pakilo is Kibena for nighttime. I tell people that I have named him that because that is when he is mean and bites (this is a lie, he is a baby all of the time). The truth is that in the nighttime, when I close my bedroom door and finally crawl into my Jersey cotton sheets, I rest assure knowing that a dog is in between me and anyone who might break in. That is the only real purpose he serves me. It is totally selfish to see things only in their value to me, but in terms of cost benefit, Pakilo is hardly breaking even.
There is a lot of work for me to do here still and I have no idea if I have enough gumption or time to actually do it. I am at the point of just throwing my hands up and walking away, making a large pot of coffee, locking my door, feeding my dog to the village kids and then picking up a king sized novel on the history of Japan.
I am running on empty. Luckily, I am solar powered and the sun is regularly accessible here. Luckily, I still have time. Luckily, I have good friends who will kick me in the ass and say- JUST DO IT MARGARET- and at some point in the future, I will be able to “cross the finish line” knowing that I tired real damn hard.
That’s the total insanity of “Life in Tanzania” this is all about me and not about me at all. Not even a little bit. I gotta stop white knucklin’ it, let go of the death grip choke hold, and just give into this being bigger then me. I’m actually not that important in the whole grand scheme of how this plays out, just another character in the novel- even if the novel is Alice in Wonderland, and I assign myself the lead.
So yeah, a grand summation of this blog update: High on cynicism. Obnoxious amount of reflection. Low on team moral. Hates dogs. Needs a life. Driven harder then ever to do this with all that I got left.
In the end I’m nothing but an overstuffed piñata of Desire.