Grabbing for Hours

Conflicting advice rains down from both sides of the Atlantic. At home, my own conscious pleads for another Rosetta Stone lesson; for another informative post from a current volunteer; for the boxes to pack themselves. Meanwhile, those looking back at what they could've done better--the Guinea volunteers already living the fantasy--stress the importance of not stressing. "Build lasting friendships," they say. "It will all work out when you get here."

"Oh, and eat as much cheese as you can."

I feel I've cheated myself by not capturing the anxiety and exhilaration of the last few months. For the moment they feel commensurate, at least collectively, with that first step off of the plane July 9th. The pace of goodbyes has already advanced from a trickle. More and more food items will outlast my time left at home. Poultry Days, Dances with Dirt, international dinner night at the Thompson's, pre-adventure adventures on the West Coast--enough has happened in the last month to keep me satisfied for a year. Unconvincingly, I fool myself every day: there'll be time for reflection later. Right now there's cheese to eat.