Fractured and flat communication gets old.
I'm not one for self-pity. I knew when I signed up for life overseas that loneliness was part of the deal. Most of the time my mind remains healthily attached to the Lord who promises to sustain. But there are days. Oh, there are days where I want to sit across from friends and tell them there is spinach in their teeth while we eat Greek salads at a swanky outdoor cafe.
You can't see spinach in a Skype picture.
This season is so busy that sometimes I want to put everything down on a table and start walking. To walk until I hit a mountain where nobody is going to ask me to practice their English. Where nobody is going to ask me where I'm from or why I'm here. I want to pretend I can play the banjo and write folk music where nobody can tell me to put on more clothes because it's cold outside.
I should stop listening to folk music.
I look around at the women that are near me and they seem to be swimming smoothly through this season. I'm the fat kid out way too deep, thrashing and spitting up salt water that has blown its way through my sinus cavity at like a nuclear torpedo. My swimsuit has lodged itself into every nook and cranny and a jellyfish just stung my collar bone. Yet others seem to be swimming without their hair getting wet. They are all smiling and wondering what the fat kid is doing out so far from shore.
Thanks for listening. Or reading. Or having this blog up while you procrastinate from Christmas prep.