(no subject)
If you could find me, you would find me chewing on a stick with The Idiot in my lap, not working on my papers because, as it turns out, the world of low finance is actually pretty boring. I appropriated this book from the Peace Corps party house (where we had vodka and real peanutbutter and tarot cards for thanksgiving, oh my! I wanted a piece of Mauritanian Mike, who feeds rats to talibés, but it was not to be. He singed me with a firecracker and that's as hot as it got before I had to go home, making excellent good friends with the taxi driver in my broken Klingon), as they had two copies and I am finished with Gravity's Rainbow. I read the plupart of The Idiot while hiding out during the lunch periods of 10th grade, cultivating acne and disdain. I hadn't realised until going back to it now what an impact it made- "The one thing in the world is spontaneous compassion. As of justice- that is a secondary matter."
Oxytocin production is apparently linked to empathy. I'll say no more of that for now.
There are 13, maybe 12 days left in this country and there's so much I haven't said to anyone. Incoherent overview: watched 3 sheep sacrificially slaughtered on Saturday while wearing wizard robes and golden discoball high heels, watched the grand Mecca pilgrimage on tv, ate raw sheep liver that was thrust into my face by my host mom (who has been rocking a Michelle Obama wig as of late), had a sex dream about P. Diddy, perforated my eardrum Friday night and have not been able to converse well in any language since, sketchy things with drunk Baye Fall that made me cry, had a 102 degree fever that left as mysteriously as it came... and I'm ready to come home, but is there one? But look, does it matter when there is dancing to do?
Oxytocin production is apparently linked to empathy. I'll say no more of that for now.
There are 13, maybe 12 days left in this country and there's so much I haven't said to anyone. Incoherent overview: watched 3 sheep sacrificially slaughtered on Saturday while wearing wizard robes and golden discoball high heels, watched the grand Mecca pilgrimage on tv, ate raw sheep liver that was thrust into my face by my host mom (who has been rocking a Michelle Obama wig as of late), had a sex dream about P. Diddy, perforated my eardrum Friday night and have not been able to converse well in any language since, sketchy things with drunk Baye Fall that made me cry, had a 102 degree fever that left as mysteriously as it came... and I'm ready to come home, but is there one? But look, does it matter when there is dancing to do?