Worthlessness, like a bug, like an illness, virle and painful, has seeped into my brain. I woke up in tears. I slept for 10 hours last night after a 3 hour nap in the shade yesterday meaning that I spent more than half of the day’s hours asleep. If that isn’t depression then what the hell is?
The Funeral for Moro Dian is today… I don’t want to go but I must. He was a true friend to me, a believer in America and more importantly in Africa. He was jet black with big droopy eyes and when he said my Malian name, Oumou (Umu), he said it like Yogi the Bear. Its only 1030am and its already 104 in the shade. Yikes. He’d say, “come on, Umu, lets go for a walk and see the babies.” He loved baby goats. They play and frolic and jump and wiggle mid air and are one of the most consistent things of true and pure joy here… at least that’s how I feel when I’m depressed. There are many true and purely joyous things here but when I’m down and out and busted (I miss seeing the Hudson’s at Waterloo on Thursday nights…) its hard to see them through the haze of “man-this-sucks-why-am-i-here-suffering-for-no-reason-making-my-family-suffer-and-missing-janna-and-ryan-and-fisher-and-todd T-and-beer-and-relaxing… I could go on, but you see how lame it gets.
I guess I should (or could) give myself a break. Dabi was on the brink of death, there are funerals (that are NOTHING like funerals at home) in every nook of the village and everyone is affected by the loss of family and friend and life. It is awfully hot. I am from Colorado, although Texas holds a true place in my heart (Jake Janicek, you can quote me on that), and the heat. The immense insane heat.