Blech

So I’m sick. Not,like, Africa-sick, the way many volunteers have managed, but all day I have felt lightheaded and like I want to hurl whenever I stand up. So I spent pretty much the whole day laying down and am turning in really early. Like, it’s 7:30 and my teeth are brushed.

I had my usual rice and sauce for breakfast and then an instant cup of vegetarian chili with a Laughing Cow triangle, a couple of Starbursts, a couple of quarter-sized cookies my Guinean friend sent me. I skipped dinner altogether. Didn’t have the energy to make it, nor did I think it would make me feel better.

Hopefully I’ll feel better tomorrow. Tomorrow is mail run day! I hope my mom’s package got here, I am on package withdrawal. It’d be cool to get a letter, too (HINT HINT). John should be back from the States so maybe he got me some stuff too and put it on the mail run. Or maybe he ended up coming home with the mail run in which case I’ll see him tomorrow. And Ian should be sending my bike back, if he made it back to his site last week. I got kind of worried because he left on Tuesday and on Thursday his friend Conte said he hadn’t seen him in Ian’s town. So I had an early morning freak-out session where I imagined Ian’s body on the side of the road but I know it is just paranoia and an overactive imagination and everything is fine. It will be proven when my bike gets here tomorrow. (UPDATE: Bike got here. Ian’s alive).

I have started writing. First thing I’ve started since I got here. As usual all I have are the beginning, the characters, the backstory and the setting. Now I need a plot. Plot has always been my struggle point. I’m really good with characters, dialogue and tone, but plot? Not my strong suit. It’s going to be a script but I’m going to do it the right way and beat sheet the whole thing out before I really sit down and hash it all out. Maybe my mom can send me one of my screenwriting books for guidance.

It’s funny, because for most of my life I have written a LOT. I used to write (basically, romance) novels in high school. Scripts in college. Short stories always. Poetry when the mood strikes. But for the eight months since I’ve been in Guinea, journals only. It will be good to exercise my brain in that way again.