Nov 22/13

A Pleasure Deferred, A Need Fulfilled.

Over the last few days my aunts and uncles had been planning furiously for a gathering that would happen as a result of my dad comming to the US for a couple weeks. It was the plan that on Saturday, the 14, we would go to visit one of my aunts, and that the rest of the family would travel to meet us there. However in the two days preceding the event, several members of the family had to decline the date due in part to bad weather.

So at the request of the many, the date was changed to Sunday the 15. So that made today kindof a free day. Right? Biggest misconception I'd made yet on this transition.

I got up this morning and had gotten straight to work— typing up The Beginning of The End. I had nothing planned ALL DAY LONG. I'd been typing since about 7:30 and it was nine. It was time for a break. Wandering lazily down the hallway, I became accutely aware that something wasn't quite right. I could hear my grandma calling, " Irene? Irene?" I was also aware of my dad running, and trying to get his shoes on rather quickly. Grandma Kuball, was an old friend of the family. She was one of those people that was always happy, and would always find something to laugh about even in less than pleasant circumstances. But this didn't sound right. There was something wrong.

I ran back to my room and got out of my pajamas and into my clothes from yesterday which were set in similar fashion to the way in which a fireman's suit usually is, thank goodness for that. As I stripped my pajama shirt, thoughts raced through my mind. I raised my shirt to get into it, I stopped. I brought my hands down so as to better see them. They were shaking, I also became aware of a lump in my throat. I took a deep breath, another, and another. Now was not the time for emotion. I pushed it all out of my mind, and swallowed the lump. After I got my belt buckled, I ran and put my shoes on as fast as it was possible. I darted out the door after my dad and aunt Diane who had already been gone for a few minutes.

I ran, following my dad's foot prints, frankly because I couldn't find aunt Diane's. I didn't have time to take in the snow that was splashings into my shoes, nor the bitter cold wind that tore (it was really windy earlier) at my face. Because, I wasn't even out side for a minute before busting through the door into the house. The first thing I saw, was my dad and aunt Diane just standing in the kitchen. I wasn't quite sure what to make of that. By the looks that they gave me I would imagine that I looked pretty worked up. I peeked around the refrigerator, which blocked most of the rest of the room from where I was standing. I didn't see anything on the floor on first glance. I was about to ask where grandma Kuball was when I took a second glance and saw that she was sitting at her table. What the... What!?! I was confused.

She greeted me, and I her. We talked a bit about the fact that I was back, and what that meant for the future and stuff like that; and the weirdest part of all this was that she seemed fine. Aunt Diane, who had been kindof walking around, but not really pacing looked out the window and saw the ambulance and then promptly, but not hurriedly notified us of its arrival. Two paramedics came in, a rather large (in height) woman, and an avarage sized man. The woman never said much of anything, and the man had one of those voices that kindof trails the last sound of any word or sentence much longer than he should, or than is helpful.

"So, what happened here sweetie?" He said, addressing gramma Kuball. I had never herd anyone speek to any woman over 50, referring to them as "sweetie" I was a bit taken aback by his mannerisms, shall we say. Grandma Kuball told him of how she had felt a weight on her chest and then took something for it, and how (according to the protocol of the substance in question) she'd taken a secon dose 5 minutes later. Then as a last resort, she had tried to call my grandmother; but that was all she remembered before waking up and finding herself on the ground and my dad and aunt Diane at the door.

After hearing this he questioned her about her medical history, which I have redacted, with the same annoying vocal mannerisms. It might not need to be said, but I was relieved when the irksome paramedic loudly announced that he and his companion were going to retrieve the stretcher. Good, that means you're leaving! That gave us a few minutes to hear properly pronounce interogative clauses and sentences, and also for aunt Diane to help grandma Kuball get changed to go to the hospital. I'm not sure if she wanted to go or not, but I did know one thing: if she was going to the hospital; she was going in style.

While the paramedics were strapping grandma Kuball down on the stretcher, I looked over the verious photos that were displayed on the walls of her house and I found it kind of odd, the fact that there were no pictures of grandma Kuball wherein she wasn't at least 50. Oh well, she likes to be up to date on these sorts of things I guess. The paramedics left, and dad and I locked up the house. But as we were leaving the place, something in my spirit fealt troubled, and I hoped and prayed that this would not be the end of grandma Kuball. I have seen enough death in this life already, and the fact of the matter is that I would like to go a little while longer before someone I know dies again.

One thing that I'd managed to miss however, was that the paramedics had taken aunt Diane with them to the hospital. It mattered how little or much sense the fact made, we were going to have to go and get her. Honestly, I was looking forward to going to pick her up; I hadn't been to the emergency room since I busted my foot with an axe last year. The way there was a short one (as usual), but then; how long can you make a five mile cartrip? We arrived somewhere between 10-15 after we left. 

The Christmas spirit was definitely in the air, or at least that's what I think those fluffy white cotton-bally things were. All around the colored lights shown and I took note of an enormous light star atop the old smoke stack at the hospital as we drove around it to the emergency enterence. The hospital staff, I noted on entry were dressed festively in all-black coveralls and upside down grins decorated every face. The sharp contrast between the festivities outside, and those inside, was almost enough to make me light headed. Across the room from the enterence we walked toward people that my dad and grandma seemed to recognize, who were also sitting with aunt Diane.

Mrs. and Mr. Kuball greeted us warmly and we sat and talked for a while. The conversation went the usual way and included, but was not limited to things like; how I liked the weather, if I liked being back, "Wow you're so tall!", and a lot of stuff related to Africa. 

Before we'd left the house to go to the hospital, I had posted an urgent prayer request in the family forum and so I decided to update that with new information that I had picked up about grandma Kuball's case, notifying them that all was for the time being well. I had just finished typing that up and posting it when my cousin, Kim, messaged me; thanking me for a birthday card I'd sent her. My location services must have been activated because before I had a chance to write "You're welcome.", she had already asked,

"Why are you in St. Joseph?"

"Because I live here?"

"Oh I thought you were in Africa."

"I was, but I'm staying with grandma now." With typing that came yet another reminder of what I'd left behind.

"Oh ok cool" 

I sat quietly for the rest of the time that we spent at the hospital. But on the drive home, after we'd arrived, and far into the evening, one thought continuously passed through my head. Imagine what would have happened if you'd gone to the reunion to day. And over the days since then, I've come to accept that it was no accident that the family opted to reschedule. It was by design.

The Beginning of The End.

I'm sure that by the end of this new chapter of my life, I will have told this story several different ways. But now I'm going to write my diffinetive version of this story.

It began with a check-in trip to Maun. In the temporary absence of the Veiths my dad, Matt, Katherine and I went to Maun to check in on their home. Just to be sure that none of their possessions had been sullied and stuff like that. Katherine brought some of her school work with her, and Matt.... I'm not really sure what he was there for. As for me, I was there (mostly) to here the news from the immergration Exorcist, as soon as possible. 

We arrived at the house about 9:39ish. Matt and I had a good time, we would watch funny YouTube videos, and Katherine would shush us— good fun. Good fun. 

After a while we all got hungry. Now, that house had been empty for quite a while, so if there was any food in the house; we didn't know where it might possibly be. Since Matt and I were just being annoying, she decided (with a huff) to go and look around for food.

It wasn't long until I heard "Chrrrrriiiiiiiissssssss!!!!!!!" come from the kitchen, which happened to be right over my left shoulder.

"Where is every thing!? All I can find is spices!" 

I'll admit it, I was puzzled. The only things in their cupboards, which were full, were either, dishes or spices which weren't  edible... By themselves anyway. I was stumped. It was then that I remembered just how diminutive Mrs. Veith is, about 5'6. In the lower cupboard (benithe the counter) we found an unopened bag of baguette chips, and we found some cottage cheese that was sour enough to act as sour cream in the fridge.

In those brief happy moments, we reflected on the awesomeness of teenage ingenuity. After that we reflected on how stupid we sounded for reflecting on such things (that actually might have been just me).

While eating Kathy and Matt and I talked about feinging starvation, which we decided to call off due to several extremely unconvincing test runs. What can I say? We're high energy kids that have never had acting lessons.

Any way eventually dad returned as usual, and we went out to lunch. Hilary's is probably the best place in Botswana to brief people, with it calming atmosphere, and peaceful air— not to mention its FREAKING AWESOME FOOD. Hilary's is the only 100% organic resteraunt in Botswana. As we sat down and ordered my dad's cool demeanor would have never given me any reason to suspect what was to come.

I was either going to have to scramble to get all the paper work we needed together so that I could apply for a permit, which may not have gone through any way,

 

Or return to the US.

The Road Is Never Predictable.

It's been a while. That's just kind of the nature of things at this point. I have been putting off writing this post and the ones that will follow for security reasons. I think that the time of danger may be over, it is time to begin disclosing. 

Where have I been? I returned to the US.

I have retired from MK service. I am no longer in Botswana, and in all probability; I will never return there. I'm sorry Bole; you had your chance. Don't come back.

To the rest of my family, I'm sorry. I miss you all dearly. What has come to pass cannot be changed, all we can effect is the future. I can't wait to see you again. :)

Note to self: 77526

Never begin a humorous story with the phrase, "Oh my gosh this is so funny!!!", or anything to the same affect. 

Nov. 25/13

My worst fears came to life, not two days after my 18 birthday, I have to leave home. Though it happened in a way I didn't expect. I chose it. I asked to be sent away rather than to scramble to try to produce the necessary paperwork which would have been late as is. Yesterday evening, as I sat eating my dinner, I realized something, that had been persuing me for a long time, but now I know why.

A while ago, my dad was in the running for a prestigious position, that would require us to move back to the U.S. When I heard about it, I fealt a little tug in my heart. So I encouraged, and even pushed my dad to apply for the position. And he did.

His interview came and went. And the feeling was growing within me. A month passed before we heard anything more. The interviewer called back. He said that he didn't usually let people know when they were out of the running, but that he fealt led to.

Even with that news, the feeling in my heart went undampend. A feeling that wether my dad got the position or not, it was going to impact our family in some huge and unknown way. 

I heard my dad say, last night; that they were selecting the person that would be put in that position. So in a way, I was right. Not in the way I thought I would be, and not in a way that I could have predicted. I'm sad that I have to leave Africa, but it's the right thing to do.

My brothers took the news the worst. I'm sorry for that. If it happens that I don't see you again, please know this: there is no place, rich or poor; no where in all of creation, where I would rather be than with you. I'm sorry for this. It was the right thing to do.

Nov/20/13

I started packing at about 5:30ish this afternoon. It's 9:27 now. Plans have been made, I'll be boarding a plane Monday. I'll arrive in DC where I'll meet my grandparents and possibly cousins. From there we'll be taking the Amtrak to Michigan.

My new home.

The simple fact of the matter is that I'll never come back home. This is a hard thought to swallow. Yes, I may live with my parents again, but it will never quite be the same.

This is going to be hard. I have already calculated that in 15 days from Nov. 25, I'll break down with my fit of home sickness. You guys keep track, I'll post when it happens. 

I'm already starting to miss them, and I still haven't told them that I'm leaving. But I must be doing well with this because dad said he thought he might throw up at the thought of sending me off. 

This'll be hard.

As with the first part of today, you'll be seeing this a long time after it has happened.

How to stop worrying.

1.) Look at the birds. 

2.) Look at the flowers

3.) Remember that God loves you more than either of them.

You'll be FINE.

Oh, it's because I'm white. isn't it.

I have a hard time remembering (for some reason) that in Botswana, white skin automatically equals loaded with cash. 

And I am by few means wealthy, spiritually being the exception.

I don't understand this prejudice, few if any of my clothes are still yet untorn, and I don't dress up in collared shirts like the Afrikaaners; I hardly ever even wear shoes!— as opposed to the Afrikaaners who almost always wear military-grade boots. They keep their hair short, mine is long. They all speak Afrikaans, I know less than twenty words in Afrikaans!

What more could we have in difference?

Even just today, I went on a walk around the block, which I would have usually done in the evening; people were trying to sell me stuff left and right! Puppies, gym equipment, CHICKENS!!! 

I know that the only reason is that I'm white, and it almost hurts.

Now while it is true that I don't have any black friends (in Africa), the reason is all the same: The only reason that people wanted me to be their "Friend" was for monetary (or sexual) advances. I really did try to overcome that obstacle, but their minds could not be changed by fact: their opinion had been made.

I tried though. Which is more than I can say for my brothers who were always either monetarily taken advantage of, or caught in the middle of brawls.

I don't understand. I really don't understand why people refuse to look beyond the skin, I am just as human as they are; and I'm a little upset that they are behaving this way towards me especially because they would be aghast if one of them had done the same to another motswana. They would be furious, and said persons' relatives would forever shame such a person.

It would be like me walking up to a random woman on the street and saying, "Give me your purse," only the difference is that here, she would be compelled to give it. It's madness! I can't adapt to their cultural norm or else I'd get "give-me-ed" out of house and home. But at the same time, this makes me look, to them like an Afrikaaner; which means I'm rich.

I really am upset about this. I think I'll probably take a while and cool off now. But still; why?

A Totally Unrelated Title.

I began to read The Hunger Games today, and as a writer, I found it to be most intriguing.

I had seen the movie, and was inpressed by the plot, or the bit of it that was portrayed in the film, but my intrigue was not based on my affection for the film. In the first place, the film didn't even have the same introduction as the book.

I thought it was interesting that Mrs. Collins wrote her descriptions of Katniss' actions and observations in the present tense. The only place I've ever heard the present tense in literature is in second person fiction. However it has an interesting sound in the first person limited, and I'll probably be given to dabble with it in the future.

Maybe I'll post the result of my dabblings. Hmmm....

Awarenning.

I don't know if I was just stupid before, or if I was simply unobservant. Although it really doesn't matter which, I suppose. But it is odd when one begins to take note of a thing which may've been always there or may be new and either way whatever it was begins to change your ideas and/or perceptions of just how it is that things work.

Having stated my thesis; I have been on self imposed isolation (which means I grounded myself from Facebook, email, twitter, and whatnot) for about a week and a half now (with a very few exceptions) and as usual; I began to notice things.

The image of our former house in Kang hasn't yet had time to dull, nor have my years yielded knowledge enough to answer all of the riddles in live, but this said; my memories of Kang were recently vivified my memories and caused me to realize two things.

Yesterday, my dad and I went running. The path was fairly straight forward (or as much so as a square can be), and my dad asked if I could make the distance, which was two miles. I thought I could and I told him so and with that, we were off. 

We ran. Passed the bergade, the high school and the several blocks of houses. But I didn't really look around though I was trying to keep up with dad. I went the entire first stretch and felt fine, it wasn't until about half way on the second leg that I began to feel tired. But at that point I was in the middle of nowhere.

I walked along for a while before I really bothered to note anything at all. Then I felt creative and soon had spoofed Jonathan Coultan's "still alive". 

By the time I had finished that, the village has begun to creep up with a similar fashion  to that of the new tendrils on a creeping ivy, but it was not the same kind of village I am used to. The houses weren't much more than four gum posts, dipped in tar, wrapped in shade net on all but one side- which was plywood; all topped with corrugated tin roofing. As for the fences that surrounded them; they weren't much more than thorn bushes strategically placed to keep the cows away. The yards were swept clean and the cook shelters were smoking and the scent of corn mush was on the air. I stopped and observed the family that lived there. The children were shod, poorly so but shod none the less; the clothes they wore were worn, and worn through in some places; the children had dirt in there hair I could not have told when the last time they bathed was, nor when the next would be. And even as I studied the deplorable conditions in which these children lived I was neither moved to pity nor to charity nor yet to indignation. 

They were happy.

The children were happy.

They were running and playing, laughing and smiling while speaking to each other in Naro.

Turning away, I walked a little farther until I saw a more traditional Rondaval. No one was here, the yard was over grown and the stench of death wafted from the premises. 

Turning away a second time, I continued to walk until I saw a brick building, that looked as though it had never even heard of a right angle. The yard was well kept but again there was no one home.

As I got closer to the part of the village that I live in, I saw a block of houses that was a hodgepodge of the three yard types afore mentioned, and I stopped to observe the woman who lived in the rondaval arguing with the man from the stone house in a most heated way. I began to wonder to my self just how trivial what ever they were talking about as I realized that my dad had pulled up beside me in the baakey, I got in and we drove home.

I don't know wether or not it's worth noting that the run physically exhausted me, but just in case it is: the run physically exhausted me. Now, I had gone to close the gate, but I took a step back. 

What I saw disturbed me. I saw a house that was built by the hands of a professional, whose beams were 2x4s instead of tar dipped gum poles, the walls of said house were made neither brick nor yet the earth itself, but of gypsum boards! Honest to Goodness gypsum boards! And even then from  where I stood, I could hear my brothers and littler sister arguing over who was first player on the Wii.

I can find no logic in my observations. Did you realize the same things that I did?

Frip

I've been examining my work on this blog. I haven't really done what I set out to do. I'm not doing well at telling about life here in Botswana, so I thought I should give some explanation.

Basically, nothing happens here and the things that do happen aren't worth writing about. Stuff like, me generating awkward moments, arguments, and of course that stupid dog of mine (wow; this must be my most honest post ever.)!

None the less, I do intend to continue writing, but more theoretical things than auto biographic, because my life is just that dull. I wont deny that I do have adventures, but other than those rare times, I have nothing but my thoughts (and there are many) to write about.

I might write again soon, if I can come up with something to write about.

Serching,

I have decided that I need to be more organized. Yeah right! I don't know how yet, but I'm gonna try to get some stories up for the Rabbit-hole stories. I have some ideas I've been batting around, for instance a tale about a people that time left behind, and a story about an invention of my own the BoKhutswane; their sort of like African Hobbits, only smaller and.... um... different (?) I guess (???).

But tonight the topic is:TOPICS!!!

Yeah, that was anti climactic.

If I am going to rave and rant and spit my opinion onto the internet (which I know a LOT of people wont be happy about), I am going to need a repertoire of topics to talk about. I'd kinda like to bear away from grabbing topics out of a hat, but if that's what it takes than fine.
     I'll probably have to talk with some people about what would make good posting material, especially since I'm fairly new at this whole nonfiction thing. I'd like to share with people, but there comes a point where the stuff someone types gets dull... and no one ever reads it. I believe that I have successfully made it to that point.

That's all I've got for now so, ta!

Narrow Wind. A short story.

Snow flakes fell on the breath of a late November wind, the sky over head was grey, and the ground folded in a cold white blanket. But that was not what gave the wind its chill. Nor was it the forest of stones that he stood amid, each slab standing in its' row. The wind brushed against the folds of his trench coat, which he pulled no tighter about him and from beneath the shadow of his fedora, the man's blue eyes stared fixedly. Though there were many erect stones in the yard, there was only one that bore any significance more than any other rock. And as the man stared, a tear ran from his eye which he did not even think to remove. He'd stood there for hours, and would stand there yet for hours, because he craved just one minute more.

Sun set.

It's sun set right now, and the dust is starting to settle after another long day in Ghanzi. The sky is fading into the pastel colors that happen right as the sun passes over the horizon. The street lights are turning on and I'm sitting on the front porch. Buster, is laying down in his burrow hoping I'll take him on a walk.

For the past week or so, I've not done anything much but try to learn some calligraphy, and read some of the stuff on Facebook. I don't know what's up, but I feel grey in my mind; Simply uncreative, and I don't know why. 

It's most likely that my parents told me that they could tell when I wasn't taking my meds. I don't want to go into specifics, but honestly; I never that I would have a daily medication before I was even 25. 

The sky is becoming more golden now, darkening into a deep orange at the horizon, and the trees cast they're shadowy silhouettes. 

My dad expressed a similar emotion about his thyroid medication. This will pass I guess, but I thought for sure that I might simply be... Well— normal. Clearly not. Not only am I not normal, but I am a unique case. So there goes my chandelier of fitting in at collage (that is; assuming I actually get there). 

If I sound discouraged, that's because I feel it. As graduation ebbs nearer and nearer, I just wonder how I'm going to do it. That is with out a nervous break down. My vacation has been a blast, but if it weren't for my brothers being home, I would have worked through it. I am just ready to be done.

I'm gonna go for a walk now. I'll try to write some more later. 

*CRASH* ... Sorry, I tripped.

Yesterday my family took a trip to Maun (said Mow-oon), which is the next city north of Ghanzi. The Okavango Delta touches... no more like entangles the city. Maun has one of the country's two international national airports and is my favorite vacation spot.

We went there because of a money transfer that was just easier to take care of in person. The sun had not yet risen when we left and consequently, was in my eyes for the first hour-and-a-half. I spent most of that time listening to music; Matt, Josh and Becca watched Phineas and Ferb; and I'm honestly not sure what Kathy was doing. When the sun had gone up far enough that I could see we were somewhere near Sahithwa.

The climate, that part that is visually apparent, was as different as Ghanzi is from Windhoek. The ground was absolutely bare, with the exception of the trees that grew, not quite thick enough to be called a forest, but not thin enough to be called The Bush. The sand was (if it was sand) was greyer than that which we have in Ghanzi, about the shade of grey the elephants find fashionable, and seemed to also be dustier than ours. The trees of the same sort in Ghanzi which are rather diminutive, there were quite formidable. Those trees in question being those of the acacia and similar varieties. despite the lack of grazing material, there were a lot of really really fat cattle, and that was as amazing to me as the grammatical structure of Black Speech.

As we approached Toteng, I prayed vehemently that the bridge hadn't washed out. "But Chris, it's dry season." Right, like the fact is gonna stop the river. As we came upon the bridge, I could see that the water was lower than it had been the last time we'd gone there, but even so, it lapped up against the tops of the hydro-channels. We got across with minimal difficulty, and proceeded on to Maun.

Upon our arrival, much to my surprise, we drove past the bank that we needed to go to. I was just about to ask why when Matt did. That's just one of those funny things about living in a large family, if you take too long in wondering about something, chances are someone else will notice too and ask first, if you're not quite quick enough. By the time he had finished his long winded, and serial interrupted interrogative tangent, we had already driven and nearly parked in front of the answer. We were in front of Eshinee's house.

We went in and and visited for a while. The house they (her and her husband) live in would've been comfortable for two, cozy for four; but for all seven of us... let's just say we were a (little) bit cramped. My mom and dad talked with her, a diversion that would allow for us to use the toilet (Bathroom to you Americans). She inquired as to  what were doing in Maun and when my dad had told her, she asked if she could come along.

So with that, we waited for josh to get out of the bathroom, and then we were off. The our destination was less then ten minutes from her house, it was the mall near the Maun air port. As per the plan that we formulated on the way there, Kat went with Eshinee, mom, Josh, Becca and I went to the gift shop.

I don't know the name of the shop, and in all likeliness I probably never will. But it is one of the coolest places in all of Botswana-- that is if you are in to trinkets and random souvenirs that have no practical use for every day life. Between their supply of copper jewelry and incense related items, from time to time, they do actually manage to have some thing interesting. I was particularly drawn to a certain walking stick which was extremely intricately carved (for the craft of a Tswana) when Josh dirrected me to a brightly colored glass object that he could not identify. I chuckled. I knew from the hose that was attached what it was, but I really didn't want to tell him. Then mom came she looked like she was ready to leave, but when Josh asked her, she asked me. So I told them that it was called a hookah, and explained it to them. Josh looked thoroughly intrigued, a fact that causes me to worry.

After we left, we decided to have lunch."... and what better place to have lunch," Eshinee said a little too enthusiastically, "than Hilary's!" We did end up going there, and it was probably the best food I've ever tasted (sorry mom).

After we'd finished eating, our conversation drifted from banks to mental disorders, from earthen wear to noses; until we settled on the ever-so pleasant topic of major dental surgery. Upon which I was thoroughly amused, and it was after much slap-happiness that we had to go most unfortunately. A quick end to a good day it was.

Revived.

I think I may have just needed a few days. I have decided that I will continue the game, though it will be my last. This is to be my last variation on the Mystic Theme so brilliantly composed by my old friend Stephen. And as I prepare to go out, I have every intention to go out with a bang! At some point I will type up a plot synopsis, but right now, I don't have time. But in the mean time, I fully intend to cease the days ahead, and make this my best game ever!

The last game. (maybe)

I think I'm done. I have done well. Me earlier games were better than my resent ones, but I don't think I can make games anymore.

By brothers played my games, my later ones, and claimed to enjoy them. But I remember when I could see the worlds that I made in front of me, I remember when the the worlds in my head were more real to me than the one in front of me was to me. I have time for them, but my will is waning. Whether it will ever return again, I know not.

My worlds have begun to bland, I half suspected it, maybe I felt it; but now I know it. They know it, and They have felt it too. Whether it will ever return again, I know not.

My brothers were playing again to night. They had just slain a cave elf in battle, and discovered the underground realm of the N'Diki, spider-people that walk on four legs, spit webs and have a bad temper; when it became evident to me that they were bored. I had tried to make it interesting for them, but I had failed again. I suppose I might let this game-mastering hobby go, it would save Matt and josh a few crushed knuckles. I don't know, I'll have to pray about it.

Week: 127

We got to Gaborone and back safely. I have decided that I am not going to detail any of the happening of the trip though, I think that family vacations can enjoyed just as vacations and don't need a bunch of memoirs typed up about them. I am sorry that I haven't posted in a while, but I make no promises of posting any again any time soon either. Unless something amazing happens, I might write about that. There has been a bush fire somewhere outside of Ghanzi. No one that we know has said anything, but the Sun has taken on that tell-tail, sickly yellow shade, so I'm sure prayers would be appreciated by those who are fighting the fires. I have been looking this week further into the option of video blogging, and it just seems to be very complex. I have been trying to see what all I could do with the resources available to me, but it just feels bland. But I'm going to keep working on it.

Trip 2: Gaborone– day 1.

Well, I'm feeling a bit better to day. We had a lovely church service. The organ was undergoing maintenance so we sang a cappella, and we didn't sound that bad. The sermon was the riveting fourth installment of 'Christian' by Andy Stanley. I think it could go without saying but; I was captivated. 

So anyway we're heading to Kang today. I think you'll recall from my earlier traveling related entry, we moved the S.B.T.P. office to the mall. We have to go through there on the way to Gabs, and since we're taking it easy on this trip, we just gonna stay the night. 

I'll write again once we get there—3:11pm.

Week: 129

Another comes and goes it seems. I have been deeply wrestling with thought of my coming birth day. Even though I know that it's over 6 months off, I can't help but wonder what all my come of it. "You're just being a worry wort!" right? What makes this such a big deal is that I'll be eighteen— that number which long I have dreaded. It's approach is Impending, with all of the stealth and design of a great-cat, the day comes. What shall I do if the permits do not succeed? I am terrified. I can think of no worse fate than to be shipped back to America, it would divide my being! Not unlike black cauldron of cold and dark and the depressions and vile vindictive vice, which I know well.

What can one do in these times, but hope that what Jesus has planed is somehow better than what I would hope/wish for? I'm not quite to tears yet, but they may come before I have finished penning this. For the first time in a long while, I can't see foreword. This makes me fearful.

If all goes well, we leave for Gaborone at mid-afternoon tomorrow. For my family; it is to be a holiday, but for me, it is a sign that The day, upon which my greatest woes and possible joys hang, from a thread.

I have not seen Bole in over a month except for a glimpse of him passing the gate. He is still alive, somewhere. But it's so freeing with out him, that I almost fear that he might return. Hopefully, I'll have more to share tomorrow. Maybe some good news! 

Good night.

Entertaining possibilities of inaction.

Well I have looked in to the video mode of blogging. It looks fun, exiting, and entertaining. I was thinking of doing one similar to the first few entries of the slender log called MLAndersen0, it would be simple to sit down and speak my thoughts in the stead of trying to remember every detail in the story whilst I type.

When I approached my dad on the subject, he thought I would try to make a V-log similar to Jonathen Fisk's show, Worldview Everlasting, which would also be fun, but that's a bit more "in the now" than what I want to do. He hasn't given me an answer yet, but even if he does say yes; I might not do anything. I have been dabbling of late with the idea of retiring my blog. 

The whole reason I started it was to see what one does and does not put on ones blog, so that I, through experience, could write a better horror story. It's not exactly the best reason ever, so I expanded. I decided that I would try to describe my home, Botswana, and we all know I have done it no justice.

I am not announcing any thing, just contemplating.

Something–something.

I think it's been about a week or two since I last wrote. The same old routine continues both mundane and arduous. It would be a lie to say that "I had for gotten" or "was too busy". The fact of the matter is that I simply cannot write consistently, because if I did it would just leave you reading the same old thing. Not as if I didn't want to write, and you have seen when I write for several days in a row how bland it can get. So, in a way I want to share my world with you, but in reality I can't do that the way that I set out to. Perhaps I could change my approach and do something more like a video-log, I don't know. And maybe I'm just tired and it's just the exhaustion talking ('cause that happens from time to time) so I'm not announcing any thing yet I'm just thinking about options. May be I just need some tea or coffee...

Week: 132

I didn't really do as much to day as I thought I would. But I did a lot of research into the nature of Alternate Reality Games (ARGs) and the Slender mythos, and I can say for certain, that I will be planing and structuring my games in a lot more detail than the first. I have a few ideas that I'm gonna scratch down and I'll revisit them when I graduate (hopefully that's before I'm in Nebraska). I'm also looking at blender. It just sounds interesting. I just hope I can make something interesting.

Untimely Charity.

Mom and dad at some point decided that they would assist the parents of  one if Josh's classmates in the way one babysitting him for the afternoon whilst they move something (large) to somewhere(else). I only came by the information that they had decided this shortly before they left to bring Matt, Josh, Becca, and said unnamed Afrikaner home from school. I must confess, I panicked. There was no way that I could possibly clean my room (well enough for visitors) before my mom arrived home with them, too much school yet for that, and I have no idea as to the nature of this boy, be it mischievous or not— and I am certain of one thing; I don't want to find this out the hard way. 

So, in the spirit of self conservation, I have locked and fortified it into a veritable Fort Knox. The only minor (ok– major) flaw with my plan is that we haven't eaten lunch yet, and... well eating lunch when not in the dining room is usually er... difficult. So I'll have to leave my room sometime— oh there's the call for lunch now. I'll let you know if I survive. [1:02 PM]

[1:38]- I survived lunch, the visitor is shy, perhaps even more so than I am. He didn't say much, in fact I'm tempted to say he didn't say anything at all but it seems that he and Josh have worked out a mode of communication based on facial gestures and eye movements. 

He was blond, tan-skinned (darkly), and buzzed cut as most Afrikaners are, he wore short-shorts, long socks pulled about half way up to his knees, again– nothing out of the ordinary. There were only two things that made him different from most other Afrikaner boys (between 8&10 years of age. In like most, his eyes are brown, and he wore a button-up shirt— without a collar. I observed him as closely as possible without stalking him, and without starring at him, 'cause that would have just been uncomfortable for both of us. I can't say much on him, but I'm not sure how I like him yet. I've got a bit of school-work yet to do, but I'll let you know how it ends later-[1:55 PM]

[5:41 PM]- After I finished my schoolwork I practiced my ocarina, did some research and almost forgot that Shaun (as I have learned his name is) was here, everything was so quiet; which isn't normal at all. I went out to investigate and found that Matt Josh and Shaun were watching a movie together. "Perhaps they can be civil" I thought to my self. So I watched them. They played on the Wii, Lego Star Wars, Wii sports, and supermario bros. for Wii. Later they moved onto playing Minecraft on the iPad, and from there Angry Birds, Naught and Bad Piggies. The only conclusion I could come to about this boy was "for a farmer boy, he's really good at video games."

I slumped into my bed. I felt defeated. Going over what I knew, I was dissatisfied with the amount of information I had gathered on Shaun. He and I hadn't once spoken, and it wasn't likely to happen in the future, any time soon. He would be leaving soon and— heeyyy! He would be leaving soon and if I could see his mom, there could be any ammount of gleamable information there! With that idea in hand, I sat on the front porch and waited! And, waited... And waited. For about twenty minutes I waited, I checked my watch, and waited twenty more. And at exactly half-past naked-arm, I decided it might be more productive if I went and caught the cat so that I couldn't escape before it was time  to come in for the night.

I found him right away, shut him up in my bedroom and proceeded to shut up the house. It didn't occurr to me that this might be a bad idea until my mom scolded me for shutting the windows in the living room, because it had cut off the breeze from their exercising area. When I had finished reopening that end of the house, I saw a car pull up to the gate. 

It was a nice car, a white one. Mom came into the room and asked if I would get the gate. My plan was working perfectly! I got to the front door and thought I'd heard something, but I couldn't tell over my dad's exercise music. I opened the door and his mother was right-there! I didn't quite remember what I had been going to say, and proceeded to institute the most awkward silence of my life. I quickly went and got Shaun and informed him that his mum was here, and as they were leaving I went out to control Buster, who was being a bit rambunctious. I sighed to my self, maybe it would have been easier if I had just talked to him.

Recovery time. A satire

My best excuse for not entering anything the last two days is that; I was very busy with school work and other things. My excuse becomes significantly less convincing when the things that i was busy with were drawing a fake map, and building grammar and grammatical structures for my conlang, but I have to spend time on those too.

Today, things went rather well school wise. That is; until about lunch time, when my stomach started hurting so badly that I could no longer considerate. I went out and sat down in our living room. The room is rather large, even with two couches, an arm chair, television set, and our own personal library (which is also the best library in the country). I decided that this would be a good time to pipe a tune on my ocarina. Just as I finished the most convincing finally of "My Favorite Things" yet-- my lip split... again. I proceeded to wander back to my dad's room where the Vaseline was. Evidently, my dad had gotten there just before I had. The Vaseline was in his closet, and so was he. I walked in and tried to reach for the Vaseline, but he gave me this look over his shoulder; like I'd burnt the cookies and said:

"It followssss ussss, and doessssn't knockssss, Precioussss?" In a deep throaty, raspy voice. I backed up and knocked on the door. "Oh now it knockes!" he replied. I went again for the Vaseline, but he started again, "Ooh, it doessssn't even ask Ussss."

"Fine," he was being unusually difficult, in play- but still. "May I get something?"

"What doessss he want, precioussss?"

"The Vaseline, my lip split." I said, then just to get him for giving me a hard time I added, "And, you said 'he' not 'it' the last time." to which he made one of the labored sounds, like when some one says 'Darn' really loud and fast."But other than that is was a good Gollum impression."  I walked back out to the living room trying not to smile so as not to hurt my lip.

I sat in the chair and just thought to my self, "Ok, you've got the imperative sentence structure down now we should get to the exclamatory- exclamations, what am I thinking, I should invent the plural form! OF WHAT? You haven't invented any nouns yet! What you really need to get on to is the alphabet. Which one- actually no let me take a step back, we can't make the alphabet until we have a larger grammar database. The conversations I have with my self are rarely less confusing than this. I thought on a bit longer. When my dad came the room, I put my thoughts away and dusted out my attic.

My dad sat there for a few minutes, or maybe it was seconds, and then rose to his feet and said (in his normal voice) "I know how to get them to come home so we can eat!" and rushed out of the room. I stared after him wondering what on earth he was talking about. He came not two minutes afterward carrying my school books. All I could do was stare at the ceiling and laugh, but it does seem as though when ever we sit down to get to school, They usually come in and cause a large commotion, and usually causing dad to have to leave to disband some micro crusade, or something of the sort. Well this time- NOTHING happened, at all. We actually made it through, my assignments without being interrupted. All I could think was "Praise to the Lord!" I honestly cannot remember the last time this happened.

About ten minutes later they arrived home and dad and I (who had been sitting at the table staring at the empty bowls before us) were saved from fainting from low blood sugar. We ate soup, drank assorted juices, and were very thankful.when we had finished, I cleared the table, and got back to school.

It's what happened next that has me convinced that my brothers can, not only read minds, but also do positively ridiculous things just to watch my thoughts get all mixed up.

I was very nearly finished with my school work, but there were a few Items that I couldn't find in the books, so I went to ask dad for help. He came and sat down, and we were trying to figure out exactly which terms to search for when; Knock Knock Knock! "NO!" I answered the door, and at the same time, dad says,

"Come in!"
"How could you?" I whispered to him. It was Josh, and I did the only thing one can do when Josh enters a room. I berried my head in my hands and braced my self. Josh opened the door slowly, so slowly that it was nearly painful, he walked in his enormous blue eyes roving all the while, and on every pass they made over my room, his eyes met mine, mischievously. By this time my thoughts were racing, "did I leave my scissors out- where are my recorders? In my cubby, good- my mug?- not impotent-" and other such thoughts. Dad had finished answering whatever question Josh had come to have answered, and Josh walked out of my room walking slowly and backward so as to reveal, his menacing little grin. though he was only in my room for one minute, it took my ten minutes to clean all of the dust out of my attic and resume my studies.





**NOTE: This is not meant to be taken seriously AT ALL. This is to be read for comedic purposes ONLY.

Frequency.

While I was bathing this morning, I had a thought. There are three kinds of thoughts, you know. The kind that comes and goes and one can barely recall having had it unless something reminds them of it, then the second kind that is linked to a particular topic and one remembers it when ever the topic is gone over, and then there is the third kind; this kind stabs you right between the ears, and has not the decency to leave your alone to risk driving you insane. The thought I had was of the third type.

"Why, why, WHY?" it murmured in my head. "why should we put more effort into a book that we'll be fortunate to finish let alone published, than we would put into our journal?" And I must admit, the question has merit; why should I put my focus there? Well after all the stress of the last week, (I got completely fripped out by school) I brushed that aside. I didn't have much school work to do today so I decided to go on a walk, to clear my head and just maybe, catch an idea for my story.

I took Buster (below) with me

and went on my usual route. It felt good to get out of the house and feel the ground under my feet. It had been a long time since I'd gone walking because the pad of my left heel cracked rather badly and I had to wait a while for the skin to heal. Hence the fact that I hadn't left the house in a few weeks. Walking has always seems to get me thinking even better than my first cup of green tea. While the two of us kept walking ideas and thoughts came flooding into my head, but there was still that sharp little prick right between my eyes; "Why?" This time I had to shove the thought out of my head, well as best I could anyway.

I came back home and discovered (much to my chagrin) that my little sister was home sick-- again. My little brothers had been home all last week "sick", they weren't sick most of the time; and they had nearly driven me mad with their antics. I was also informed that I had a rather large load of dishes to wash. I could not have been made to do a chore that I like less (except maybe poop duty, but that one is really closely tied), so with the immeasurable joy of a grave yard positively gilding my face, I set to work. Now, I don't do stuff like this absentmindedly but as I was scrubbing a particularly uncooperative plate, the thought just had to rise up again. "Why?" At that I flew through the dishes as fast as my hands could get them clean. No sooner than I had finished did I proceed to my school work.

I ran to my room fast enough (hopefully) that my vexing thoughts wouldn't be able to follow, and slammed the door as quietly as possible. However, my problems weren't so easily escaped. As I turned and rested my back on the door I beheld, on my desk, propped against the wall; my literature exam. I heard come plodding along down the hall. I ran for my exam and ponced upon it, as fast a my eyes could go, I read the questions. These exams have been getting to be very effortful of late, and though their not my favorite, they do require more concentration than they used to. I used that to my (temporary) advantage. However, it did not last long, and (unfortunately) I'd finished.

I felt calm, for about nine seconds before my thoughts took me again. "why should we put more effort into a book that we'll be fortunate to finish let alone published, than we would put into our journal?"

"Why indeed,"

"There is no reason, and you know it!"

I thought up every reason that I could think of, In vain of course, because he can always see through my pathetic excuses. So after about an hour of arguing with myself left and right, the inevitable conclusion was reached that, there was no good reason, so long as it doesn't interfere with my studies. Because, honestly, I really have nothing better to do, and the up side is I'll have some recorded memories lain away for later. So this is the first step towards that end. Now I have to go and start working on that L.A.R.P. for my little brothers. See ya!

Autumn Almost Over.

Autumn, has come and gone here in Botswana all but unnoticed. Most of the trees haven't changed, those that have did because of a lack of water. Not exactly the beautiful north American Autumn.

 Not exactly an inspirational time of year here unlike in North America. The days are cooler, and the nights have grown ever so slightly longer, not like in Michigan where you get only four hours of light in the winter, but they are still shorter. the nights have actually gotten to be cold enough to where I have to sleep with a feather blanket, but then again I find 45 degrees Fahrenheit nippy; so that could just be me.

To be honest, I didn't even realize that autumn had already come and gone (I know, there's still a few days left, but still), after experiencing a Michigan autumn. In a way it's strange and in away it's not. The first three years we lived here, I lived in a world devoid of time beyond day and night, hot and not, wet and dry. The names months went unspoken, we judged the seasons by what he could see of them. We knew it was winter when it got to freezing at night, we knew it was summer when it was to hot to expend any energy at all; in fact I think the sun burnt the calories out from beneath my skin. That was how time was measured.

When we went back to the States, we were yet again bound by time, the clock and the calender and that's pretty much how it has stayed for most of my family. But not me. Any way.

The sun doesn't scourge the ground any more, the waves from the ground no longer distort every thing farther away than twenty feet. The nights have grown pleasantly cool, and the road no longer burns your feet. The birds have become frolicsome, awaiting the call to the north. Vivaldi's seasons, are on the breeze and puppies are playfully bounding up and down the yard. This is tropical Autumn.

Musical pottery: Week 133

Don't you just love those home schooling weeks where you accomplish absolutely nothing? Yeah, me neither. I cannot understand exactly how, but someway or other I just cannot seem to get algebra right. If I were in a regular school I'd be failed, but recall this is home school, so in the stead of being failed; I get to go back and repeat everything that I didn't get the next day. The issue comes when dad tries to teach the material several different ways and it still doesn't work, which isn't to say that he's not teaching it right; I'm just not getting it.

I haven't really left the house in a few weeks now, which I find surprising even while typing this. I'll be right right back. [twenty minutes later]-- Sorry, I had to thwart the rabid living-room dust bunnies.

anyway: I don't understand it, but it's almost as if I'm ok with not having physical friends (which is kind of scary... well it is for me...). I don't know what changed, because even last year, I was like ravenously searching for friends to be had, I was almost willing to befriend anyone. It just seem a little weird(er) for me that's all. Actually, come to think of it; I have even turned down opportunities to meet other people here. What's wrong with me?

My little brothers have been very interested in my L.A.R.P. games recently. Not that my games were ever that good. They asked me to revive the game Mystic (again), which is more work than I think they realize, but I think I will revive it though; it will give me something to get my mind off of how terrible I feel about school. I never knew the original premise, but as near as I can tell it was something to the affect of "An evil sorcerer, The lord of the Dark Woods sought to take over, or destroy something, and the only one who can stand in his way is the leader of a small band of traveling warriors." something like that. My versions never stayed very close to the original, mostly because I never knew enough about the first story line. So I'll be writing a reboot for that soon (hopefully the next few weeks).

 Bole escaped again a couple days ago, but I have had it. I'm not going to look for him this time. I'm not going to check the gate to see if he's returned; I won't even open the gate for him if he Does return. The most I'll have to do with him is: if I see him again, I'm going to take back the collar that he escaped with. That's it. Nothing more. Hopefully my dad will be able to find a good boerbole puppy to replace him. =======>
There is a part of me that from time to time I feel sad for Buster, because even last night he and Bole were barking at each other. Buster's voice was so mournful (and he doesn't always sound like that). Bole wasn't here BTW, he was a block away, but still, I feel bad for Buster. he really deserved a better brother. It isn't quite fair that Bole hurts Buster like this, but what can you do?

And now for the namesake of this post. I have been practicing my ocarinas a LOT lately, almost incessantly. I have also been practicing my other instruments, but there is something about the sound of the ocarina that is almost mesmerizing, sweeter than a silver flute, colder than a recorder; it's like the musical personification of the first snow day.

Something like the musical equivalent to maple-candy. If you've ever heard one played well (sorry Ryan, that excludes my playing) you'll know what I mean. So dream like.

The first time heard one, the sound of it! It was a woodwind quartet led by an Ocarina. they were playing "Greensleeves", a song born for the flute, if ever one were. I quickly fell in love with the gentle, energetic, flowing and bouncing rhythm of the music, and more than that, the instrument. Odd perhaps, but hey; that's me.

The count has started– Week: 134.

I really haven't done anything recently, except for boring stuff that no one want to hear about like video games. I had been working on short stories, but I just can't seem to find a story that hasn't been told before and that's worth being told. 

My condition continuously seems to be getting in the way of everything that I toil to achieve. The one thing that it doesn't seem to affect is my music, not that is organized either; but if I'm going to get into Seward, I'll need to be able to read music. Curses! Why did I ever want psychological help? It hasn't done any thing to help me if anything, it has made my problems worse.

Bole hasn't been an issue of late. I wish I could say "it was because someone took him", but I can't. We have had to make a dog runner for him and he has not escaped since. This makes one aspect of my chores easier, and that's poop duty. 

I'm really frustrated with a lot right now– and worried. How am I going to make it through college if I can't even finish my high schooling? On top of that I have never been left alone without enough food to survive the duration of my parents absence. So yeah, I'm a little concerned. 

I'm not sure wether or not to label this good or bad news but; my first wisdom tooth is coming in. So I'm gonna hope that's fun. In the mean time; back to my ocarina!

— Chris.

A Brief Explaination on How Good Is Good Enough.

One of my friends was very kind to ask me exactly what was going on in the post “How Good Is Good Enough” and I honestly didn’t think through it very well at the time. After rereading it I can certainly see how it could be confusing, so I am taking a few minutes to try to explain it.

Despite appearances, this was not written to my mother, girlfriend (hope I don’t have one for a long time) or to any real person. One day this past summer (winter for you Americans) I read through a great deal of oratory and shortly thereafter, Poe’s “one desired affect” article, and decided I would take a whack at it myself. So I dreamt a dating couple (I BTW, do NOT support dating, but at the moment that is superfluous information). The female is mood-swingish as all teenage girls are and she has had it up to here- J- and is angry as a similarly sized monkey. The male is also frustrated; he first reacts impulsively, but later bares toward reason—even to the extent of admitting to the fact the problem at hand maybe, in part, his own fault. However, she has made up her mind; she is leaving. She doesn’t want anything more to do with him. However, he resolves that whatever her choice maybe, he will not hinder her despite the pain it will cause him.

I really don’t there is much more I can say without going back through it verse by verse, so I’ll leave it at that for now.

Monday

I have never in my life seen so much stupidness! My thoughts after watching the news channel for about 20 seconds. I hate the way that the anchormen present stories and try to get people all riled up into thinking that something awful could happen at any moment. The gun crisis of late especially, the media has been trying to breed fear with it— if I want to be scared, I read Poe. What's on the news is not only boring but depressing.

Most of what is reported on is utterly stupid. It is a lot of people scurrying around trying to gather info as quickly as possible, with out a care for the whether or not the information is valid and then just spewing it everywhere! I doesn't make much sense to me.

Other aspects of autumn break are going well, I have been working on a new language. It is based on Greek and if I ever finish my book, it will be featured there. But at present, I need more information to continue. I need to know interrogative and exclamatory sentence structure, and other things of that nature.

I feel that I may have gotten to know my brother Joshua a bit better to day. He is very interested in the symbolism in LOTR, we watched the movie already 6 times and he al ways has different questions. To night we discussed the fall of Saruman. I am very impressed at his reasoning abilities, and his curiosity. In my search for answers for Josh, I am learning quite a bit about some of Tolkien's work that I hadn't even noticed before. Anyway I think that's enough said for tonight. Ta!

*sigh* sisters...

Today at about 6:00, I heard a slight tapping, ever so slight a rapping on my bedroom door. I was working on one of my end-of-term exams (I'll bet you can't guess which one). I was annoyed because I'd been distracted all-day long and I just wanted to be done with it. "Enter." I commanded the knocker in the stereotypical bored teenager voice.

I had been prepared to either rip the head off of the knocker, or pretend to act so distant as to make who ever it was wonder if I was even on the same planet and then eventually leave me to my exams . Lazily turned my head as the door was opening and saw to my chagrin that it was my youngest sister, Rebecca. She stood in front of me, about the size of a Hobbit. She looked up at me with her huge hazel eyes, a hesitant smile exposing her front teeth, which her face has yet to grow into. "Chris," she said. "Do you have a leash?"

I just couldn't be that heartless. She was dripping with cuteness (at least I think it was cuteness, it could have been brownie mix) and just couldn't help myself. I looked down next to my feet, directly at the leash. "Oh," she giggled, "I didn't see that..." She trailed off.

I had walked over to my desk and sat bent over my books. Although I knew that her request for the leash was in fact, an invitation to walk with her; I had planed to get back to my work and I had. But it was not 2 minutes later that I heard her ask my dad if I could stop working to walk with her.

My dad agreed, he said "that makes sense, after all; you need a big person to go walking and Chris is the biggest person in our family." I was shocked that he used such non sequitur logic, that just wasn't like him.

So Becca and I went walking. I had decided to use the time to think through a scene that trying to write in my book, and Becca spent most of the walk trying to get Bole to stay on her left side which if you have read my earlier entries you would know is rather difficult.

I was very caught up in my thoughts, trying to decide weather one of the characters in my novel should beg the son of his recently deceased employer for the remaining amount he needed to pay off the debt of one of his friends or not, when Becca asked me; "Do people litter?"

I looked down and said "some people, yes."—

"Why do people litter?" She asked, but it was the way she asked that really got me thinking. She was genuinely concerned about the idea that a person would litter.

"Well," I thought for a moment, "I think tha they litter because they're too selfish to put the trash into a rubbish bin." I said this in the least condemning voice I have. But when I looked at her again her little brow was knit in though.

"Hmm," she grunted, "Or maybe, it's because they don't have a rubbish bin."

I never replied to her remark, it was too cute and too innocent. I can only sit here typing and wonder, what am innocent world she must live in. She always seems to be able to look for a solution to any problem that doesn't put someone in the wrong. I just wish her world stay so pure, but the fact of the matter is that sooner or later, she will see how wrong the world really is and I wish that she wouldn't have to. But what kind of vain hope is that?

For now I will enjoy her ideas and try not to discourage her too much. As Yoda once said, "How wonderful the mind of a child is.…"

How good is good enough?

I just don't understand. What have I done to deserve this? She keeps giving the same old "I'm too busy right now," answer that she always gives me.

Have I taken a great deal of your time? Did I cause you a loss? I work independently, when you asked me for help, I did. When you called me to do chores, I admit that I argued, but I did them. I took joy in cutting the grass, I fed and watered and walked both dogs, I vacuum the house every other day, how many hours of work did that give you? How long did you toil to do the things that I do?

In the times that I asked you to teach me an art, you say that you are too busy? Is it because I don't work where I can be seen? Do you suppose that I am lazy? If I had three weeks, I might finish my works and move on to another endeavor. Is it because I find fault in the foolishness that abounds in my peers? Do you suppose I am a hypocrite? Their stupidity drives me mad at meals alone, why should I not be adversely inclined at it? Perhaps it is my sister. Perhaps the fact that I dislike her mockery of me has angered you.

Perhaps I've been too impatient. Perhaps I have been moved to anger to easily. And I have not apologized, although I had every intention to. Perhaps I have not loved you enough. Perhaps I was too arrogant. Perhaps I have not suffered you enough out ward remorse.

Whatever the case may be, I will not cause you further trouble. I will not speak. I will not hear. I will not feel. I will not see. I will remain a shell, empty and devoid of want or need, and I hope this will appease you.