Over It

Maybe it’s that the generator’s broken, again, so it’s pitch black at home tonight.  Maybe it's that this morning I almost slipped and fell because of the huge puddle in the middle of our hallway from the leak in the roof that never got fixed.  

Maybe it’s the additional patience I’ve needed over the past week to deal with the combination of slower than usual Internet (thanks to the cable down West Africa getting damaged) and worse than usual traffic (thanks to construction on the main road in town).  Maybe it’s the incompetence I’ve faced in even the most unlikely places lately.  

Maybe it's that two of our friends were robbed last week.  While they slept at night someone broke into their apartment and took the computers and phones that were sitting at their bedsides. 

Maybe it’s that now that my departure is nearing, so many Liberians around me are asking, “so what are you going to leave for me when you go?”  I dragged myself to a party for one of our regular driver’s babies today.  I didn’t want to go in the least, but Macintosh is so sweet and he’s been telling us about his new baby Ruth all summer.  They thanked us for coming and then asked us to buy them a $150 bed for the baby.  I felt used.

Maybe it’s because in every picture I see of myself it seems I’ve aged years in the weeks I’ve been here.  I’m sure the fact I haven’t practiced yoga in a week now doesn’t help.

Maybe it’s that the litany of inconveniences I’d had to face on a daily basis have just worn me to the bone, and with the end so close I can see it I’m having a hard time mustering the energy to deal.  

I don't mean to bitch.  I’m just over it.