A Little Lisa.: Airport Disco Manifesto

Well into June and what have I done with my time? Well, plenty, if you are going by Ugandan time. I suppose I cant discredit myself too much here - I have been able to jump from airport to airport and road to road, letting them take me to places I've never been. Thailand and Cambodia are done, well done. Ohio came and went and Holly got hitched and looked absolutely fabulous doing it.

There have been times of extreme exhaustion where I want nothing more than to be in my bed in Cheyenne and watch hours upon hours of True Blood (who knew?). The funny thing is, is that when I get to do just that, I suddenly want to be somewhere else, doing something else, so I don't make myself feel lazy. My parents have been rock stars, letting me take my time being a bum or swing in and out of their homes as I please. People call me a world traveler and welcome me home, but I am starting to realize something - I don't think I'm exactly addicted to traveling, but I do think that I am addicted to not being home, to not even being in America. It's a strange feeling, one that I'm going to try to fight the next year while I make American plans for myself.

But, no pressure, right? That's what I think. The truth is, my biggest enemy being back home is myself. It's that side of myself that is telling me to get a job, to go out and enjoy the beautiful day (ummm, Lisa...you had two flippin years of beautiful days, can't you just watch TV now? Actually, no. My attention span, while in tune to staring at a whitewashed wall and reading a book for 4 hours in blistering heat, cannot handle more than an hour of the succubus known as TV). That part of myself, dare I say my American self, that needs to feel accomplished and productive pushes me more and more everyday to get a shitty job I don't like or to apply to schools even though the last thing I want to do right now is go back to paying thousands of dollars just so I can read (yeah, liberal arts!!).

I want a direction. A passion, even. And I don't want to spend the next year worrying that I gave up my passion by coming home. So, now when people ask me "what are you going to do?" "what are your plans?" "what do you do all day?" All I can say is " I don't know." "My plan is to find my own direction." and "Whatever the hell I want."

Let's be honest - life could be worse. I actually think I've got a pretty good thing going here...yeah, I can't really tell any of you what exactly that 'thing' is, I can't even pinpoint it myself, but what is important to me is that I stay on a true and righteous path to myself. I love home. Home is good. But home comes to encompass more and more places the older we get. Right now, home to me is my family, my friends, a windy, rolling prairie with amazing storms and beautiful sunsets. It's also cock crow at 430am, one of two chairs in my modest home in Kaliro, riding my bike up to the NTC after a bead workshop, a cold (or hot) Eagle, soul food by Agnes and Susan's nagging.

But enough of that. I've seen some good shit the past month and a half outta PC. I've had warm reunions, good food, great conversations and the most comfortable beds this side of the Atlantic (no more flippin foam!). I do spend a good part of my time looking through pictures of Uganda and trying not to feel sorry for myself. Keeping busy also helps, although I'm afraid I channeled my feral side every now and then when things get a bit overwhelming - those of you who know me, know Feral Lisa fairly well: watery eyes, quivering chin, a bit of yelling here and there, red face, shaky voice, if there is a door to be slammed, it will be; if there is something that can be thrown, it will be...and all of this within minutes of Happy Lisa. I think my mother has witnessed the Feral Lisa episodes the most - shoe shopping brought on my anxiety attack at freakin' Frontier Mall (not a good idea to have a panic attack when shopping for things that you will wear in public. Then your mother - who is meant to be the voice of reason - will just let you do what you want and not get in your way for fear of Feral Lisa rearing her ugly head once again - and then you'll buy blue, 5 in., snake skin heels meant for the local amputee stripper at the Green Door, but you'll find it a good idea to wear them to your best friends wedding (don't worry, I returned them the next day)). And then I had to go the grocery store...why cant there just be one kind of tortilla chip? No funky shapes, no 'no salt added' or 'lime flavour'...i just want a damn tortilla chip.

Ahhh...the things to cherish about culture shock in your own country. It's enough to make me want another Negra Modelo and enjoy my "strip" shaped tortilla chips and guac. Until next time, enjoy the few following pictures from Thai/Cambodia.
Cheers.