I was daydreaming about a camping trip I took this past summer with my siblings. My thoughts quickly turned to what I often think about- the future. Specifically, what life is going to be like for me when I get back to the states. I think about all the silly things here that I can’t wait to bring to stateside. A specific way to light matches, giving someone my phone number by saying "nine-hundred eighty-six nineteen fifty-eight." Taking you all out for fufu and probably repeatedly saying "yeah, but imagine 2 years of this." Wowing you with my soccer skills and my less-impressive form of hillbilly French.
Mostly I’m excited for that first summer back in Chicago; the White Sox, Umphrey’s shows, and camping trips. That’s when the lightbulb went off. I’m camping now. That’s all my Peace Corps experience really is. Twenty-seven months of camping. No electricity. No running water.
Reading by candlelight. Sleeping on the hard ground. Napping in a hammock. Drinking 27oz beers. I’m going to be a pro at this by the time I get back. I can’t wait for those bacon s’mores again. Mom, next care package please send marshmallows.
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