ambling-ramblitude.
Tonight I wrote a letter that I cannot send. Last week, I wrote the same letter, with more words and a few more recipients; which also learnt that it would neither see light, nor day.
It is hard to write these days; because I know that my audience is larger than the breadth of my comfort zone; it is even harder, because I do not know where my erstwhile comfort-zone can be found again; especially now that comfort costs $80 a night [water not included]. Don’t worry, we got a discount.
The tone, I find, is sullen and constraining; the message, stifled by a lack of openness. This moment, foreshadowed by many dreams and prophetic visions; none with sufficient clarity to prepare me for what has become our life. Today, is a new day though: Barney is coming to Ghana.
That shall certainly put some purple punch in my kool aid.
One day I will find the words to say to my family. Until then, I shall think of stories to amuse you.
Whoever you are.