Don't make it stop.

I must have the blood of some nomadic tribe pumping through my veins.  I'm sure of it.  Couple hundred years ago my ancestors were criss-crossing Africa with their fellow tribesman, hanging out a while when they particularly liked a place, paying homage to it before moving on and keeping only the best of it in their hearts.  Those are my folk.  And since there was a whole tribe of them they had the amazing ability to take photographs of each other and could knock someone on the shoulder when they saw something awe-inspiring and say "Hey Donald!  Did you just see that?" and Donald would respond yes, since he'd witnessed the very same thing.  And it was good. 

There's a strange comfort about being in a different place every couple of days and having only as many posessions as Cellini Euroline will allow me to carry.  The freshness of a new destination brings me to life, my senses forever tickled by the new and exciting. 

Alack alas, nothing lasts forever.

It's November people.  November.  The eleventh month of the year and the 5th month of my journey and yes, I'm scheduled to return to the coast of Africa imminently.  Weeell, I use that word sort of loosely, I probably have about another month in me before my financial situation hits rock bottom.  Even if I wanted to stay I couldn't.  I would have to be able to prove that I had enough money to sustain myself here for another 6 months, and surely I do not.  The jigg is up folks, my days are running thin and the closer I get to the east coast (where my flight back home will be departing from) the more my palms sweat.  

There are a few small things that concern me about returning to the coastline of Africa:

• What the hell am I going to do when I get there?
• Where the hell am I going to live?
• What the hell am I going to drive?
• Where the hell is the cashola going to apparate from???

Thinking continuously on these questions have induced mild cases of insomnia and depression.  When I go back home my life is going to be exactly the same and I bet you after a week it's going to feel like I never left.  The horror of it. 

I imagine myself lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling like I often did before this trip, and the ceiling looking back blankly, unchanged, and after a fair amount of staring each other down I'll be happy that I'm in my little box-house and protected from the dangers out there.  Once again my house will serve as a refuge, one I will scurry to everyday and appreciate and love for shielding me from the world.

Without a doubt I will buy a car on my return.  In fact, I already have scouts out looking for one as I type.  "I want a better car," I said to my dad on skype, "one with aircon and central locking.  I want airbags for God's sake," and he ticked his boxes and went off in search of it.  This car will have to be paid off no doubt and then I'll have to get some medical insurance which I've never had, and before you know it I'll be back in the system, cursing in traffic, tired from a life not lived. 

I'll spend the bulk of my time trying to impress myself and whoever else might be watching.  For what. 

I've spent 5 months living without boundaries, making decisions on the spur of the moment and not having to answer to anyone or explaining myself.  In many respects I have lived the ulitmate freedom: adventuring solo into the wilderness with no real boundaries or timelines.

I don't ever want it to stop.