Flight booked. December 22nd, it’s time to return to the States...for now. After flirting with expatriate-ism for what will be 105 days, I can speak for the first time with a real sense of authority that I'm coming home to Earth’s greatest and most enigmatic country. And I’m looking forward to it, at peace with where I am at…maybe because good times are still far from cease beating.
Today, finally, I started in with a hacked prescription of Lariam. It’s only 1 pill, actually…and I only get to take it once a week for the next 7 weeks, but dear friends my oh my, how delightful the prospect of those 7 weeks are going to be. For one, I won’t catch Malaria…at least the probability will decrease. In most parts of the world, that’s a good thing. I still have to get a shot to protect from Yellow Fever. Though, the chances of my follow through are slim. Part of me enjoys too much - real life Oregon Trail. It's just like I used to play on shanty computers in early grade school, watching helplessly as my family would perish away from these very ailments as I guided us towards a better life in the joyous splendor of the American frontier.
But let us get back to the Lariam and my enthusiasm. Kindly note the coming abundance of quotations…wouldn’t want anyone to overlook that this is DIRECTLY pulled…
“ “ “Lariam can rarely cause serious mental problems in some patients. The most frequently reported side effects with Lariam, such as nausea, difficulty sleeping and bad dreams are usually mild. People taking Lariam occasionally experience severe anxiety, feelings that people are against them, hallucinations (seeing or hearing things that are not there, for example), depression, unusual behavior, or feeling disoriented. It has been reported that sometimes, in some patients, these side effects continue after Lariam is stopped. Some patients taking Lariam think about killing themselves, and there have been rare reports of suicides. We do not know if Lariam was responsible for these suicides.” ” ”
Next Wednesday, I’m hopping a flight to Johannesburg, picking up a little bitch Ford Focus...probably white. Sorry, uncalled. I speak ill only because of my foresight…reeling from separation anxiety after parting with Jameson, my struggling ’77 stud VW. From Jo-Burg, it’s a 5 hour drive to Kruger - an African national park that’s the size of everything east of the Mississippi. Note: previous statement likely not factual…but it could be. Kruger is a monster full of beautiful monsters. That part is true.
“Don’t go to Zimbabwe.” “So seriously, my friends just got back from Zimbabwe, don’t go.” “Africa is sweet, dude. Dude, don’t go to Zimbabwe.” “Stay out of Zimbabwe. It's totally fucked.”
The following Saturday, I’m hopping a flight to Zimbabwe. This little thing that’s supposed to be a sight, Vic Falls, sits on the border of Zambia and the country of previous mention. I’ll split time between them, two places where meds of previous mention slip beyond the borders of optional. Things will ensue.
…
Snake bites!
Of course. And dealt from the sorts of snakes that stomp in deep Africa…certainly fatal AND in compliance with Oregon Trail treachery, especially if you fuck with their babies...which, I imagine, would be the cause that leads to my effect: lecture from a butch park ranger named Cleoa and more meds to combat the poison partying it up in my veins.
Perhaps I'll vaccinate after all. Perhaps.
