My task at the moment, as I perceive it, is to crawl under a structure raised in the 1870’s, about six inches over a hill of red dirt, and repair the inevitable termite damage resulting from a structure built on the ground. I am almost done. I am finishing this chore up in Central African heat. I am curiously proud of myself, yet simultaneously aware of a resolute dimness that lies behind all of my actions. My chest is at times curiously sore. My left arm, numb.
Last night, after digging in the narrow crawlspace, I plunged into a horsetrough freshly filled with well water, and had the distinct sensation of wasp stings across my thorax.
Curiously, this strikes me as a good way to go.

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