Life at Embassy Kabul is so bizarre that it's best not to try to make it seem normal. Except I'm still trying. I recently bought two small pieces of furniture at the mini-bazaar held on the compound once a week: a small end table and a footstool. Both are nice pieces and do a lot to make my hooch feel less like a storage container. But it is still a storage container.
I'm in a constant philosophical struggle between resignation and delusion. Should I resign myself to the fact that I live in a storage container and that life here is what it is; or should I delude myself into thinking I can make my storage container, ergo my life here, better than it is.
I usually end up resigning myself to reality, but somewhat comforted by the fact that this job is teaching me things I wouldn't have learned anywhere else. Ooh! That's a good line, I should remember to put that in my EER.
I'm in a constant philosophical struggle between resignation and delusion. Should I resign myself to the fact that I live in a storage container and that life here is what it is; or should I delude myself into thinking I can make my storage container, ergo my life here, better than it is.
I usually end up resigning myself to reality, but somewhat comforted by the fact that this job is teaching me things I wouldn't have learned anywhere else. Ooh! That's a good line, I should remember to put that in my EER.
