Jan 1

I am sitting here with mosquitoes biting my feet because Fary took my mosquito product, not caring that I don't have any. I could get another one. I am unable to read and have to get in bed under the mosquito net.

My lipo is missing so my lips were dry today and sticking while I was talking to Amath. No big deal to steal from Fatou-she can always get another one. Every day I "have" to offer money to someone. Because I have, and they haven't. But their clothes are better, and their beds, their rooms, their shoes, their hair. They eat in freedom but I am condemned to serfdom by ancient guilt.

My credit, 1000 CFA-800 to them to call boyfriends or emergencies, 200 to me to text, and I am always out. And they can beg. But I, spend tithe twice to give to these people, like feeding a fire under sugar cookies.

The worst thing is being denied my personhood. But its only my fault. I don't have anything they consider worth constituting a person- I don't wear makeup or diw, or perfume...I don't mesh, I can't cook, I can't dance, or wash, or mash millet, I don't work, I can barely speak, I don't watch Brazilian soap operas.

One day, this might not matter to me. But today, it does. I can't help but feel its my fault...It must be because I don't believe in Yallah...

...I reject the feminine. Because if I embrace it there won't be larger, more distracting oddities...

...The truth is as much as I want to find fault with Marie to scream at her one day as she forces me to give up all my possessions and critiques my every breath-there's nothing I can say. She's the perfect woman-beautiful, self-reserved, hard working, great cook, even better dancer, takes care of people, greater pleaser in pleasing others than herself.

I want to imagine taking her to Amerique and her being shocked at by suavite over there, but the truth is she would beat me in seconds with her...resolved features and determined, strong eyes.

...All of this is crazy late night talk and tomorrow I will walk in the woods, eat coleslaw, and forget it.