I think it's day eleven, maybe twelve - I'm not sure. The days all run together in endless chaos. I have accepted the fact that this is my fate. I feel a certain responsibility for those sharing the camp with me - and, yes, an affection I cannot describe. Though I still do not understand the way they think or some of the things they say. Their questions remain endless and mind boggling. No, I do not know what we will be having for dinner three days from now. At this point, I barely remember my name and often catch myself before responding in the high-pitched tone the natives use to call me.
The food supply I laid in very recently is nearly depleted despite several more journeys to hunt and gather. My trading implements are near zero and it's several more days until I can restore them. And still they're hungry - needing specific items, like milk and bread. I do not know what's happening to the provisions. Perhaps a thief is sneaking into camp in the middle of the night to further decimate our supplies?
And the rain! Will it ever stop? There has been no way to distract them - no peace and quiet. The natives appear to be handling this situation much better than I. They dance, sing, and laugh in a decibel that threatens to break my eardrums. They do not stop. Ever. Even when it's past time for restorative sleep. The disruptions hack away at my soul.
I fear today's event. The other locals are in party mode, drawing visitors from surrounding places and clogging the pathways and travel routes with shoulder-to-shoulder bodies. Most of my natives, including the visiting ones, are caught up in the thrill of it all. Some are not, but have been forced to participate because of affiliations they maintain. It means I must travel and interact with the visitors. I also must take special precautions to maintain the validity of our private space. The incoming travelers have no concern for camp boundaries and think nothing of intruding into private spaces. I believe it must be a cultural difference, though I do not like this. Friendlier travelers will be welcome in our camp and around our fire. I have no way of knowing when or how many. The constant rain may change the norm. My usual companion - the now naked dog - is no help today. She is concerned and distracted by the travelers and has taken to hiding in a corner of our dining area. Her stress comes out in a way very similar to the natives - noise and frenzied activity that further threatens my sanity.
One wonders if it's possible to get to the end of this day with wits and life intact? I have survived before, but each year is different than the last and I never know exactly what to expect. I can only hope some sanity will come with the return of the man who lives here with me.
I do not think help is coming. I have stopped watching for it.
Who knows how much longer I can maintain the facade of authority? I fear it's the only thing keeping me from facing a pot of boiling water.
If you get here and find my head on a pike, you will know...