I have been lax in my journaling this summer. Not because I am busy doing fun and creative things, but because I never seem to get the required peace to properly put my summer experience onto paper (or the Internet, but you know what I mean).
They. Are. Always. Feeding.
It is a struggle to keep enough provisions stocked to sate their ravenous appetites. I think the shells and beads I earn all are traded for supplies. There are half of the natives there has been in past summers, but the constant trading for provisions has not changed. I am worried.
The natives have not yet settled into their routine. It is a strange season this year and I don't think any of us have adjusted to the major changes that have occurred within our camp over the past few months. We are all restless.
Though, mostly, I am scared.
Scared of natives who are now old enough to stay up beyond my required bed time - well, one of them is, but still. Scared of natives who have made ninety percent of the evening meal while I am gone. Scared of chickens. Scared of dogs with horrible haircuts. Scared of...well, many things, but I will not go into them and chance being discovered taking these few precious moments to update my journal.
I must always maintain the illusion of control, though I'm not sure they believe me...I do not fear for my life any longer, but I do fear for my sanity. I am in no way ready for the season to end, but I am ready to have some fun with the natives before the warm weather ends...
That is all. Someone is yelling for food again. I need to check to see if my hiding places are holding out.