Swimming in May

I'm sick again. This time it's a head cold. I think I've had pretty much everything, from stomach issues to nausea to an ear infection. My immune system is going to be an indestructible iron cage before too long. I went to the pharmacy today where you can purchase just about everything without a prescription, including amoxicilin and Vicatin. I passed on the later, but was all to happy to accept the three medications the nice woman gave me for $3 American. It's astonishing how we learn all this vocabulary in the US about going to the pharmacy, being sick, and medications, yet I never remembered any of that vocabulary. When would it be useful? It was ironic that I was getting out my vocabulary sheet while sitting at a cafe this afternoon before I went next door to practice it on the pharmacist.

I'm finding things are getting easier as time goes by. There are still awkward moments that will continue, like trying to track down the cafe waiter and finding the right person who to pay for lack of cash register. Finding change for a 100 guinea bill (no one ever has change-al-fakah zay a-dahab [change is like gold] as I say). I wish I could get used to the pollution in the air though; it's bringing me down. 

Time seems to slipping by so quickly. There's only a month left for the kids who are here for the summer. I keep imagining how it will be after they leave, and it's down to the few 10 of us. I feel that by then things will start to get, well, serious. I'll have an apartment, be out of the dorms, starting classes with Egyptians, continuing with my regular ones, working at an internship, and working alongside with a new language partner and study partner for my Egyptian classes. Things will once again be harder. 

Most days seem to me like swimming on the first May. I dread that first few steps into the ice cold water. Goosebumps shoot up my body, I convulse, and I let out a tortured yelp. I'm uncomfortably cold, yet necessity seizes my mind and out of instinct, I jump under the choppy waves without a second thought. As the icy water slices past my warm body, I forget fear as the prickly daggers of ice are transformed into powerful shots of adrenaline pulsating from my brain to my toes. I yelp, yet no one can hear me. I'm totally submerged. As I emerge gasping for air, I realize that the water, though electrifyingly cold, is warmer than the air around it. I keep my body submerged in the icy lake so as not to deliver any unnecessary shock to the body and psyche. Only my head stays above the waves, breathing to deliver vital oxygen from above to my blood stream inundated and mixing with the adrenaline.  I don't dare rise above the waterline for fear of a new shock that would abrogate my latest, exhilaratingly painful experience.  As the adrenaline fades, I am again able to think clearly. I swim around in my newly-acclimated body, exploring further and further out into the blue abyss that I hadn't previously noticed, being too preoccupied with shock. Anticipation grows as I enter deeper and deeper into the water, grinning as I wonder what I will discover.

The first few hours after my classes, when I'm set lose in Egyptian society, are like swimming in May. After a short while, however, the experiences fade to the ordinary. I feel like I can do anything, as long as I have my head above the water; as long as I am aware of what I am experiencing. The water isn't so bad after a few hours. But then I return home and fall asleep. The Herculean feeling of invincibility dissolves into a melange of thoughts, dreams, and subconscious slumber. All that I had gained the previous day slips away with the setting moon. The Beginning repeats itself the next day, as does the quest for comfort and the reinforcement of confidence in a strange new world.

 Soon, I hope to be able to wake up still in the water, still feeling the warm lake around my body, and immune from the violent shock of wading into the deep blue. I'm still waiting for the consistent warmth of June-like waters. For now, the shock of May will have to do.