departing slowly but surely

By the way, 'bang' means 'bang' and 'fai' means 'fire, light or electricity.'

I've been asked by admin to be a resource volunteer for the new group's secondary training, and to give a discussion on community outreach projects. Cool. I'm a little nervous, but I'm getting better at sounding like I know what I'm talking about. Really, I'm just planning to talk a bit about my projects, how I've gone about doing them, with whom and how long it's taken. It should be pretty informal. Hmmm.
I've recently been having this image crop up in my mind of myself as a kid lying crumpled in the dust on a little league field with the wind knocked out of me. This seems odd because it doesn't exactly coincide with my general conscious feelings of late. I've got that burst of motivation, restlessness and surges of activity. Maybe it's my inner cynic clammoring for attention. I could just be a bit nutty from living here for so long. Whe I go home in October I will have been gone for 22 months straight. I am clearly and reasonably concerned about what things will be like back Stateside.
But the thing is I feel for the first time ever that I really know myself well enough to be totally content with my world. This is a detour, albeit a major chapter in my existance, finite and variegated, and I have never been more isolated, yet neither have I ever had so many near and dear traveling companions. I don't know how this will end, or when for that matter, but I know it will be messy.
And it's raining hard in the late afternoon, a Sunday, quiet like always. Things have stopped surprising me. I was actually surprised the other day that I wasn't surprised my a beer bucket in my school cafeteria. I have grown comfortable with the chaos. This is good. I have also grown accustomed to not really caring about a primary portion of what is supposed to be my job. This is unfortunate. But I just can't care about everything; I must prioritize.
I've also recently been dwelling in a place where I am a very small human. Physically. I'm feeling collapsable, stowable in overhead compartments, minute and female, wadded up like paper that's been through the wash, and expecting at any moment to spontaneiously combust.
I think this year is marked by a lack of desire to tell. The get-a-load-of-this feelings have passed into a greater desire to just experience it all, and really breate it in, painful as it is, for one last time.