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Jun. 2nd, 2006 05:09 pmHigh on the list of things I dislike in this universe are: packing, organization, and shopping.
I'm not even going to ask you to guess what I've been up to lately, except to say that it involves stunningly small amounts of printing, even though I have my very own litho press in my home at my disposal, and that is just wrong wrong wrong wrong.
I have, however, spent something like three hundred dollars on clothes in the last few weeks, which, seriously. This is enough money for a plane ticket to Boston. You can't see me gesticulating wildly, but I totally, totally am. It's been all skirts! Blouses! Underwear! Dresses!, and it's more than a little freaky that come like, a month, I will actually be wearing them. And man, I understand that I am going to a country where it is rude not to be well dressed, and I understand that I will be breaking my head left and right attempting to adapt to a whole new set of social mores. This is to be expected. What I don't understand is why they can't just adjust to me. They have the advantage of knowing I am the weird foreigner. Also: they are only a small country and I am very stubborn. And it would totally make my life easier if I could just take my chacos and some tshirts.
Obviously, the universe fails, once again(!), at bending to my every whim.
So packing. I am receiving all kinds of good advice from people, like the importance of packing a blender, as they will be hard to find in the Caribbean. What I'm wondering about, are my fellow volunteers, who I'm certain will not be attempting to pack the previously mentioned litho press, or a blender, or an iron (OH MY GOD. DID I NOT JOIN THE PEACE CORPS SO THAT I WOULDN'T HAVE TO IRON CLOTHING? WAS THIS NOT CLEARLY OUTLINED IN MY STATEMENT OF PURPOSE?), or a piercing jig, or any of the fifty billion pieces of art paraphernalia I am informed I will have all the time in the world to play with. (My parents are totally lying to me for the sheer joy of watching me try to haul around all eighty pounds of luggage Peace Corps will ensure. I know this, and I am some how plunging forward anyway.)
It sounds, from this, like I am being productive, which, I feel compelled to clarify, is not actually true. Superficially, I may be getting a few things here and there done, but really, I'm spending a whole lot of time staring into space and reading back issues of the New York Times Magazine. It almost feels (dare I say it!) relaxing.
I'm not even going to ask you to guess what I've been up to lately, except to say that it involves stunningly small amounts of printing, even though I have my very own litho press in my home at my disposal, and that is just wrong wrong wrong wrong.
I have, however, spent something like three hundred dollars on clothes in the last few weeks, which, seriously. This is enough money for a plane ticket to Boston. You can't see me gesticulating wildly, but I totally, totally am. It's been all skirts! Blouses! Underwear! Dresses!, and it's more than a little freaky that come like, a month, I will actually be wearing them. And man, I understand that I am going to a country where it is rude not to be well dressed, and I understand that I will be breaking my head left and right attempting to adapt to a whole new set of social mores. This is to be expected. What I don't understand is why they can't just adjust to me. They have the advantage of knowing I am the weird foreigner. Also: they are only a small country and I am very stubborn. And it would totally make my life easier if I could just take my chacos and some tshirts.
Obviously, the universe fails, once again(!), at bending to my every whim.
So packing. I am receiving all kinds of good advice from people, like the importance of packing a blender, as they will be hard to find in the Caribbean. What I'm wondering about, are my fellow volunteers, who I'm certain will not be attempting to pack the previously mentioned litho press, or a blender, or an iron (OH MY GOD. DID I NOT JOIN THE PEACE CORPS SO THAT I WOULDN'T HAVE TO IRON CLOTHING? WAS THIS NOT CLEARLY OUTLINED IN MY STATEMENT OF PURPOSE?), or a piercing jig, or any of the fifty billion pieces of art paraphernalia I am informed I will have all the time in the world to play with. (My parents are totally lying to me for the sheer joy of watching me try to haul around all eighty pounds of luggage Peace Corps will ensure. I know this, and I am some how plunging forward anyway.)
It sounds, from this, like I am being productive, which, I feel compelled to clarify, is not actually true. Superficially, I may be getting a few things here and there done, but really, I'm spending a whole lot of time staring into space and reading back issues of the New York Times Magazine. It almost feels (dare I say it!) relaxing.
