Movie. Must watch a movie. Have a beer. Sit down.
How do people do it? Shanti was telling me yesterday that she usually packs within half an hour. I started at 11am. It's 10pm now and I just closed the suitcase. I can say proudly that it is at least 1/2 empty, though for fairness' sake, I need to add that it's a monster of a suitcase. But it's the only one where the two giant paper rolls I'm bringing for our training would fit. Not that I pack in one go either. I don't do anything straightforwardedly. While I pack I find things that distsract me in the process. Thus I did my manicure and pedicure, since I found the dearly missed awesome nailfile that was hiding in a pile of papers, I stitched some missing buttons on things, went to buy another Wild Turkey bottle for Andreas to bring to Hyderabad (he requested two). I also washed my Timbuk2 bag and my Fighter Club sneakers and while I was collecting them from the garden where they were drying, I watered the lawn and all the plants. That's at least 4 hours of activities right there. Plus trying on all of my t-shirts to see which will cover my new tattoo. I'd rather not display it to the 200 students that are devoutedly Christian, conservative, timid, and uptight.
I wish they were handing out the Wild Turkey t-shirts with those bottles I bought. Since it's my dad's favorite bourbon as well, I've been buying it for some time. It came with a t-shirt once that depicts a very red turkey and says 'Wild Turkey' on it. That's all. Looks funny on my father, to say the least. It goes well with his collection of t-shirts, many of which are inheritance from my teenage years. There's the 'Psycho' t-shirt, the 'Nirvana In Utero' t-shirt, the crazy army t-shirt... He wears them all. To work. Combined with short shorts, long socks, and sandals. He's a professor, mind you. Oh well, I embraced it as a charming element of his character. I used to concern myself a great deal with what he wears, inspect his outfit before he leaves the house, but these days it actually warms my heart to see his silly outfits. Whenever he buys a piece of clothing for himself, it guarantees to be a lot of fun, if hideous. His suits have a colorful checkered inside that shows on cuffs and collar, his pants will have twenty pockets and fifty buttons... Seems that I'm homesick. If I could choose whether to fly to Hyderabad, New Zealand, Brazil, Rwanda, tropical islands of the Carribean, or Slovakia tomorrow, I would not hesitate. Well, I'd think about Rwanda for 10 seconds, but still. I am due to go home for awhile.
But I'm not going home. I'm going to Hyderabad. (Bummer. Oh poor me). Via Newark and New Delhi. There I meet David and Brigitt, and we'll stay in 'Hotel Star' near the airport. Hotel Star is sending a driver for 'Sir Dagmar" to pick us up. I reserved our rooms over email, and it seems that it never dawned on them I could possibly be a female. I am in charge, arranging things, I must be a Sir Dagmar. Sure made for a good nickname.
I shall watch Hotel Rwanda now to get ready for the trip. Don't ask me how, I'm not even sure how myself, but it does make perfect sense deep down in my head. The Department of Homeland Security and their freezing of all pending applications, which screwed me over big time, is to be thanked for my gloomy mood. But musn't grumble. There are always worse things in the world than not being able to work or possibly face deportation. Like... genocide. Which is why I read Dallaire, Gourevitch, or Powers in bed before I switch the lamp off.
I should seek inspiration from my five year old nephew. He repeated the mantra I taught him to me on the phone today:"I choose to be happy! I choose to be happy!" And he's bloody right.
Hotel Rwanda it is. Whee! More to come... from Hyderabad.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment