So, as I was breaking my notrunning team training program this morning, something occurred to me which has been percolating since yesterday or so. I greeted one of my 6th grade boys who usually hangs around the stadium the same time as me.
Turn on my jammin' tunes. I've got some new ones, thanks to a certain charitable donor. And the words seem to reflect my line of thought for the past few whatever-periods-of-time. Let me illuminate.
Yesterday I had a chat.
Rick: "You know, you should keep writing. You've got good stuff."
Me: "Most of the time it's like, 'Today I picked chinchari. Hooray.' Nothing really interesting."
By interesting, I mean writing style. Like, I just word vomit on the keyboard and whatever comes out is what you, my zillions of loyal fans, are stuck reading, if you make it to the end of the entries. Sorry I'm not very entertaining. I seem to have lost that in the shuffle of everyday life in the Twilight Zone. (That along with patience. There's only so many times I can handle "Does she like xinkali? What's her age? Do you like Georgia? You don't like meat? [finally realizing, after asking my CP and listening to me answer for myself multiple times that, I do understand simple questions. Then...] American people are cold," without losing all willpower against clumping all Georgians into one category, that of ridiculous goimi, and answering their questions with the same tone they are asked. That tone would be the one you use with slow children.
But anyway. I also met a Fulbrighter yesterday when picking up some ice cream before getting on the marshutka headed the opposite way of Ortachalla station, where I wanted to go to catch the marsh home. He was amazingly helpful in providing resources and had really cool research, and encouraged me to look into Fulbright. But... as I stop and think, I really haven't done much to impress people I will solicit employment from except "put a good effort in going through the motions of teaching, even though the best of her students still write things like 'I will poor. I will not steal because I will not like steal.'" No extra activities, not for Earth Day (local bio/geo teacher/host fam member planned that on her own), no SPA grant or progress since Project Design and Management training... no nothing. I barely manage to keep up with visiting the neighbors and helping the FFG advisor teacher download flash to get Farmville to work. And I've felt like I've been off gallivanting with my friend Ana a lot and neglecting the fam. More stress on myself.
So why was I in Tbilisi on a weekday in the first place? Well, this past weekend I've been chilling at home. So I decided I'd help out with some of the garden work. I learned გამარგვლა (gamargwla [weeding]). I also planted potatoes. A whole friggin field of potatoes. Mind you, I really don't like potatoes. I'll eat them when I haven't had enough bananas for the potassium, but, really, my starch needs are covered. Whatever. The point is, the day after weeding, my pinky slowly swelled up to the size of a hefty cigar, with the same amount of flexibility. Also there was a red line from my pinky to my elbow.
Called the doc, got a blood test, an x-ray from the cool Russian guy who x-rayed me before, spent the night at the PC-approved hostel (if I knew it was gonna be an overnight, I would have brought extra underwear...), and got put on antibiotics. But my finger was starting to heal itself, so whatev.
I became the impromptu PR for the docs to get G9s to present at PST sessions. I may participate in a couple of their sessions as well as (hopefully) "Host Family Integration" and "Avoiding Unwanted Attention."
I also got to see my old LCF and awesome friend Ana, which made my indeterminable period of time. And met some PCVs from Armenia and Azerbaijan who were in town to judge Writing Olympics, trans-Caucasus level.
Also, ice cream is back in a maghazia near you. Praise be to-- well, you know.
Speaking of which, I was Baptismnapped today while attempting to plan lessons. My CP was asked to be an emergency godmother, because the grandfather died so the kid needed to be Baptized STAT (or something like that), so we went to the baptism, at which the child screamed bloody murder when the priest brushed oil on her forehead/cheeks/feet. We then went to the obligatory supra. Neither of us really wanted to go, but it's tradition and The Right Thing To Do. And when the natural progression turned to the unique topic of "You Should Marry a Georgian," I calmly explained to them that I would only marry a man who "knows house's work, like washing the dishes and cleaning, because there are men like that in America, and we usually share the chores." Usual rounds of laughter from the men, and a "Georgian men--UGH!" from like the main lady there. Hooray!
So, like I said, nothing remarkable going on in my life.
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