Dilam Mshvidobisa

Hello, it's been a while.  How is the life you're leading?

And that is how I feel lately about everybody who does not live in my village.

To the people in America: How was that margarita?  How was your drive to work in the morning?  How was that Starbucks latte?  Your paying job?  Your family?

To my fellow PCVs: How was that night of supra and cha-cha?  How did you get out of teaching those crazy 7th graders?  Ah, really?  You faked appendicitis?  And your bowel movements?

To other PCVs around the world: Are your jeans dry yet?  Now?  How about now?  Now?  Now?  Now?  Because I assume this is a question that we ALL have in common.

Long stretches of time in the village causes me to take up curious routines.  Take my morning one, for example:

Wake up in the morning, refuse to get out of bed.  Snuggle down the bed (literally lengthwise) as much as possible to reduce the "hammock" effect of the Russian springs.  Hit snooze but stare at your phone.  Don't sleep.  Just wait.

Get up, finally.  Easily 30 minutes after you've actually woken up.  Slip on slippers and fleece.  Wander downstairs.  Spend far too long mulling over tea.  This may cause your 3 year old host sister to ask you if you've "gone senile".  In response, stick your tongue out at her.  This is the adult way to react.  Really.

Get up, go into high-gear, dress as quickly as possible.  Fix hair and brush & floss downstairs.  Give a piece of floss to your 5 year old host sister.  Floss together.

Purposefully wait until everybody else has left for school so that you can walk on your own.  Call it Zen, call it antisocial, call it whatever you like ... just try not to get hit by a car careening around one of the multiple blind corners.  Walk as close to the guardrail-thing as possible and accept the potentiality of your imminent death.

Get to school.  Say hello to every student under the age of 15.  Go to your classroom.  YOU HAVE YOUR OWN KEY NOW.  You are still celebrating this and doing a mental happy dance every time you unlock the classroom door with YOUR KEY.  It's the little things.

Or the noticeable slippage of sanity.