Get ready for a whole slew of randomness!
I hate my neighbors, I love my neighbors. I hate this country, I love this country. I hate this job, I love this job. And there you go.
What does this mean? Well, it means if you are thinking of joining the Peace Corps and wondering what it’s like, you have your answer. This experience are those sentiments expressed over and over, sometimes even during the course of a single day. I have gone one year without vacation. I am an oddity. We get 2 days vacation leave/ month. HOLY COW that’s….yep…48 days in two years of service. How ’bout them apples? So why have I gone over 365 of those days not on vacation or traveling? The answer is a bit complex. I suppose I could sum up with one sentence: Growing up as a child, my family took exactly ONE vacation, and that was to Maine for 2 weeks (my dad drove there in back and I spent a total of 6 days in the backseat of a Geo Prism). I’ve traveled plenty, don’t get me wrong, but “vacation”? Hardly ever. When I studied in Paris I took one week and met my boyfriend for a week in Switzerland. Why wasn’t I gallivanting off to new awesome destinations like many of my friends? I suppose it’s because, honestly, the thought just didn’t occur to me. Vacation is something you talk about, not something you actually do. Well, NO MORE, my friends. I’ve got a week at post, a week working at the fair (that is if they don’t cancel it for a third time), a week at Mid Service (getting poked, prodded, and giving all of THREE stool samples), and then I’m hitting the road and hard like a Mother F*****! I just might not come back. Kidding. Maybe.
Well, I’d love to post pictures of Christmas and New Year’s, but it takes like 3 hours to do that, and I just don’t feel like it right now. But I probably will get around it.
I’ll leave you with this thought. A few days ago I stood in line at the ATM and looked over at the Gendarme “sitting guard.” He was slumped forward, resting his chin on the barrel of his large gun. I just thought, “hm.” The guard next to him polished off his Castel beer, and wished me, “Bonne fete.”