It gets more real...

About a week ago I made my plane reservations for Peace Corps. So now I am leaving San Francisco on Monday, January 30th on a non-stop flight to Miami. Orientation begins on Tuesday at 2PM. This goes on for about two and half days. As far as I can tell, we sit in big rooms, listen to lectures, fill out paperwork, get shots of vaccines and whatnot, and generally question our decision to move to a third world country in South America. It sounds like fun! Then on February 2nd, we fly to Georgetown, Guyana (through Barbados). And the mistake of a lifetime begins.

So I'm getting a little anxious. I have things to do, but I could probably get them done in about three days. However, I have two weeks. The few friends that I have still in San Francisco suck because they have jobs. So I basically sit and stare at the walls of room. Which reminds me of the stupid little things I need to get done before I leave, such as dismantling my bedroom. I dread this for a few reasons, though I also want to do it. My room is a timewarp to high school. I have newspaper clippings of Michael Jordan, Mark McGuire, and other great sports accomplishments of the MID TO LATE 1990s!!! Crazy. On top of that, I've mixed in a few posters of ladies in bikinis, including one of Pamela Anderson. Pamela?! What was I thinking? I mean, I know what I was thinking, but still... It's slightly depressing everytime I go in there. But it's going to take so much effort and I am uncommonly lazy about things like this. So I'm battling that.

But basically, I get to sit and let my nerves eat me up. I'm truly excited, but I can do nothing to make it start any faster. So I must sit in anticipation of the unknown. And as I sit, I begin to question my decisions. Of course, my decisions have all pertained to what I've bought to bring down. So I look at my shoes and try to decide if they work or if I need to return them and get a new pair. And I think if I have enough business casual. And then, of course, I question what the hell business casual means in Guyana. I hardly have a sense of what it means in the US. And then I pull my hair out because these are such petty things to think about. I really just want to start this thing! Let's get to Guyana and begin my life-changing experience, okay?!

Anyways, that's what's going on here. I sign my living will on Friday. You know who my beneficiaries are? My children. So... if you anyone is or knows any of my children, let me know. Because if I don't have any, which is the impression I'm under, then my nieces and nephews are the beneficiaries. But there's still time for me to change that. And no, I don't mean that I could have a baby. So if anyone wants something of mine, like my kick-ass grey North Face fleece that I seem to wear about four times a week, claim it now. I know Peter, Tippy, and the Captain are going to fight over my OutKast CDs.