My friends are all posting on facebook about their packout woes and I have to say I feeling a little smug because I don't have any! I can't imagine how stressed I would be if I had to handle the children all by myself and dividing up the house into storage, via ship, via air freight, and in suitcases. Not to mention having visitors and trying to pass a language exam altogether. So I'm feeling rather better about staying in Washington and also my new job is going to be awesome. The current one is, too, so I'm feeling really smug. Still, I am a little jealous because I love the going somewhere new part. I'll just have to wait for my TDY to Africa in the fall. Oh yes, did I mention that I'm going to Africa in the fall? A whole new continent that is not Asia! And I already know the language! I'm thrilled. Now, if I can just somehow skip over to Uganda at the end to visit Sadie, my life will be complete. OK, no it won't because I still have to make it to South America and Antarctica, and also Alaska (only one state left!) But I have vowed to visit all 7 continents before I die. So TDY to Africa will help.
The other dream I have of the Foreign Service is that someday I will get to serve somewhere warm with a beach where you can actually swim. You could drive to the ocean in China, but you wouldn't want to swim in it. Really, don't swim anywhere but in a private pool in China because the public ones all look like this. Remember?
Speaking of swimming, my bathing suit has not arrived yet and I'm getting nervous. I had to guess at the size. If it's a little big, I guess that's not a big deal because I'll be wearing the shorts and rashguard. But too tight is uncomfortable and way too big, like the one I have now, is hazardous to my sanity because I would freak out after every big wave wondering if my suit stayed up. I love the beach so very much, but I hate bathing suits. Also, if God made me to live on a beach, which I'm convinced he did because I love the sea and sand and sun and palm trees, then why oh why did he make me Danish? Danish people were meant to live on the beach, it's true, but in the dark, with no palm trees. Covered in clothing because we are pale and I have red hair which means no melanin which means I do not tan. OK, I tan a tiny little bit, but mostly I just burn and freckle. My genetics have not corrected for global warming. So good thing there are rash guards and sunscreen because this is where I was meant to live and someday, I am going to find a way to get the Foreign Service to send me somewhere like that. A girl can dream.
This farmer in Oregon is having a worse day than me because somebody planted his field with zombie wheat. Yes, you read that right. He had zombie wheat growing in a fallow field. He discovered its zombie-like qualities when he tried to kill it with round-up and it wouldn't die. It was apparently genetically modified to resist weed-killer. No one knows where it came from but the company who makes it suspects it was sabotage. I'm going to go for aliens planting it because that sounds about as plausible. So thank you, Mr. Zombie Farmer, for making me grateful for once that I will never, ever eat Zombie wheat. I'm still sad about the brownies, though.
The other dream I have of the Foreign Service is that someday I will get to serve somewhere warm with a beach where you can actually swim. You could drive to the ocean in China, but you wouldn't want to swim in it. Really, don't swim anywhere but in a private pool in China because the public ones all look like this. Remember?
Speaking of swimming, my bathing suit has not arrived yet and I'm getting nervous. I had to guess at the size. If it's a little big, I guess that's not a big deal because I'll be wearing the shorts and rashguard. But too tight is uncomfortable and way too big, like the one I have now, is hazardous to my sanity because I would freak out after every big wave wondering if my suit stayed up. I love the beach so very much, but I hate bathing suits. Also, if God made me to live on a beach, which I'm convinced he did because I love the sea and sand and sun and palm trees, then why oh why did he make me Danish? Danish people were meant to live on the beach, it's true, but in the dark, with no palm trees. Covered in clothing because we are pale and I have red hair which means no melanin which means I do not tan. OK, I tan a tiny little bit, but mostly I just burn and freckle. My genetics have not corrected for global warming. So good thing there are rash guards and sunscreen because this is where I was meant to live and someday, I am going to find a way to get the Foreign Service to send me somewhere like that. A girl can dream.
This farmer in Oregon is having a worse day than me because somebody planted his field with zombie wheat. Yes, you read that right. He had zombie wheat growing in a fallow field. He discovered its zombie-like qualities when he tried to kill it with round-up and it wouldn't die. It was apparently genetically modified to resist weed-killer. No one knows where it came from but the company who makes it suspects it was sabotage. I'm going to go for aliens planting it because that sounds about as plausible. So thank you, Mr. Zombie Farmer, for making me grateful for once that I will never, ever eat Zombie wheat. I'm still sad about the brownies, though.
No comments:
Post a Comment