(The fact that I have not written here for some time reflects my inability to form interesting and/or coherent thoughts from my current transitional state. Ie, Most of the time I can’t keep up with what’s going on in and outside of me, and therefore, I can hardly find a way to write about it. Below is the best I can do.)
I came back from India confused, upset, delighted, and ready to binge. I have spent the last few weeks gaining more weight than I lost while in Kolkata and drowning my perceived sorrows in reality television.
With that said, it’s been a fantastic reality tv season for me. My Idol favorites have belted their way to the top three. My favorite reality-star-turned-celebrity-turned-reality-star Melissa Reincroft has overcome her rib injury to make it to the Dancing with the Stars semi-finals. Taj and Steven outwitted their way to Survivor:Tocancins final 5 without having to oust the self-proclaimed ‘Dragonslayer’ who is this year’s triumph in sound-bite editing. One of my favorite reality stars to date, the Fraggle-Rockish and kookily quippy Carla, made it to the finale of Top Chef with some gastropornographic peas. The fiercest ‘owl-baby’ to grace the screen is one of ANTM’s last standing, and the hottest girl to have once been a sphere is sure to be this season’s Biggest Loser.
Yes, I have indulged beyond belief in my guilty pleasure, telling myself that this is it for the next to years so live it large.
My mom suspects that the addiction points towards my own upcoming ‘eviction’. I’m sure it’s just my excuse to escape the fact that right now I’m kind of terrified of what’s coming.
I was for weeks telling people that I was not, in fact, joining Peace Corps. My reasons are at this point mostly uninteresting, centering on my experience of terrible discomfort and loneliness in India. Big suprise: being the only American around in a community of utterly depressing poverty is difficult for a comparatively rich American.
However, after emotionally sobering-up, talking with some brave and deeply caring friends and family, and getting a healthy whack from the financial-responsibilities fairy, I am indeed going to Armenia.
I will be living there for 27 months. In preparing, I have joined a internet community full of returned and current peace corps volunteers (RPCV’s and PCV’s respectively). Their advice is as varied as their experience I suppose. Some have given fantastic electrical and apparel-related advice. Others have warned us not to waste valuable packing space on playing cards, making me wonder why anyone cares whether or not I am packing a deck of Hoyle’s.
Based on their projections, the logical expectations to be formed are as follows:
-It is freaking cold over there. (After our first conversation concerning this fact, my host-dad in India referred to Armenia only as ‘Fridge Country’. Perhaps I should do the same.)
-People throw rocks at dogs.
-The snow makes people want to die. Or drown their icy sorrows in any form of cinematic distraction. (I’m told to bring whatever I can.)
-Long underwear is THE most critical item to be packed.
-I should not expect to be doing whatever it is that Peace Corps officials told me I would be doing. Ie, if I was told I would be a NGO Development Specialist, I will likely be anything but that.
-It’s really cold, y’all.
To prepare I:
-bought the long underwear.
-am planning on adopting a Armenian pup.
-am spending as much time with friends and fam as I can.
-am watching more reality television.
-am actually getting excited about going on another adventure. I’m Huck Finn or something.