feeling gloomy

Maybe I just don’t like waiting.  You may know from yesterday’s post that the new volunteers will be coming soon which means soon enough I’ll meet more Americans at once that I’ve met during the entire last year.  This, for the socially dependent person I am, is like a snort of coke for a clean-for-a-year addict (I would guess).

But I’m feeling gross and achy and OVER the gray skies and needing some sun and burritos.  PLUS I’ll be doing voice-overs tomorrow for an Armenian animated film (details to come), meeting my Jaundice (ie, smash of a friend who agrees that the Armenian translation for “my dear”, jaanes, sounds like the disease), and kicking it off for a couple of days.  However, I need today to be over for the fun to ensue, and today is dreary.

I feel pitiful.  Maybe it’s the sick-grogs that have got me down (chugging vitamin C SOON); maybe it was the toothless plight of the old woman who asked me to go buy her groceries.  She stopped me in the street, handed me money and sent me to the store.  She seemed drunk.  When I returned, she invited me in for coffee, and I guiltily refused.  I had important things to do at work I told her.  Most important thing I’ve done since getting here: scooping up the pup in mid pee-on-the-office-floor.

After refusing the coffee of a toothless tatik, I later saw a pitiful woman.  I don’t know why she made me sad.  I think it was because the image she was exuding could not have been the one she wanted to show.  She had dressed with thought, that was clear, in slightly shabby black pants and a black and white wavily printed shirt that flared at the wrists.  She had painted little make-up on her deeply wrinkled face, most obvoiusly some overly red lipstick.  Her hair was oily and fell just short of her shoulders.  Her wrinkled face might have led me to guess she was older except that her walk was too nimble for a very old woman.  Not that nimble equivocated grace.  She walked like a Quentin Blake drawing of the Big Friendly Giant.  In three inch heels and stooped at the shoulders.

You’d think by the description here that I basically stared gawking at the woman for far a good twenty minutes.  Simply, though, a glance at her image was arresting enough to have me here, writing about it.  I need the sun to come out and my shoulders to stop aching.  Maybe I need a glass of water

Soon, I’ll try to finish up my triannual volunteer report.  Maybe I’ll just go home and pack, and tomorrow won’t be so gloomy.

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