just... just. aren't. words.
that being said, i kind of like it... oops.
school has started and i am glad that i have said no to all the extra classes. i have a group that is actively trying to murder me (i think, no proof so far). they are nuts. i'm about to give up and just give them papers to memorize and try and save my sanity and time for people who care. these girls got into a fist fight the first day. they swear at me and at each other. i mean, i'm basically a feel-good inner city educator movie circa 1996. except we all dress better. and i am a touch jaded. to be honest, i have two, no three, students out of the 16 who i adore and will continue to work with. i just still feel guilty compartmentalizing.
i have an AMAZING class too. they are strange, mostly because they are so advanced. and chatty and engaged. i don't want to make it sound like students here are bad, but i've never seen or even heard of a FULL class of 17 students where EVERY student is awesome. i'm gonna ride the waves of luck as long as possible.
huge conundrum people. i need some help. i have been offered a room in an apartment with a family. no biggie. right? uh, did i say apartment? i meant PALACE. the three kids all speak english and the parents speak Uzbek and Russian. the kids only speak to locals in russian so they have perfect russian also. two full kitchens. told me to eat with them or cook for myself if i want. did i mention how much i LOVE LOVE LOVE uzbek food? yeah. I DO. oh and when i asked how much it would cost, i got laughed at. FREE. FREE. this is almost too good to be true. the man is a wealthy philanthropist. super connected in Shymkent. and kind to boot. the girls are sweet and seem fun. the mom is pregnant so soon enough there will be a baby and you people should know how i am about babies. the worst part of having a baby in the house is that i will have to fight to NOT steal it every day. true statement.
as for the downside, i do like my family here. it's crazy, disfunctional, and completely comfortable. i'd have to tell them that i'm leaving, which is hard for me. i was also told i would be living alone in an apartment, which was a bit of a mistake(, but as an additional plus i HATE living alone). what if they are crazy or something happens???? i mean, this is known. this is easy(ish). i dunno. i've got about a week to think about it. drat my sense of money and saving and freedom and ... i'm sure there's something else in there.
now, let's have a moment to get Meta-Meta, shall we? i recently spoke to my mom. she made a funny comment: "your blog isn't like the other volunteers. it's so crazy [...] it's more like a diary." i've had one or two volunteers tell me that my blog is interesting or funny or different, and i'm ok, no i'm happy about that. if i remember correctly, which of course i do, i said in my first or second blog post that this blog is more for me than anyone who might read it. the vomit of consciousness is something fundamental to my sanity. i feel like its rather honest too. so i hope that no one is upset by the fact that i get upset and happy and everything else and i tell you about it. yes sometimes i talk about how much (not recently THANKFULLY) or how little (new issues... don't get me started) i poop. sometimes i have bad days. sometimes i have amazing, amazing days. maybe i should remember to write about those more often. i like to think that i am a storyteller and sadly my flair and expertise from dramas lies in tragedy. maybe that's why i talk about crap more, i can spin into something better. i DID talk about how much i love the bathrooms here, and you know how much i love the bathroom. for me to compliment there here, that's big for me. ugh. just thinking about writing about how moving seeing this small child playing in a perfect beam of sunlight creating the saccharine sweat scene from what Precious Moments aspires to be, it makes me want to barf. so trite. so over the top. i'm much more comfortable about telling you how my migraines have migrated to a night time schedule where i don't have to deal with them any more, just the nasty day after hang over. or maybe i've just been reading too much Neil Gaiman. totally possible. i mean i think i just stole one of his short stories on accident and wrote about it. while there may be no brides or toasters or quills, i must admit to feeling some guilt.... oops.
SO... i now have Robyn's Body Talk Part2, so i'm busy now.
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