Peace Out

     Hey Look! I finally posted!  Soooo a lot has happened since my last post, and things that have been stuck in limbo for years all of a sudden decided to sort themselves out, grab me by the collar, and chuck me headfirst into LIFE. No, not the board game, that thing that I've been waiting to start for the past 4 years (ever since I was exiled to Montana).
     So, you may be wondering what it is that finally kick started my life again?  What was it?  I FINALLY (finallyfinallyfinally!!) received a notice in the mail from the Peace Corps, inviting me to serve in Azerbaijan, and asking if I wanted to continue............DID I WANT TO CONTINUE?!  Ever since I got out of college, this is all I've focused on!  In order to complete all the requirements, I've had to volunteer in 6 different jobs, (from delivering coffee and newspapers to every patient in the local hospital, to building sets and costumes for local theatre, to actually scraping out every cent in my savings and begging donations from family and friends in order to go to Ecuador to volunteer teach.  All of this so I could fill the PC requirements 3 times over) had to get more than $2000 worth of dental work in order to be considered, had to have a surgery (that cost more than I like remembering) that 3 different doctors attested that I didn't need because PC wouldn't allow one little box go unchecked, even with 3 different doctors signing off on the fact that it was unnecessary, and lastly, having my mother pull strings and call in favours to so many people that I'm pretty sure I'm in debt to the majority of Missoulas' medical community as well as to most of the RPCV's in the area(including MY MOTHER).  I've spent 4 years of my life and nearly $9000 dollars actively pursuing this, and you ask DO I WANT TO CONTINUE!!!  *ahem* Sorry.  I still get a bit worked up over that letter.  (Though I think it bears mentioning that most other Peace Corps Trainees I've talked to had no problems whatsoever.  So my story is an anomaly, not the norm)...Moving on.

     (At this moment, I am sitting in my host family's living room, watching Russian TV, and listening to Michael Jackson's Greatest Hits as performed on traditional Azeri instruments; which, believe it or not, is actually quite good.)   So everything has turned out well, but I'll admit, my first thought when I read the invitation was, "I don't believe you." (I'll explain why in another post, I've already complained enough)  So I was very calm and laid back as the deadline crept ever closer.  I drove my mother quite insane with my laissez-faire attitude about it, because every time she started getting excited about where I was going and doing, and asked if I was excited or nervous, my answer was, "No."  In fact, even as I was going through security at the Missoula Airport, on my way and waving goodbye to my family, I felt nothing.  I was actually starting to worry about it, since I wasn't feeling anything, about anything.  I was wondering if I should talk to the PCMO (PC Medical Officer), when one night, my host family noticed my tattoos (through my tights) and asked about them.  I pointed to the speedskate I have on .my ankle, and explained that it represents my father.  And all of a sudden, without warning, tears welled up.  My family started yelling, "Oh no! No Cry! No Cry!" and I desperately tried keep from bawling.  While I did manage it, I've now noticed that any discussions about my family or friends (or my dog) are certain to bring me to tears, and it has yet to abate.  I still run with everyone else to check the mail, and pray that maybe, just maybe, I got a letter (or a package) from back home.  Today I got a letter from my friend and high school classmate Katie T.  I promptly ran back to my friends, showed off the letter, and passed around the wedding invitation that came with it (Congratulations Katie!) to general acclaim. 
    Kind of strange that I'm such a loner, and yet, now that I'm here, I can tell that I crave connections with people.  I have Katies' card on my table, and her invitation taped next to my parents letters on my wardrobe door.  I skyped my parents, and my best friend, but still crave that physical link, the feel of the paper, the curves of the writing.  There is something so powerful in that physicality, the knowledge that what you are holding was at one point being held by a friend or a family member on the other side of the world, that they wrote these words and committed them to paper.  It makes me feel like I am not alone, and if I do feel alone (and I have) I can pull out those letters and know that there are people who are thinking of me. 
     I notice that this has gotten off on a tangent, but honestly, I think it was a tangent worth taking.  I'll upload another post to deal with the more general aspects of Azerbaijan and my service.  Leave me a note in the comments if there is anything you would like for me to talk about specifically, and I'll do my best.  Take Care all.
  Fair Winds and Following Seas.