I really thought today was the day, people. The day when I would get word. And I did get an email about how we need to talk on the phone to discuss "the offer," but no such phone call was forthcoming. So. I waited by the phone all day today, unable to do anything productive due to the nerves. But I shall not do that tomorrow. Partly because it's boring and partly because I have far too much to do. (Typhoid vaccine? Meningitis vaccine? International Driving Permit?) I also have an entire basement to clean up. Too much, too much. Another reason why I got nothing done today is because when I was downstairs searching for my lost vaccination booklet (which I found, finally, in a purse I haven't used since Liberia. Oops.), my parents were throwing things wildly about in the pump room and found an additional three huge boxes of my stuff with which I must deal, at some point. Preferably before heading off to parts unknown (*cough* East Africa *cough*). I was overwhelmed and proceeded to play on the internet all day long, instead.
Until after 5 p.m., that is, when I could no longer anticipate potential work-related calls and so went blueberry picking with my parents. I have been blueberry picking just about every summer that I have been in the U.S. - so from 1990 to 2002, basically. I don't mind it. It's nice out there, and the blueberries are pretty. I am, however, or have been, something of a blueberry hater. I will pick them, but I will not eat them. They are so... berry-ish. I've never been a berry fan. But, having heard that if you try something twelve times you will learn to like it, I managed to learn to tolerate raspberries about six years ago, and I'm now at that same point with blueberries: I will eat them, but only if they are perfectly plump and perfectly blue and perfectly ripe. Don't give me just any blueberries. Now if only I could learn to like strawberries. Or cooked fruit.
There were some pickers a few rows over who were speaking Spanish to each other and my parents, who seem to have a delusion that I am the language genius of the world, kept asking me, "Can you understand what they are saying?" Considering that 1. I had other things to think about (*cough* East Africa *cough*), 2. they were a ways away, and 3. why would I be eavesdropping on people's conversation?, the answer was, "If I'm really trying hard to pay attention." I did catch one snatch of conversation that made me laugh out loud, though. One woman suddenly exclaimed, "Really? He never tells me ANYTHING!"
Some things hardly need translation.
Until after 5 p.m., that is, when I could no longer anticipate potential work-related calls and so went blueberry picking with my parents. I have been blueberry picking just about every summer that I have been in the U.S. - so from 1990 to 2002, basically. I don't mind it. It's nice out there, and the blueberries are pretty. I am, however, or have been, something of a blueberry hater. I will pick them, but I will not eat them. They are so... berry-ish. I've never been a berry fan. But, having heard that if you try something twelve times you will learn to like it, I managed to learn to tolerate raspberries about six years ago, and I'm now at that same point with blueberries: I will eat them, but only if they are perfectly plump and perfectly blue and perfectly ripe. Don't give me just any blueberries. Now if only I could learn to like strawberries. Or cooked fruit.
There were some pickers a few rows over who were speaking Spanish to each other and my parents, who seem to have a delusion that I am the language genius of the world, kept asking me, "Can you understand what they are saying?" Considering that 1. I had other things to think about (*cough* East Africa *cough*), 2. they were a ways away, and 3. why would I be eavesdropping on people's conversation?, the answer was, "If I'm really trying hard to pay attention." I did catch one snatch of conversation that made me laugh out loud, though. One woman suddenly exclaimed, "Really? He never tells me ANYTHING!"
Some things hardly need translation.
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