Perhaps it's because I am still mourning the loss of Jeremy Shockey for the Giants playoff game(s, hopefully). A friend of mine suggested that I revamp this blog to deal exclusively with my favorite tight end, then write him a letter asking him to sponsor either my current or former place of employment, a relationship which will blossom into an intense friendship and our inevitable nuptials. Writing this out I realize how insane it sounds, so I'm going to keep blogging about work and such, particularly the over-stimulation that starting a new job brings.
One of the hardest things about posting on this blog is how much it makes me think about Chile, and every time I have to revisit the circumstances under which I left. By rights, I should still be there, with my kids, with my volunteers, in my happy apartment with a job that I loved and the most comfortable bed in Santiago. Did I cry when I had to sell it to a purpose-less gringo who had just moved to the country, telling me "I don't know, maybe I'll teach English"? For the fourth time that day.
I delayed having to think about my old life, which seemed years away, when I was whisked directly from the airport to the hospital, only to return to a different, and much crappier hospital three days later when a friend was hit by a kamikaze cab driver who actually considered not stopping until I stuck my finger firmly in his face and said "Go f*ck yourself!", which maybe wasn't the best way to get him to stick around, in retrospect. As it turns out, of all of the people on the street that I night, that cabbie and I are the only witnesses to what happened.
"Are you sure the light was red, Lauren? Are you sure? Was the light red?"
I hate hospitals, and I hate how cliche it is to say that. But it's true. In the hospital room of my first visit, one of my sister's friend broke down, talking about how only horrible things happen to people in hospitals, and people don't come back out. Had she not poured Tanqueray into my Sierra Mist, I would have thrown her out, as no one in that room needed a reminder of any potential outcome. I countered "What about when babies are born? That's happy?" My sister and friend looked at me with a slight shake of the head. "NOOO! she cried. Do you know what happens to a woman's vagina?" I found her bottle of gin, topped off and tried to focus on Meerkat Manor. So it's not the smell, or the illness, or the constant beeping that gives me the creeps, it's the adverse effect that hospitals have on otherwise sane people.
I like to think that being in a normal work environment will make me more retrospective, since I've spent time wishing I had documented more of my Chilean journey. So much happened, and so much didn't. The hard part for me, is that so much is still happening that I can't be a part of anymore, that I traded a Chilean school for an American hospital room and a newfound addiction to my laptop. My selfishness upsets me, and I find myself drawn into the alternate reality of (as previously documented) of SoapNet.
And this, my friends, is why I don't find myself compelled to blog. Because I'm a sad-sack.
Happy New Year all the same. I have nothing but the highest of hopes for 2008. Will I get into graduate school? Will all of my friends continue to get married and have babies?
And most importantly, will I finally get to meet Jeremy Shockey?
One of the hardest things about posting on this blog is how much it makes me think about Chile, and every time I have to revisit the circumstances under which I left. By rights, I should still be there, with my kids, with my volunteers, in my happy apartment with a job that I loved and the most comfortable bed in Santiago. Did I cry when I had to sell it to a purpose-less gringo who had just moved to the country, telling me "I don't know, maybe I'll teach English"? For the fourth time that day.
I delayed having to think about my old life, which seemed years away, when I was whisked directly from the airport to the hospital, only to return to a different, and much crappier hospital three days later when a friend was hit by a kamikaze cab driver who actually considered not stopping until I stuck my finger firmly in his face and said "Go f*ck yourself!", which maybe wasn't the best way to get him to stick around, in retrospect. As it turns out, of all of the people on the street that I night, that cabbie and I are the only witnesses to what happened.
"Are you sure the light was red, Lauren? Are you sure? Was the light red?"
I hate hospitals, and I hate how cliche it is to say that. But it's true. In the hospital room of my first visit, one of my sister's friend broke down, talking about how only horrible things happen to people in hospitals, and people don't come back out. Had she not poured Tanqueray into my Sierra Mist, I would have thrown her out, as no one in that room needed a reminder of any potential outcome. I countered "What about when babies are born? That's happy?" My sister and friend looked at me with a slight shake of the head. "NOOO! she cried. Do you know what happens to a woman's vagina?" I found her bottle of gin, topped off and tried to focus on Meerkat Manor. So it's not the smell, or the illness, or the constant beeping that gives me the creeps, it's the adverse effect that hospitals have on otherwise sane people.
I like to think that being in a normal work environment will make me more retrospective, since I've spent time wishing I had documented more of my Chilean journey. So much happened, and so much didn't. The hard part for me, is that so much is still happening that I can't be a part of anymore, that I traded a Chilean school for an American hospital room and a newfound addiction to my laptop. My selfishness upsets me, and I find myself drawn into the alternate reality of (as previously documented) of SoapNet.
And this, my friends, is why I don't find myself compelled to blog. Because I'm a sad-sack.
Happy New Year all the same. I have nothing but the highest of hopes for 2008. Will I get into graduate school? Will all of my friends continue to get married and have babies?
And most importantly, will I finally get to meet Jeremy Shockey?
1 comentario:
hola laureen;
i dont know if i ever left a comentary, i know i wrote several but as it always happens with inspired rants, the connection fails or something happens and it never makes it so ill make this short and wish you a happy 2008 (no voodoo involved)
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