Вермонтские вечера...

Они не так приятны, когда ты ждешь до последнего момента, чтобы делать домашнее задание и ежедневное чтение. Боже мой, я не могу поверить тому, что я ждала так долго! Завтра занова я найду свою силу работать.

Кстати, я делала дурак себя в пятьницу. Я напилась и вела себя довольно не елегантно, но этот сам по себе не большой суприс. Дело в том, что я танцевала (плохое начало, знаю) с бывшей преподавательницей и все было очень весело. Но мой профессор по Войне и миру там был, и почему-то я решила танцевать с ним. Но, я знаю почему - я была пьяна, и мне очень нравится он (у него сексуальные мозги), и я приглашала им на танец, объясная что я ужасно танцую. Тотчас после моего предупреждения, мне пришло в голову - Линдси, что ты? Ты не умеешь танцевать, и наверно он умеет, более или менее, и ты пьяна, и сейчас он знает, и думает что ты потеряла контроль себя. На самом деле, это было правда. Но признаться не люблю, так что сразу после переворота два, я ушла без всякого объяснения. Это было очень грубо, и мне стыдно. Лучше знать, когда ты слишком пьян общаться с уважаемими людьми, и просто не подходить к ним. Но блин! Лучше, после ошибаешся, продолжаешься с минимумом самоуважения. Трудно сказать.

Он гений, просто так. Я так хочу, чтобы он думал хорошо обо мне. Но я очень стесняюсь говорить с ним так, что это даже хуже потому, что я много ошибаюсь от страха. Да ладно, мне стоит помирить с этим фактом - я неловкий, не общительный, дурный и пошлый человек. Все-таки, я себя не ненавижу. Я человек, непрекрасный, но у меня свои тайнственные способности. Смешно, что я боюсь того, что люди узнают их и критикируют то, что я очень ценю в себе. Вот почему они никогда не узнают.

another letter from my best friend...

One of a long series of her recent adventures in the Caucasus:

"I'm going to fucking die! I know I've said it before, but this time I'm serious. So, ok. I'm being put in charge of this customs project that I'm not going to get into because it's too long. But, part of my responsibilities is traveling to and checking out 17 different customs check points along the Georgian border. Today I went to 2 different check points along the Azeri border... um... one was basically a spit away from the Chechen border which was crap-my-pants scary enough to begin with but I had no idea how bad it could be...

I'm visiting these places with an Australian named Jaqui, a Georgian named Giorgi, and an Armenian named Dato. I know this sounds like the beginning of a really bad joke and I guess it kinda is. Dato was freaking out today because he's Armenian and the Azeris would likely kill him if they found out. And it didn't help that the entire way there Giorgi kept saying that he could probably get $10,000 for Dato if he were to sell him over the border. And we all laughed, because hey! Human-trafficking is funny! But Dato didn't laugh as apparently this was a problem a few years back (Georgians selling Armenians to Azeris for blood vendettas due to the war in Nagorno-Karabakh, etc...). So we get to the check point and Dato was all: 'Fuck this shit, I'm hiding behind a big fucking tree.'

Jaqui, Giorgi, and I braved the scary check point which was, and I'm not lying, really really scary. We came up to these ragtag militia guys and Giorgi was all: 'Look official, keep walking and don't look at them' so that's what I did. But then, all of a sudden, we were surrounded by 3 of them who are literally pointing and cocking their big guns at me. And Giorgi was all: 'Hey now... garblegarblegarble... something in Georgian.' And the guards were all: 'Garble garble garble... something in Georgian back.' And Giorgi was all: 'Ha ha ha.' And the guards were all: 'I look at you with disdain.' But then they lowered their guns and walked away. The situation was such that we had to look official and do our business or else face imminent death so I couldn't really explain the fact that I could barely walk because I'd sucked my underwear up into my asshole because I was so frightened.

On the way back (after finding Dato hiding behind his tree), Giorgi said, 'Oh my god, for a second back there I thought they were going to shoot me and then no more Giorgi!' And I was all: 'They wouldn't have done that because you're all important in the government, right?' And he was all: 'Who would have known?' And I was all: 'I would have known!' And he just smiled, shook his head, and sadly said: 'There would have been no more Adrienne either...'

I would have crapped my pants if my underwear had not still been blocking the exit.

That was just today. These were supposedly the 'easy' check points. I can't wait to fucking check customs in goddamn Abkhazia where there's a goddamn civil war!!! Why?!!! I just wanted to come to Georgia, drink wine, and shmooze the people. Why is this happening to me?!!! Bitches on my dick and shit!

I miss you. I wish you were here with me protecting me from the angry gun toting bad men and cowardly Dato, who shortly after my near death experience confessed that he's the romantic sort and feels strongly that we should swim together. WTF!!!!!!!!!"

ой, русский язык...

Снова в Вермонте, как известно, более или менее. Правда, этот год все лучше, хотя мои чувства о моем поприще пока не изменяются. Сара ищет работу, конечно в связи с русским языком, но я чувствую виновата в том, что такая жизнь меня не интересуется. Работа в Вашингтоне, в государстве... кажется мне, не подходит. Писать хочется! На английском языке! Если я брошу русского языка, никто не поймет. К чёрту с ними! Пора решать наступает, все прекрасно получится. Без всякого сомнения я знаю, что мне сделать - хотя это мне важно достичь мою цель так, что я пугаюсь делать следующий шаг.

Шаннон послала мне информацию о работе в Вашингтоне - это даже приглашение интерьвю. Как и я реагировала? Я передала сообщение подруге, которая очень волнуется о поиске работы. Вот чего она хочет. Не того, которого я хочу. Все-таки, мне немножко стыдно. У меня всего год ещё, и вот приглашение интерьвю отличной работы. Я все же ищу спокойный образ жизни.
Дейв меня любит. Год спустя, мы наконец-то любим друг друга. Я боюсь того, что я выберу неправильно насчет нашего отношения. Он достойн любви, я не собираюсь его разлюбить, ей-богу, но кто знает? Он детей хочет. Я детей хочу, но не сейчас же. Прежде всего, я хочу его, любовь, и возможность иметь свою семью в будущем. Мы не торопимся, но опять, я чувствую виновата в том, что когда-то семейнная жизнь мне будет нужна. Блестящая работа, великие подвиги интеллектуализма... меня не интересуются. Я писать буду, путешествовать хочу. А в таком случае, если бы в конце моей жизни я желала, чтобы я быврала бы иначе???

Кстати, я прочитаю 'Войну и мир' в одном из моих курсов. Профессор вчера подошел ко мне, спрашивая, 'Лиз, вы пишете, да?' Он хотел, чтобы я анализировала прием писания Толстого! Что Вы, с ума сошел? Я ничего не знаю! И больше всего, как он знает, что я считаю себя писателем?

the prodigal Russian student returns to New England...

Middlebury is wonderful - I forgot how much I love Vermont! The mountains are so serene, the air so fresh (and humid - my hair is GIANT right now!). Oh, and the mosquitos are out in droves. Nevertheless, it's good to be back.

Last night, after spending 16 hours in transit, I had to drag my luggage up the hill because my taxi driver was a douche. When I got to Prescott house I discovered, to my chagrin, that Araxia was my roommate. She's a sweet girl; we were in choir together last summer, but neither of us wanted a roommate so we were both a little glum. Also, she has the most annoying, whiny, high-pitched nasal voice I've ever heard! My heart sank at the thought of listening to her voice all summer long...

I went to bed immediately and felt kind of sad. It was the exact same feeling as last year; I was lonely and tired, I was obsessed with my Aging Adonis back in Kansas-land, and I felt generally displaced.

 Prescott House (hiding behind the trees)

Luckily, today has been totally different. All my friends are here; lots of people I loved from last year have returned (like my alcoholic teacher) and the vibe has been very comfortable. The school coordinator was able to get Araxia a single room so she's moving out today. I get to live alone, in this big room, all by myself! I've lucked out two years in a row!

I had my oral placement exam at 9:30am and was still exhausted from the previous day's travels, during which I had eaten NOTHING. I still hadn't had breakfast, so I was a wreck during the test. I was awful, I really was - I know I can speak better than that! I worry that last years' final oral exam went better, because I was uber-prepared and got all the easy questions. How could I possibly do worse on the oral section after just returning from a year in-country??? Oh well, I know I improved on the grammar test. They'll go easy on me if I do well on the writing exam this afternoon.

So... here's my ridiculous debacle with Dave: things have been so good with us; I stayed with him for the 2 week break between the Moscow and Vermont sessions and our reunion was very, very sweet... but we still haven't said "I love you." I think he said it once, but it was really quiet so I ignored it. I wanted to say it in the sad little moments when we said goodbye at the airport, but I got scared. I don't want to be the one to say it first!

Anyway, I was overcome with warm and fuzzy feelings for him when I boarded the plane to return to Vermont. As a result of said ridonkulous feelings, I sent him a text saying that I missed him already. And then, for no apparent reason, without really thinking it through, I wrote: "Would it be weird to say I love you in a text?" I felt like it was kind of inferred with us, anyway. We've been through a lot together, have been "together" for over a year, blah blah blah.

That jerk texted me back 7 HOURS LATER, saying that I could say IT anyhow and anytime I wanted, and that he really missed me too. But he didn't say it back! And he didn't say it when we talked on the phone, so I refuse to say it again even if it's true. Maybe he doesn't love me? What if he really likes me, but just can't love me? I hate him!

In other news, I sharted earlier today for the first time in my life. Not a good sign. It was a mild shart, easy to clean up and all that, but a bad experience nonetheless. I feel like that shart is a metaphor for my text to Dave: I didn't think the feeling through, I pushed too hard, and I crapped (emotions) in my britches.