Not entirely peace corps related...

Wow...it's been over a week since my last entry? Whoops. Guess there's not much to report, other than packing, anxiety, more packing, excitement, caramel lattes, anxiety, crossword puzzles, music, making donations, going over the Romanian numbers in my head, packing, going to movies, making a to do list, misplacing the to do list, spending the rest of the afternoon looking for the to do list, and anxiety. I go through the complete roller coaster of emotions every single day and the the worst is at night. I've never been a solid sleeper, but the past few weeks have been flat out pathetic, feeling wide awake through much of the night and dead tired all day long. If you want my opinion, insomnia sucks. It sucks life, it sucks energy, it sucks motivation.

On a different note (and sorry if I digress here), I donated the majority of my clothes to the Salvation Army today (sorry, Ace...the urge to get rid of it NOW came over me and I couldn't resist), but the clothes took a little detour on their way there in a rather embarrassing way. Via the Internet, I found this place in town that accepts modern and in-good-condition clothing to resell to youth for cheap and gives you cash in return and I, appreciating the idea and thinking my clothes were fairly decent, took in seven bags of my finest. The moment I walked in the door, surrounded by bright tiny tees, adorable hand bags, skinny jeans, and the surprisingly fashionable teens who wear them, I realized how very little I know about what is considered "modern" in the world of American apparel today. I am twenty seven, haven't entered a high school in nearly 10 years (even when I was in high school, my trends certainly left something to be desired in the eyes of the popular vote), don't read magazines, and don't watch TV. In hindsight, when it comes to fashion, I am absolutely clueless, and I'm ok with that. But, after the pleasant cashier gave me a sympathetic smile, called me hun, and asked me if I wanted to sell some stuff, I decided to go through with it. Heck, I thought, maybe they'll recognize some hidden hot new trend amongst the bags and buy them all. It'll be the E-trend...emerging, slowly at first, from the underground clubs right here in Reno, but once it hits LA, it'll spread like wild fire and splash on billboards, even though I hate billboards, throughout New York and London. Maybe even Moscow. These are my thoughts as I transport the bags from my car to the store and by the time I lay the last bag on the counter, I'm jubilant and excited. But the clerk no longer looks happy. I didn't realize you had SEVEN bags, she said, with a bit of a snarl and a look of disgust directed at my pile. She told me to come back the next day to pick up what they didn't want. My jubilant bubble withered as I drove home and envisioned the staff of this store going through my clothes, the things I've lived my life in for the past few years, while chortling and making vicious jokes and sighing angrily about having to go through so much ugly crap. I didn't realize how easy it is to reenter high school and all the insecure, stupid emotions that go with it. By the next day, after telling myself I didn't care and it was just clothing and they can all have their silly little fashion clique, I stopped by the store. A new clerk was there. I told her my name and she gave me a wry, tired smile and went to the other end of the counter and, one by one, placed the same seven paper bags on the counter in front of me as I tried desperately to control the red tinge of embarrassment crawling up my cheeks. Your clothes, she explained, are a little outdated and that's why we're not buying them. There are four items we'd like to buy, though, and are offering you $4.45 for them. I couldn't help but laugh and repeat the price. With an unchanging and bored expression, she said Yes, $4.45. Do you accept our offer? I smiled and accepted, putting the money in my wallet without counting it, not caring what the four "items" were, and, one by one, returned the seven paper bags to my car, refusing the assistance she offered and keeping a smile glued to my face. I'm not going to let a little second hand store and its fashionable employees get to me, nope. With the bags eyeing me suspiciously from the back seat and the shop, which shall remain unnamed and never ever entered again by me, glaring at me and disappearing from the rear view mirror, I decided to stop by the Salvation Army and see if they could live up to their name. I pulled up to the donation station and a happy, long haired man in jeans and a tee shirt greeted me and accepted every single one of my seven bags, commenting with each one about how nice the contents looked and asking me if I was sure I wanted to get rid of so much stuff. Yes, I said, I'm sure. It'll go to good use. After the transfer, we said our good byes and the happy guy whistled a little bit as he shuffled back into the shop and returned to his previous work and I drove away with an empty back seat and feeling a bit better off than $4.45.

Umm...sorry...I occasionally like to tell random stories and can get a little carried away...just fyi.