Allow me to paint for you, a picture:
My C.P. and I, in front of our school, huddled against the last of winter’s snow, playing “Marry, Fuck, Kill” with the male characters from “Lost.”
If that’s not the ultimate in Second Goal, I don’t know what is.
The Peace Corps’ mission has three simple goals:
Helping the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women.
Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.
Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.
In my dreams, he calls me “Second Goalie.”
My body is doing just terrible, thanks for asking.
(By the by, the only thing worse than my spelling in cyrillic is my spelling in roman from cyrillic. HOW EMBARRASSING.)
So I’m sick, and I’m being a huge goddamn baby about it, as usual. So I’ve been drinking “AXA” (aha!) brand salty-meat broth and shuffling around my apartment in horrible orange slippers feeling sorry for myself, periodically getting urgently dragged out into the cold in order to go to school and sign some paperwork or win a volleyball tournament.
Yes, dear reader, you heard me right: (us right? I’ve been debating whether or not to switch to the editorial “we” for some time now, just to jam that last nail right in the ol’ peer-relatability coffin. I’ll keep you updated.) I said “volleyball tournament.” I don’t need no brag or nothin’, but I am a hell of a lot better at bumpin’ and spikin’ than our Mongolian-obese (which is about equal with American-Penultimate-Episode-of-Biggest-Loser) middle-aged Russian teacher, and I don’t care who knows it. I also give high-fives which just amuses the shit out of everyone.
But where was I going with all this? I think I was going to post clips from Wong Kar Wai movies under the pretense that these are the things I’m watching when I’m sick (and they do sound nice right now, if I had them) when in reality all I’ve been doing is rewatching “Lost.”
Maggie goes up the stairs, Maggie goes down the stairs.