7:45pm on a Wednesday night. There’s an endless list of things that I could be doing. I could be eating dinner with some friends. I could be watching the stars/planes fly by to Lima. I could be cursing the neighbor’s rooster for being so dumb he’s crowing at night. I could be helping with an emergency at the health post (there’s been a lot of them recently). I could even be writing a literary masterpiece (ok that last bit was a WAY over exaggeration). Oh but the actual action is just so lame, I’m not even sure if I want to write it. Because in me publishing this on the internet my inner dorkiness will take over my outer dorkiness and label me an official dork. And I’m just not sure if I’m willing to go official with my dork status.
OK, before I get carried away and spill the beans let me give some background to explain the action that got me to where I am now. Yes, this is a last ditch effort to save the dork label, so bear with me.
I was reading “I Was Told There’d Be Cake, “by Sloane Crosley (what could be quite possibly my greatest find at the Peace Corps’ Library), it’s a conjunction of semi-non-related essays revealing the author’s rather abnormally-normal life. But one line stuck with me after completing the book in a record time for me (the non-reader) of 1 day (it was really a 4 hour bus ride and a 2 hour hide in my room and read session). “Chastise your inner 12 year old, who is only supposed to rear her head in the face of kittens and swing sets.”
Now, why would I go and do such as thing as chastise my inner 12 year old? However bad my actual life was at 12 years old (I shudder to think, Middle School was NOT good to me) I don’t think that should keep me from digressing to that mind state every-now-and-again. That being said I’m not all for busting out my supply of who knows how many Beany Babies that are in the attic back at the house and playing with them—I am however a-OK for going through and separating the 4 I want to keep from the others and giving those away to the needy. Some 12 year old needs a stuffed animal damnit! Nor am I willing to take out those rollerblades from the garage and start using them, I will admit using them for a Halloween costume my senior year of college, that being said: rollerblades and NC State’s all brick campus on Hillsborough Hike night—not one of our smartest ideas.
But life at 12 was just that much easier. Now I never would have thought I would be in Peru, reading (of all things), and wishing once again to be 12. Ok, not really be 12. I was a klutzy kid with glasses and pimples at 12. But the mindset I could go back to just to visit for a while; back when our greatest worry was the answer to Mr. Lucas’s history homework, or if it would rain and cancel the soccer game that day. Not have to worry about things like money, jobs, laundry (I was a spoiled 12 year old, my mommy did my laundry, you’re jealous I know), relationships (or lack thereof), or if your boss hates you.
That being said, being in the Peace Corps is strangely stressful. You’d think a job volunteering wouldn’t be that bad as far as the stress level’s concerned. I mean I made it through a good 4 years of college and I can honestly say I never resorted to the stress reliving activity that I did tonight. And I was studying Math! That’s a stressful course load. If you don’t believe me track down my study buddies Morgan, Grace, Thomas, and Kenny—just don’t talk to Steamboat, nothing stresses him. Stress and the Peace Corps just go hand in hand, it (in addition to starches, hello a mountain full of rice anyone?) is one of the reasons we all gain the “Peace Corps Pooch” as it’s been called. It’s the volunteer equivalent of the “freshman fifteen.”
But yes, tonight, I resorted to a new low for stress relief. I still can’t quite believe I’m about to say it…well where to start? From the beginning I guess. Well. I lied to my host mom, I told her that I had a headache and didn’t feel like eating dinner. Peace Corps code for “I just really don’t feel like talking Spanish tonight.” Then I locked myself in my room and opened my Rubbermaid-like container that holds all my “gringo food” and got out the beef jerky and chocolate. Now normally that’d be the de-stresser of the night. Beef Jerky and chocolate are 2 of the best things to de-stress. All I was missing was a Mountain Dew (God I sound like way more of a hick than I am…a fatty at that). But seeing as how there was no Mountain Dew inside my box of all things American, I resorted to the next best thing I had…
Are you ready for it? Yes, people. I started watching Looney Tunes. I had brought the DVD set that my mom gave me for Christmas one year (yes, I am an adult I swear) to Peru figuring that it’s just as good dubbed over in Spanish. Turns out, Looney Tunes is not as universal as one might think—the majority of the people I show it here to don’t like it; which brings me back to why I was watching it alone in my room…or so I tell myself. After completing the Bugs Bunny Disc 1 along with a little under a half a bar (big bar) of dark chocolate (thanks again Mrs. Brown!) and 4 big pieces of beef jerky (God I need to start running again) I realized what I had done.
Now feeling like I was an official dork, I realized how freaking tired I was. After I closed the window of the movie I looked at the clock in the bottom corner of my computer screen. Yep, it was only 7:45pm. Yes, not only had I spent who knows how long watching Bugs Bunny and eating junk food, I was also ready for bed at 7:45. My God. I was 12 years old again. At 12 I’m about 85% sure (my memory’s not the best of my Middle School years, like a normal person I try and forget it) that my bedtime was at 9:00pm, 9:30 on a weekend. Wow, so not only was I acting like a 12 year old tonight, I was acting like a 12 year old with the bedtime of a 5 year old, or that of a 75 year old…which ever.
So after feeling the compelling need to write to all of the readers of my blog, however few you might be, and share my moment of shame. My moment of letting the inner dork outshine my outer dork, I guess it’s time to actually go to bed. I figure I didn’t fight the inner 12 year old feeling. I probably shouldn’t try to hold off the tired feeling for too long either. Besides, if I stay awake I might eat more chocolate, and that would not be good for future de-stresser nights. And it’s like 8:30 now. That’s bumped me up to a 10 year old bedtime right?
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