strange encounter

Yesterday, I went to the Yamhill County Fair. I was on a date with my father, but I still met up with a few of my friends from work so we could all watch the concert. Blue Oyster Cult was on stage. The band is from the seventies and most of the members were obviously not the originals, but it was still pretty great. I had a few beers to boost morale and help me enjoy the music.

While I was talking animatedly to my co-workers, my dad stepped aside to pick the brains of the men in uniform behind us. My dad is a retired colonel, you see. He started talking to one of them for a while and somehow it came up that I was in the Peace Corps for a spell. The guy, Joshua, must not have been so bright because he still thought I was in college. I'm WAY too old for college now, that is, unless I EVER get into grad school.

Joshua tried to get me to join the air national guard. I don't have too much against the military, I mean, my dad worked for the government for the better part of his life but I mean seriously, I'm not the type of person you want to recruit. I was in Peace Corps. I don't believe in working for the man (even though that's kinda what I do now at the bank).

The worst part of the whole thing was that the guy gave me his card to call. Of course, he wasn't hitting on me, he was trying to get me to sign up for the air guard. And then when I ran into him later, he said that as a former Peace Corps volunteer, I couldn't join. Um, I wasn't going to but now there is DEFINITELY no reason to call...

Hmph.

lobsterback attack

I like to swim. I always have. There was never anything more fun to do than go swimming on a hot summer day.

This weekend was warm. It was more than warm. It was hot. On Saturday, rather than writing, studying for the GRE or learning more about how I can save the world, I took a small road towards hedonism by laying out in the sun. I engaged in some light reading and fell asleep, once on the beach chair I was lying in for most of the time and twice in the pool while in my floating bed.

Three hours of leisure led to at least a week of true pain. Skin such as mine cannot take the burn that has encased my back.

And so my back matches the red shirt that dons it each night. I can only hope that soon the freckles will take over and take all the ache out of it.

Too busy with life

In Ukraine, I lived a simple life. I had time to call my family and visit my old Ukrainian babycya across the street. My time was free. I had hobbies, would travel to see my friends on weekends and always had time to help my friends whenever they asked me to do something.

But now I am in America. My life is chaotic. Every day is so full to the brim with work or entertaining others that I have no time to myself. I have no time to do the things I love.

What does that mean? To say "I have no time" to do something is pointless. I have the same amount of time here that I did when I was in Ukraine. I have twenty-four hours every day to do what I want. It is my choice to do whatever I choose. Obviously if I am telling myself that I have no time to myself, I am doing something wrong. I need to take care of myself. We need to enjoy this life we have. Not only is this our one life to live, but I truly believe we'd better enjoy living it.