At the King's Place

I've spent the day in the car with my parents. It was hell!

(1) I think I have mild claustrophobia.
(2) My Dad's driving drives me insane.
(3) I was sad because in a few hours I wouldn't see them for a long time.

But then we had Five Guys and that made everything better...momentarily. Then I got heartburn. Now my heart is broken and it's burning. This blows.

My Mom cried when we exchanged goodbyes. I didn't want her to see me cry. Frankly, when people cry, I get this shit-eating grin on my face. Not because I'm happy, but because I get shit-eating grins when I'm uncomfortable. This usually doesn't help the situation. The more uncomfortable I am, the bigger the shit-eating grin.

But I didn't want to be uncomfortable too long -- with my Mom crying and all -- and there was a snow advisory, so I ushered them out. We said our goodbyes, exchanged hugs, kisses, etc. It still doesn't feel real. Not in the least bit. Maybe tomorrow or Friday or Saturday or Sunday or sometime in the future, the reality of all this will hit me in the face like some monkey shit.

Stressed to the Max!

Jesus H. Christ! I've been running around all day like some little beotch. I think I'm finally finished packing and filling out paperwork, but being anal-retentive, I can't help feeling I've forgotten something.

Whatevs. At this point, I just hope whatever it is isn't so important I can't recover from its absence.

My Mom is on the verge of tears. It tears me up inside for sure: I hate seeing her cry. (You'd have to be a total bastard to derive pleasure from your Mom's pain.) I'm just hoping I can make it through the next 24 hours without crying as well. I was actually thinking about that earlier today: the last time I cried. It was in December or January when I watched Kite Runner. As Brit knows, I was bawling like a baby. But I just felt so bad for those kids. Don't get me started; the waterworks have begun again.

At least tomorrow night I can take my mind off of everything at Skewer's Happy Hour. It's such a sweet-ass place off of Dupont on P Street. Really chill, low-key, and cheap -- my three favorite qualities. I'll probably get drunk, but at least I have an excuse. What's yours?

A Few Days Left

Yeah, so I started a blog. I know, it's a douche-y, pretentious, hipster thing to do. Fortunately, I'm two of the three, so I suppose this is right up my alley. And I figured it would be just another way to hear my bitch and moan. While I'll still have to censor myself because this will have an all-inclusive audience, it will still have the occasional witticisms and offensive remarks that I'm notorious for.

In Malawi, Internet service will be haphazard at best; therefore, I'm not quite sure how often this will be updated. But I'll try my damnedest to let you know that (1) the monkeys haven't viciously attacked me, (2) I haven't been kicked out of Malawi for something horrible (f*ck you Mexicana Airlines!), and (3) I'm not lost wandering around Sub-Saharan Africa trying to get into some mischief.

And since I love feeling loved, go ahead and send me some letters and/or packages. My mailing address during Training is:

George R. Perkins, PCT
Peace Corps/Malawi
P.O. Box 208
Lilongwe
MALAWI

I will miss all you. Some I'll miss more than others. (You know who you are.)