Indecisive Peach

I got back late on Saturday from my Find Yourself extravaganza after being thankful that in America a majority of people huff and puff while walking down a international gate corridor enabling me to race past them to catch my next flight.

And then I stole someone’s McDonald’s burger. No, really.

Delayed in Chicago by a hail storm that happened before we got on the ground (mmm, sharp circles in the air on a stomach filled with airline food), we were an hour late giving me, per the schedule I had, forty minutes to get through customs, recheck my bag, and find my next gate. Luckily using my ninja racing skills and thus getting to the front of all the lines, like a dirty American is wont to do, helped me out tremendously.

I don’t really sleep on planes given that my fused back won’t let me sleep while sitting [In hindsight, this probably made me a waaaaay better student in high school and college.], so when I landed in Chicago at about 2 in the morning German time, I felt a little dazed. My connecting flight was delayed to the weather for an hour and I spent time making obligatory phone calls and pacing the food stands. How better to celebrate a homecoming than with a big, unhealthy plain cheeseburger and large fries? I stood in line, ordered, and tried to keep my yawning in check. Suddenly a small girl behind the counter juts out this bag of food into the crowd which I absentmindedly take and meander over to find a seat amongst a group that is much more Hispanically oriented than my last flight.

A quarter-pounder with cheese and everything on it? A medium fry? What madness is this? I blink. I shrug. I eat. [Those last four lines are a pretty narrow and direct (albeit unintentional) explanation of the last two weeks actually.]

I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d type out a life sign that doesn’t include a whiff of what I actually did overseas just because I’m feeling cantankerous. I did have my door closed so that I don’t disturb J with the light, but Cat has a habit of nudging open doors like she owns the place. She blinked slowly at me, not the loving blink, but the “You? Awake? Typing cheerily this early in the morning? Tis a watershed moment this is.”

Yes, I do waiver between having her mentally speak in Kitty Pidgin and a slightly Elizabethan drawl.

Part 1

[Ed. Note: These next couple of posts were all written in an actual honest to goodness notebook first and then transcribed to the Internet. I’m spacing out the posting in relation to where I am in my trip. The internet availability at my "hotel" is a bit shoddy.]

I’m currently in Washington, D.C. My boss suggested a few moons back, seeing as I do not have a needed Master’s in Library Science, that I should look at going the trade route in advancing my career in archiving. Since I’m refusing outright to even remotely consider a second Master’s degree and have thrown higher education altogether into the pool of “Meh” options, I looked at the certification offerings.

Both coasts of the US have similar courses for archivists, one in San Diego and one in Washington, D.C., which is held at the National Archives itself. Given my exposure to the West (and perhaps my overexposure) I thought that a nice trip after graduation would be in order. I was able to get a spot in the class held every six months and booked my flight.

My original plan after graduation had been to go overseas for a couple of months, visit family, wander around aimlessly, and clear my head. While currently happy with stable employment, I do realize that my grandparents are not getting any younger. I asked my boss whether or not I could tack on two weeks in Germany with the D.C. trip. She and my department head consented and I booked another flight.

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